Jane Fenimore Scholarship in Cello Performance

When we think of our mother, Jane Holliday Fenimore, what comes to mind is her endlessly curious mind, a great sense of humor, and impatience with cant, with false feeling, with hype, or anything else that didn’t smack of truth. She was direct and expected the same from you.
Two things that defined her and made her happiest were teaching, the profession she spent her life pursuing, and Wyoming, the home she left in her late twenties, but from which she was never far away.
Mom grew up in Laramie Wyoming, the youngest of five children, and from the time she was very young, was involved in music, studying both the piano and the cello, the latter of which became the instrument she played into her late eighties. Her girlhood was spent on the prairie of Laramie and in the mountains of the Snowy Range, where her father built a vacation cabin in 1926 and the family happily spent every summer. She loved both the mountains and the prairie, and when she settled in Pennsylvania, she often said that while the east was beautiful, she missed the open expanse of the prairie and, of course, the mountains.
She was totally in her element at the cabin, and returned year after year—her last summer there was only a few years ago. Up until recently, she would hike, build fires in the “Great Majestic” wood-burning stove (and instruct the younger generation on how to do it correctly), tell us stories about her youth there, and of course, catch, clean and cook trout from the creek.
Mom loved to tell us about her childhood summers, when her mother would be “up’t the cabin” with all five children during the week while her father would work in town and then drive up for the weekend. On Friday the children would wait in the meadow for his tall body to appear striding over the crest of the hill. There were a string of family cabins in the forest, so there was always company of cousins or old family friends around for an adventure to the old Rambler Mine, a swim at Silver Lake—and of course the summers in Geology Camp with Doc Knight from the University. Mom shared all of this with us on our annual summer trips to the cabins, teaching us to love and respect the mountains as she did.
After graduating from the University of Wyoming, and attending Colorado College, Mom attended the New England Conservatory, and then moved “back east” for a teaching position at Lebanon Valley College. It was there where she met and fell in love with her first husband, Dick, who was a business professor and the football coach. When he died suddenly after 9 years of marriage, leaving her with two young girls, she was devastated, but picked herself up and went back to teaching, which was the way she knew she could support us. She met and married Mitch five years later, but continued to teach, as it was the thing for which she had a genuine gift and talent.
Mom was an amazing teacher, and loved her students. She was patient but firm, and had high standards, but made learning fun. She was passionate about teaching, but managed to do it with a sense of fun and with a style to which kids responded and excelled. Many of her students went on to professional music careers but all them learned to love music. Many wrote her later in life to tell her that she taught them to love not just music, but learning itself.
After retirement she continued to teach privately, and after Mitch died, it was the company of her students that gave a structure to her daily life. She stayed in touch with many of them for years, going to their concerts and corresponding with them; in fact, we found many of their letters among her belongings these past weeks.
She had an independent spirit that rubbed off onto us. One year in her mid-seventies she got her birthday year mixed up and found out she was really a year older than she thought she was. When she realized how old she really was, she got really angry and said, “I need more time—there are things I want to do! I want to go play string quartets in Europe!” Well, she never did play in Europe, but the next summer she took a cello master class in New York City and lived in a dorm for a week in the East Village with students one quarter her age, carrying her cello on the subway to classes. (Poor Kathy almost had a conniption when she dropped her off that first night at the dorm).
But she did travel, sailing trips with Mitch and friends, trips to the southwest and Europe with her sister Tass, a memorable adventure to Bolivia with two of Laurie’s friends and many …….
With us, her “girls”, she was modest about herself but very proud of us. She never made a big deal about her own accomplishments, but always wanted to hear about what we were doing and would brag to all her friends and relatives about our jobs, performances, and particularly our boys. She was less effusive with us directly, but we knew her love for us was unquestioned though her expectations were high. After all, we were from Wyoming stock and we could accomplish anything, but we were expected to be graceful and kind doing so. We knew that she was always there for us, but in a quiet way.
She could laugh at herself and didn’t dwell on problems, although we knew she wrestled with her own issues and dealt with them herself, the way her generation often did. She loved her six grandsons and had relationships with each that were different and special, and was equally proud of their accomplishments. She never missed an orchestra concert of Kevin and Mark’s at Germantown Friends or one of Sam’s shows in New York.
Mom had a very big heart, accepting everyone into our family whether they were related or not. Our extended family is big and complicated but she didn’t care, and was always welcoming to everyone. When she married Mitch, she inherited a daughter and son, Jessie and Bill, whom she loved dearly, and a passel of in-laws, nieces, and nephews with whom she spent many happy times at the Jersey shore.
Part of mom’s ability to welcome family and friends was her gracious entertaining, seemingly without effort. She was not the cook of the family -that duty fell to Mitch, although she could rise to the occasion when required, but she loved to make her modest home beautiful and inviting. She could turn a few flowers from her garden and knickknacks from her china cabinet into a beautiful ‘tablescape’, long before the term was invented or there were TV shows to watch. She understood that when a home was beautiful and comfortable, everyone could relax and truly enjoy themselves.
She was a feminist before it was fashionable, and was a quiet champion of many liberal causes, warmly embracing her lesbian daughter and never making an issue out of it or being judgmental. She was a staunch supporter of Native American rights and the wilderness, and of course, music.
And finally, mom loved to read. She read to us from the moment we were born and we both learned that books can transport us to places we would never see, meet people we wouldn’t otherwise know, and give us ideas for life.
Our cousin Betsy, the writer (and her favorite niece) wrote to us this week and said the following:
“We all need a mentor in life and Aunt Jane was mine. My fondest memories at family gatherings were always of her even when I was tiny. She had a sense of adventure, loved to laugh and her independent streak (which I admired above all else) was five miles wide.
“Maybe we’re born with characters but in the ways that we become by learning I tried to model myself after Jane since she was the adult that I admired above all others. Jane widened my horizons over the years and also taught me to be fair-minded. Flexible is the final word that comes to mind when I think of Aunt Jane and the gift she gave me. Learning how to be flexible rather than intractable, open rather than shuttered, curious rather than closed and most of all, knowing when to laugh.”
That captures the essence of Mom—she was one of the most open-minded people we knew—never judging anyone and always accepting them for who they were.
It goes without saying that we’ll miss her dearly, as we do already. We’ll miss her smile and laugh, her loving nature, her fierce spirit and determination. It’s also difficult to believe that on both sides of the family (the Fenimores and the Hollidays) she was the last remaining daughter of that generation. Maybe they’re all together now. We’re just happy she’s at peace, and like to imagine her in her beloved Rocky Mountains, where one day we’ll scatter her ashes.