The Unforgettable Marta Bigler
by Maggie Van Ostrand
Marta Bigler died on January 28th. Describing who Mrs. Bigler was is like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces just don’t want to fit. Like trying to reassemble a Kleenex that disintegrated in the laundry. Like trying to figure out what tapioca really is.
I drove by Mrs. Bigler's Pine Mountain cabin today, the one she died in. She had rented it because home ownership was a responsibility she wanted to avoid as she aged. And Mrs. Bigler always got what she wanted.
She wanted to remain relevant, enchanting, and mysterious. She managed all three. When the coroner's office called for information that might lead to any survivors, I could supply none, though I had been a friend of Mrs. Bigler’s for a number of years. Things about her past, revealed over time, couldn't be verified, for she had told somewhat different stories to each of her many friends, each of whom thought she or he was the closest person to her. Like today’s news media, there was no way to know what was true and what was not.
To some, she said she was 82, to others, 85, or 89. Didn’t matter, because Mrs. Bigler seemed ageless by still managing to captivate people with her storytelling and winsome ways. I'm certain that, had she been given the choice between mental acuity or physical health near the end of her time, she would have ordered God to allow her the former. Evidently, He was as susceptible to her gift of persuasion as the rest of us because to the end, she stayed relevant in current events, politics and animal welfare, the latter being dearest to her generous heart. At least one thing was proven: Mrs. Bigler, for as long as she was able, worked diligently and faithfully with Mountain SPCA and other animal-lifesaving organizations up here, in the sometimes heartbreaking world of animal rescue, from her beloved dogs and cats, to squirrels, rabbits, bears and even an angry African warthog.
Born in Switzerland, Mrs. Bigler spoke five languages and had a charming accent replete with rolled Rs. As a one-time military wife, she had lived in many cities and hamlets in Europe and America, spending her last 15 years in Pine Mountain.
Mrs. Bigler had a particular affection for my rescued Benji-like terrier and her every phone call began with the words: "How's my boyfrrriend?" I replied with tales of his latest misadventures, like the time I came home and found the tree man gone, leaving only his cap on the ground near a fence. Mrs. Bigler went into gales of giggles: "I know exactly vot happent. He chased the man over the fence and hiss cap drrropped offff. Oh dot's verrrry funny! You must tell me if dot man everrr comes back. I rrreally love dot dog"
She regaled friends with tales of Gus the Ghost who, she swore, lived in the attic of her cabin and sometimes tried to communicate with her, once by hurling a kitchen thermometer at her head and another time, while she wasn’t looking, turning on her empty washing machine.
Sometimes, Marta would slam the phone down on a friend and not speak to him or her for weeks, months, or even years. She never told us what it had been about, leaving us in great frustration. Some would spend months trying to get back into her good graces, without ever knowing what it was that had set her off. Other times, Marta would enhance and subtly egg on a debate between people and then step back and watch the verbal fisticuffs commence. If anyone asked her opinion, she would say she didn’t want to get involved. Being around Marta was often more chaotic and had more drama than a soap opera.
About two years ago when she was still able to walk her dogs in the park every day, she would sit atop a picnic table, swinging her legs and even though those legs, which had once commanded skis over Swiss mountain snow and skates over frozen Alpine lakes, were now old and sometimes failed her, men in the park who were walking their dogs would be charmed enough to engage in flirtatious conversation. She needed their appreciation of her wit and ways like Judy Garland needed applause from adoring audiences. And Mrs. Bigler didn't even have to sing for it.
I think perhaps Marta Bigler is still in her cabin, invisible to humans, but now able to charm Gus the Ghost as she charmed her landlocked friends. Marta Bigler. Relevant? Yes. Enchanting? Yes. Mysterious? Yes. And most definitely Unforgettable.
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