WEST LEBANON, NH — Nobody knew how to provide comfort like Mary Martz. Her voice, tender and soothing, made everything she said sound like a lullaby. Whatever the issue, big or small, she seemed to have the answer, and after providing it, she would punctuate the conversation by saying that she was sending white light. For Mary Beth, there was no greater force than the distillation of all the colors of the rainbow: beautiful, balanced, powerful.
Our white light left us October 21, 2020. Born Mary Elizabeth Markway in Wardsville, MO, on July 14, 1948, she died in West Lebanon, N.H., surrounded by family, including her husband of 19 years, Tom.
Beloved wife, selfless mother, peerless grandmother, Mary lived a life filled with the things most important to her: family, friends, art and love. Her wanderlust took her around the globe, from the streets of Paris to the woods of Maine to everywhere in between. She sought experiences — not the vapid sort that can saturate days but rich, fulfilling, meaningful ones, to remember, to savor, to cherish.
What Mary may not have realized is how essential she was to these experiences. Her ability to be unintentionally hysterical was unmatched. She would utter an off-handed remark that caused ripples of laughter and a minute later drop an observation rich with wisdom. “It’s not old,” she would say of something that had seen better days, “it’s well-loved.” Mary didn’t see life through rose-colored glasses. They were rainbow-colored.
The world’s palette, bright and dark, fluorescent and incandescent, inspired her. In college, she studied art. She adored Mary Cassatt, the impressionist painter whose portraits of mothers and children simplified a universe that so often felt complicated. Mary raised her three boys and two girls with Otto Rieke in Kansas City before her life’s third act — a hunt for everything that’s beautiful in the world.
Wherever Mary went, she found community. In trips to Paris, each arrondissement was its own unique playground. In Rock Hill, South Carolina, and Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where she moved after Kansas City, she made a habit of befriending neighbors and volunteering at the universities where Tom worked — both of which she continued at later stops. In Bloomington, Indiana, she spent countless hours helping maintain the T.C. Steele State Historic Site, which honors the artist who taught students at Indiana University “to see the beautiful in nature and in life.” In Bangor, Maine, she urged visitors to “come into l’espace creatif,” the makeshift art studio where she painted. While there, she helped establish the Tom & Mary Martz Endowed Scholarship at Husson University, which sends students to study around the globe. She wanted others to see the amazing things the world had gifted her.
Mary later moved to New Hampshire to be closer to family. Once, on a whim, she gathered scrap wood and built them a chicken coop. She would make creations out of marzipan that were almost too pretty to eat. Almost. Through grandchildren, she found another happy place, StoneLedge Stables, which runs nature camps and abides by a motto close to Mary’s heart: “Connecting hearts and minds in the natural world.”
Everything about her was natural — the charm, the care, the peace she emanated. If someone was in need, she would show up in a blink — usually wearing Birkenstocks and wool socks, even on the coldest winter days. Mary always urged others to “thank your feet.” Otherwise, she said, “you won’t get very far in life.”
Even as cancer tried to slow her down, Mary summoned the energy to pack 25 hours’ of deeds into a 24-hour day. No one could say for sure where she found this unlimited reservoir of strength. Maybe she saved a little of that white light for herself.
Mary has joined her sons Gabriel and Michael in a better place. She is survived by Tom; children Adam Rieke (Amy), Sara Passan (Jeff) and Catherine Rieke (Jason Pettus); grandchildren Gabriel and Elizabeth Rieke, Jack and Luke Passan, and Alice and Jude Pettus; mother Pauline Markway; eight brothers and sisters; dozens of nieces and nephews; and a world that will be lesser without her in it.