If on a winter's night....

A few weeks or so ago I was sitting between my Celestion speakers, recovering from the swine flu, and otherwise doing nothing but listening to the divine sounds of Sting and friends. Some sounds are so pure and haunting that they are able to stop us in our tracks. How fragile we are. Sting talks about winter in a primal soul searching way. It is his favorite season. A time for true reflection and contemplation. I searched his nowabouts on the internet, and discovered he was playing a winter concert at Cathederal Church of St John the Divnine in NYC in a few days. If it hadn't been sold out, and I was not still sick, I likely might have jumped in my car and driven the 8 hours to light a candle in that incredible setting. Instead, I ordered the CD on Amazon. It arrived in the middle of a blizzard. And with a slice of solstice cake and cup of jingle java from my favorite coffee shop, I again settled between the speakers to revel in the soul searching of winter, and the setting sun, howling wind, and early dark of late afternoon.
Now it is the morning of Christmas Eve.The shortest day - and longest night - have come and gone. My new Maine house is full of Christmas and the scent of cinnamon and oranges and balsam. Corrina arrived from New York last night, along with her new companion Alvy the cat.  Winter in Maine. Our new snow shoes hang ready in the mud room - near the piles of mittens, hats, scarves, boots, and gloves. I am luxuriating in a string of days off with nothing to do but rest, eat well, enjoy good company, play games, read books, make music........   Truly reveling in a slower pace. Sliding into the holidays was somehow markedly different this year. Two weeks ago I was done shopping and my presents were wrapped. The tree was less hassel, tho no less beautiful in this northern home. I opted to forego baking and making candy until last night...and will only make what feels fun and enticing while Corrina is here.
Oddly, the year that I move to Maine, Virginia has gotten walloped with snow, and will have a far whiter Christmas than my corner of Maine. Oh we do have a few inches. The inland lakes are mostly frozen, and the first over-eager ice boater has crashed through the ice and drowned. But the sun will shine today and tomorrow, the temperatures rising above freezing. My new snow shoes will have to wait.
Wait. Wonder. Walk. Wooly. Winter.
Candlelight. It seems to capture all of the calming and contemplative grace of winter. We light candles for those in harm's way. We light candles to measure our sense of awe and wonder. Because it is simple and beautiful and warm. Because the face across the table glows in it's aura. Because our food tastes better - and more celebratory. Our traditions, new and old, circle us in a sense of time of wondering and caring.......for others, for the simple things that sustain us, for sharing the awe and wonder of family, old friends, and new years. The inward and spiritual filling of our souls and taking time to know ourselves and others - and to grow within as we wait for the rejuvenating winds of spring. 
Light a candle...........and Celebrate!

Against the current

AS THE CROW FLIES....OR NOT...
About 14 years ago I met a remarkable man in Bisbee Arizona. Jim Babcock, a multi-dimensional, creative, brilliant, and somewhat manic eccentric. He was a geologist, artist, writer, landscaper, and when I met him, proprietor of a truly eclectic bed and breakfast. In my few encounters with him on visits there, he said a lot of thought provoking things. Kind of scared the crap out of my young daughter on one visit when he started ranting a bit of existential stuff about her past and future incarnations. Later - years later - she remembered it clearly and admitted that it somehow did make a lot of sense. Anyway, the one thing that he said that always stood out the most to me was this. If you watch the way that all the birds are flying, and you head in the other direction, you'll never have any competition. I've thought about that often in a lot of contexts over the years, and it still rings loud for me.
Jim was one of a kind, and I'm sure there are lots of stories still circulating about him out there. He was, I suppose, a troubled soul, who lived life very large - when it wasn't consuming him. In very odd ways I've never quite understood, he reminded me a lot of my own father, who was almost exactly the same age. I expect they would have never cared for each other had they actually met in Cochise County, where they each spent much of their last years. But they both lived lives very much against the current, and each in their own way found unique reward far from the main stream.
I don't consider myself bold or brazen or driven enough to compare to Jim or my father. But something gleaned from them was the courage or at least curiosity to swim against the current. In a standardized and evermore globalized world, we are expected to funciton like lemmings. Go to school, get a job, get married, raise a family, invest in the stock market or retirement fund, buy insurance, join a church and health club....... and hope that it all works out. Then, when the shit hits the fan for the whole kit and kaboodle....like it has now in these economic times...I guess there's comfort in knowing that everyone is in the same boat. Of course the sad thing is that there are a lot of folks now feeling like they're going down with that boat. Not just the unemployed (more than 10% of us!) but also the overextended, the disenfranchised who can't buy insurance even if they want to, the health fanatics whose knees are caving underneath them. And unfortunately, in my line of work, we see the aftereffects like tidal waves sweeping through the little children who have no clue as to why life is so topsy-turvy.
I'm not sure there's anythng close to sense or comfort in bucking the system or status quo. Who moves to Maine when it's time to think about easing up and retiring? I can't tell you how many people raised their eyebrows at my decision, and questioned my recollection of the meaning of the word "winter." Who buys a house where taxes are some of the highest in the nation, and the economy riddled with some of the toughest problems out there? Hmmmmm, all good points....and ones I'm pretty sure I was well apprised of when I made my move. But there is something here - beyond long cold winters and high taxes, that is hard to pinpoint. Incredible beauty, for sure. Also, a spirit of deep-rooted survival and independence. A tendency to create, and to conquer challenges in unique ways. To commune, commiserate, question anyone's authority, and stubbornly refuse to conform to someone else's idea of what we should be.  Where there are WalMarts and McDonalds up here (few and far in between) there are a LOT of people apologizing and wishing that they'd never let that happen. There are more people here making lives in fully individualistic ways than anywhere else I've ever been.

I hope I can live up to my own expectations of charting new courses here. Of simplifying life, and living at a pace that allows time to really clebrate and enjoy the company of amazing fellow Mainers and the incredible beauty here. Of finding my own underlying creative winds and following their lead. Ah-yup. The snow birds are all heading south, and I am truly pleased to be settling in to a quieter pace and place where I believe I really can hear myself think better. There is one truly Maine cartoon that always makes me chuckle. A Mainer is sitting on the porch and a car with out of state plates pulls up, rolls down the window, and someone leans out and says, "Does it matter if I take route 1 or route 90 to Camden?" The guy on the porch keeps rocking and says, "Don't matter to me one way or t'other."  If that makes no sense to you, Maine is probably not your kind of place. If it made you laugh out loud, you probably already live here. If it made you chuckle, you might want to come take a closer look.

Jet Setting

900 MILES
This past weekend, for the first time, I flew to Virginia as a visitor, and back home to Maine. It was a little strange revisiting the house I had lived in for almost 20 years, now a rental, to do yard maintenance. I keep a little apartment in the basement there, but opted to stay with my dear friend Pam, as the time was short, and given the new arrangement, felt more natural.

Both routes south and north were unbelievably swift and uncomplicated. Heading to Charlottesville, after my brief layover in NYC, I got on the plane with two prominent film critics - also headed to the Virginia Film festival. I felt a little smug in their company, and eavesdropped on their commentary about upcoming films and discussions. With such short hours for catching up to friends and my house there, I limited myself to a mere 3 films. One was remarkable - Mother and Child, a new thought provoking adventure by Rodrigo Garcia, son of the infamous Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Rodrigo is known for writing roles for women that stars will play for little promise of financial reward, and this was another in that lane. The performances were stellar, especially that of Annette Benning. I urge you to see it where you can when it is eventually released in May of 2010. You can check it out before then on imdb.

I wish I had photos to share from the flight back home to Maine. The day was splendid, and the views incredible. Lifting above the Blue Ridge in the early November morning, the hills were peppered with the late fall colors and pink glow over the blue mountains. Still the light haze that renders the subtle hues of Virginia. High above Long island sound, I traced the shoreline to memory to later research the dot that I imagined to be Harrison and home of my daughter, and was delighted that I was fairly close in my intuitive guess. Flying into Portland, across the Casco Bay and islands gave a feeling of peace and comfort, despite the noticeable decrease in fall color from just a few days ago. In a mere 4 hours and a few minutes I had jumped from my Virginia home to Maine. The easy 90 minute drive up the glorious coast gave me time to relish both the ease of transitions and the beauty of the coastline of which I expect I will never tire. Brunswick, Bath, Wiscasset, Waldoboro, Thomaston, Rockland. Turf and bays that are etching their familiarity slowly into my soul. It helped of course, that the Indian summer had followed me northward, and it was approaching 60 degrees.
I arrived at work midday Monday, a little late for my weekly provider meeting. Relaxed, rejuvenated, and marveling a bit at the ease of transitions between here and there. Checking in at home a few hours later, all was well with dog and boiler. Having neighbors to keep an eye on things is huge, and hugely appreciated.

Now it is another Friday, and I am looking at the luxury of my three day weekend at home. I will rake the last of the leaves, and do some bagging and 'banking' - stacking them tight against the north and west foundation walls to add a little extra insulation against the winter cold and winds. Arrange the last of my firewood, and buy a couple more tarps to keep it relatively dry.  I brought back my favorite cookie sheets that I had forgotten in the move northward. My little Jotul is ready to light. I am excited about the thoughts of baking and decorating for the holiday season ahead, and very happy to be at home in Maine. I am warmed by the reconnections with dear friends in Virginia, and the ease of jetting down to see them. I expect that my flow of visitors will trickle to a halt in the winter months ahead, and give me time to wallow in homefires, projects, and growing my community here. The quiet and calm beauty of Maine covered with snow. I am comforted with knowing how easy it is to get on a plane and change climates when the need arises, and thinking a little about my February escape. But more overwhelmingly at the moment, I am loving the settling feeling of hunkering down for the winter. Stop by for cookies and tea or a game of Scrabble if you're inclined. 

First Frost

HALLOWEEN

Actually windy and warm, but also gray and foreboding, the leaves swirling down at a November pace. The sailboats are mostly pulled from the harbor - wrapped and stored for the winter, or far away in warmer waters. The lobster boats are far fewer in number. I guess only the toughest tough it out in the colder months ahead.

I ordered some more replacement windows, and wait for the insulation guys to show up to foam spray my rim joists, seal the chimney shaft, and blow in a lot more cellulose. My little Jotul is crackling in the kitchen. It was actually close to 60 degrees today.....hardly threatening, but it still feels cozier with a little glow and the scent of wood. Plus my bother-in-law bought me a nice axe while visiting recently, and I felt woodsy splitting up some more kindling today.   

The trick-or-treaters arrived, but not nearly in as many numbers as my neighbors had predicted, and now I am stuck with a big bag of awful candy sitting at the front door. I wasn't brave enough to follow the Obama lead and hand out dried fruit. Maybe I've become a chocolate snob, but Butterfingers and Kit Kats are disgusting these days!     

                I'm beginning to think that maybe Maine isn't a whole lot different than Virginia. After all, it is now November, and I miraculously still have flowers blooming in my little courtyard and in my window boxes. Daisies, lobelia, petunias, ageratum, sweet potato vine, nemesia, sidalcea, guara. The basil and tomatoes are frosted, but not the tarragon, savory, parlsey, rosemary, lavendar, arugula, hearty lettuces, or sage. The pineapple sage, a late blooming pendulous red favorite is full of buds, and yet to bloom. I promise I'll share unaltered pictures if and when it does. I have yet to mulch in my weeping cherry, pee gee hydrangea, and assorted shrubs planted this year. A chore I guess I should put on the today list. My mud room is full of potted plants I've pulled in to extend their season as long as they can tolerate my neglect. I'm not much of a houseplant person. And the new energy efficient windows I've had installed actually block out ultraviolet rays and make it hard to raise houseplants - except for African violets. Maybe I'll try those, as I've never been successful at keeping them alive and blooming, tho I have fond memories of my grandmother's many pots in different colors.      

                     Just in case you think I have delusions of the tropics here, I have scraped frost off of my windshield three or so times in October. I do have a big shovel handy, and a fair amount of wood stacked near the kitchen door. I imagine myself devouring novels under one of my ready fleece and woven throws tossed onto my sofa and chairs. Or taking up knitting. Tho I remain a devoted coffee drinker - with my bottle of Jamison's for an occasional embellishment, I also now have a favorite couple of large teacups, and my trusty box of P&G  tea. Is it proper to add Irish whiskey to British tea? My brother, a veteran of long cold winters in Wisconsin, sent me an early Christmas present - a warm pair of Merrell boots. Luxurious! A sucker for jackets and coats, I am embarassed to tell you how many down, wool, and windbreaker options I have hanging in my mudroom. The Goodwill store here is unbelievable.

So, I think I'm almost ready. The time change last night offered up a welcome earlier sunrise. No doubt the earlier sunset will be tougher.......but in another 7 weeks the days start to get longer again. I've been collecting Christmas yard art, and starting to imagine the house full of candles and Pavorotti and scent of Maine balsam. OK.......so I'm also excited about getting on a plane this week and heading to Virginia for a long weekend of extended fall, old friends, and film festival. Also cruising the travel networks plotting my deep winter getaway in February or early March. Getting on the seed catalog mailing lists. Seasons change. Life is good.

Common Ground

The past two weekends have offered up two quintessentially Maine experiences - The Common Ground Fair, and the Camden International Film Festival.  http://www.mofga.org/  http://www.camdenfilmfest.org/


What defines Mainers tends to show up loudly at these events, and I am slowly trying to put my finger on it. Rugged independence. Strong opinions. Sustainable living. A tendency to take on all the big issues while eeking out creative lifestyles and surviving against - well - odds stacked pretty heavily against them. The weather is tough. The economy tougher. Yet from both sides of the political arena you have hale and hearty neighbors that share a common ground that they argue loudly about preserving. All the while chanting "Quality of life....quality of life....quality of life.."

The Common Ground Fair is chock full of made in Maine experiences. It's in a remote location in the middle of the state, and thousands of people arrive to celebrate. You ride across fields in an antique tractor pulled wagon to the large fairground. All of the vendors are local, persevering, and proud. Knitters, spinners, boat builders, soap makers, beekeepers, potters, felters, jewelry makers, and farmers. Lots of farmers. All organic farmers. They are strict about who gets to sell what. Lots of political organizations are there as well - and you can go learn or debate about health care, offshore wind farming, fisheries, pesticides, wildlife, forestry, or countless other issues that affect us here here in Maine. The food selections were tough, and I finally settled on a yummy Mediterranean -ish eggplant sandwich. Which got me thinking. All of the ingredients were supposed to be local and organic, and I'm wondering how the heck they were able to grow that many eggplants here in Maine. My own few eggplants planted in richly composted raised beds are approximately the same size as when I planted them in early June - about 4 inches high sprouting 2-3 pairs of leaves. I felt a little suspicious. Then I needed an energy booster, and started looking for a cup of coffee, knowing I had seen signs somewhere. Now of course coffee is not grown in Maine, but I guess they cleared vendors who roast it here, and buy from good practice farmers in other places. My favorite coffee roaster from my home town was there, and as I know they have great coffee, I stopped there. hoping also for one of their wonderful cookies, but no such luck. "You didn't bring any cookies?" I asked plaintively.  "No, we don't bake without sugar - maybe next year we'll make something with honey..."  "You mean there's no sugar anywhere at this fair?!!?" (I'd seen banners for pie and ice cream.....even fried dough!!) "Nope, not supposed to be."   Hmmm, now who decides that I start to wonder. Granted, I hadn't seen one of the bezillion children at the fair whigging out or throwing a tantrum. But I needed a pick-me-up. Why coffee and not sugar? I started arguing with myself. Neither products are exactly local. And both can be 'processed' or refined in healthier ways.. And don't we all know by now that words like 'organic,' 'natural,' 'chemical-free,' etc. are subject to interpretation..........?  OK, I'm picking an argument where there isn't really one. I just needed a sugar fix. But it is always good to question the rules, right? Hey, allowing for equal time, I also questioned the allowed vendors at the Lobster Festival - where they were selling (I kid you not) Deep-fried Twinkies. ( No, I couldn't bring myself to try them...) The point is.....there are a lot of strong opinions of PC up here. And a lot of people trying hard to get it right.

The film festival, which is all documentaries, was also stacked heavily with made in Maine and local issues like fisheries and conservation and such. For some befuddling reason they gave the 'best of weekend' award to a French film about poverty in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It was our least favorite film.  Though beautifully shot, it seemed kind of pointless, and a rather arrogant glimpse of  'those' poor people, with no insight whatsoever about a global or otherwise vision of how to change glaring poverty in third world countries. In a weekend filled with very good films it seemed oddly out of sync with the common ground of good common sense. My filmmaker daughter was here to share the event and we agreed on our favorites of the festival - Philosopher Kings http://www.philosopherkingsmovie.com/ , offering up great words of wisdom and perspectives of custodians at some of America's elite universities, and October Country http://www.octobercountryfilm.com/ , a penetrating and poignant look at a dysfunctional but loving family strapped by poverty, abuse, violence, teen pregnancy, and recyclical patterns of failure and victimization. (sounds cheery, huh?) Neither particularly Maine films.....but both stirred interesting discussion and food for thought. I guess we actually missed many of the more intrinsically Maine films, but the weekend discussions were - as you come to expect in Maine - thought provoking, argumentative, and far reaching. Very different, tho in ways hard to describe, than film discussions at the VA film festival, which are sometimes embarrassingly academic and unsubstantial. The weekend wrapped with an interesting history doc about the evolution of the environmental movement - Earth Days. Recommended, and well, it was impressive to see how well-preserved some of the founders of the environmental movement look these day - like Stewart Udall who at 87 still looks darn good, as did the other pioneers of the movement. It was pretty strong imaging for getting it right. http://www.earthdaysmovie.com/

So...I'm not quite sure of the common thread here. Except the ongoing attempt to paint what it is that defines Mainers. I think I'm back to my first sketches. Rugged individualism. Strong opinions. and .....maybe survivalism, which I think better captures this whole idea of sustainable living -which like 'organic' and 'natural' is wrought with problematic rhetoric. Anyway, as I head into winter, I am happy to be battening down the hatches with my new neighbors, sharing a common "cultchah."

On the cusp

Autumnal Equinox

When day and night are almost equal in length. After which, of course, the days get shorter and shorter until the winter solstice. In Maine, on Dec 21 the sun will rise at 7AM and set at 4PM. Gulp. Some say the early darkness and light deprivation in general are harder on the psyche than the cold, snow, and ice itself. I must be a bit anxious about it because I had a dream last night that it was September 21st, and I woke up to a world covered in snow and ice - and burst into tears. Of course in reality, I woke up to a beautiful sunny day, and calmed down over breakfast and coffee on my deck. My daisies and nasturtiums and garden full of flowers, herbs, and cherry tomatoes were cheerful and promising. Another day to procrastinate battening down the hatches, as the thermometer was moving upward on its way to 70. Whew!

What is it about fall that makes us so pensive and melancholy?  Of course this year, there's a lot of change in the air around me. Up and move at 58 - new job, new home, new community, new friends. The house and job were a relative snap. Both fell so rightly into place - and I can honestly say I feel right with both. And both are leading to new friends as well. But what's that saying ...... "There's no mirror like an old friend?" Thankfully, staying in touch is a lot easier in the 21st century than ever, and travel accessible. I recently had a great visit from my dear friend Pam. We met 24 years ago when our kids were both in the NICU. Not your everyday shared experience. Then we ended up in the same neighborhood and there were playdates, birthday parties, shared dinners, teaching the kids to ride bikes and sending them off to school. And then the divorces, the single parenting, financial stresses, survival, coming of age for the kids AND us. And through it all - a lot of laughter. And now we're empty nesters 900 miles apart, and trying to figure out how to have quality time in concentrated blocks here, there, or somewhere else once in a while. Having almost 4 days of fine Maine late summer was a good start.....
In between work and 'retire'ment as well......or so I thought. Maybe more like putting on a new set of tires to roll through new turf with my loved work with little people. They of course are some of my favorite new friends. Nothing quite like hanging with a two year old boy who is trying to figure out how to tell you what's on his mind. Fresh slates to draw on. Not at all like meeting 62ish year old boys (or women) who drag a lot of baggage along with them, though the layers of stacked experience do make us an interesting lot for the most part. Working / playing with little people is like living in eternal springtime. The curiousity and openness with which they typically approach life is infectious and empowering. Without renewal, it's hard to face winter. I get some of the same sense of hope and promise planting bulbs about the time of the autumnal equinox. In gardening, I think there is nothing more rewarding. At 44 degrees latitude, I expect spring blooms will stir elation.
On saving for retirement - or preparing for that kind of winter. Hmmmm. I keep wrestling with that one. The whole concept of retirement 'funds' is really all so recent. Only in 'developed' western culture do we presume that it is the responsibility of the individual to support him or herself as we age. Of course a mere 100 or so years ago, the life expectancy was 30 years younger, or about 48-50. I still find that staggering. So now, at 58, do I continue to build my retirement fund, presuming that I will be able to buy quality of life 20 years from now (??????), or do I focus more on phasing in my actual retirement NOW, realign my daily priorities NOW, and hope that somehow luck, reasonable fiscal planning, and listening to my own biological clock will free up some of the stress of worrying about tomorrow. OK, I first have to admit that I have no 401-K 403(B), pension plan, etc. etc. Nothing traditional in my retirement plan, except for a very small Roth IRA. It, like most of my friends' retirement "investments" has performed poorly. Plenty of them (friends) are freaking out because what they had saved for tomorrow has been shrinking rather than growing for what seems like a long time now. Many can't even look at their statements, even tho it's just a  number. I think the bottom line as I see it is that if you don't invest in OTHERS - especially our KIDS - there will be no safety net in the last laps of life.
OK, that's plenty enough musing for today. We narrowly escaped an early frost last night, and it's time to head out, enjoy the sunshine, and get some of those spring bulbs planted! 

Labor Day weekend

An odd mix of work and play themes this holiday. Though rooted in celebrations of workers and history of organized labor, we generally think of it as a last wave of summer play. And so my own thoughts, as I enjoy this glorious 4 day weekend, are also stuck somewhere between wallowing in unbelievably beautiful weather and the long to do list. The radio has been playing an interesting lineup of folk and work songs, back drop to my focus on self-elected chores on the homefront.

Oh I did push myself up the road on Friday to explore a different village and waterfront, and check out the windjammer festival in Camden. Today I'm insisting on finding a local beach I've been meaning to check out. But laregly, I've been happily chipping away at home improvements. I seem to have this door theme going on. (witness the photos from my last blog) I'm sure there's something metaphoric there, and I doubt it takes a rocket scientist to feel the current. Anyway, this weekend's project has been stripping, sanding, and painting old doors. Most of the doors in the downstairs had been removed and stored in the shed. I've decided to revive some of them, and rehang them. First, to offer some climate control options in the colder months ahead. Also, just to enjoy their beauty. They are all very old, very heavy solid wood doors with umpteen coats of paint. Several have the old glass doorknobs, reminiscent of my mother's house, and invitation in themselves to bring them back. Part of this journey will be seeking old hardware to complete the restoration.

Work. Hard work. Good work. I love days that in the end feel.........productive. I am lucky to have both employed and unemployed work that generates that feeling. I can't imagine not liking the work that one does.....or not being able to find projects that are fulfilling. But I am reminded that I am not one of the 10% of Americans that are out of work. And I've seldom had to to work, and never for long, at jobs that I didn't really like. I can't imagine what it does to the spirit to get nothing from one's work but a paycheck.

Some jobs - like stripping and painting old doors - take more time and energy than makes economic sense. That's sad. So culturally, we often end up replacing old well built things with slapped together, hollow, cheesy, new versions. Usually something that will not last, but will last long enough to serve our fleeting purposes and lifestyles. I'm sure my doors are original -meaning about 150 years old. What do we make today that will be around 150 years from now? Our cost /benefit ratio is completely skewed toward a more temporal way of thinking and living. What can we crank out in the least amount of man hours? But we also find that some things that need being done are also just too expensive to happen - unless you can do things yourself........AND have the time. Building fences, mowing the lawn, replacing windows, knitting a sweater, growing our own food. So either you have to make a lot of money, have a large extended family to co-op chores, or learn to live more simply. A lot more simply.

Thousands, maybe millions, of Americans are being forced to do just that. Some side effects of the economic downturn are of course positive. Without the support of jobs and benefits, people just have to become more efficient, creative, and entrepreneurial. Maine is chuck full of people doing just that. Artists, artisans, craftspeople, and small business owners. They do more of their own work at home, and share the chores of neighborhoods and communities. They gather to argue and debate the perils and possibilities of change and progress, and what that all means anyway.

And so this Labor Day, I ponder the work of striving to live more simply. To each day cherish the work of one's own hands, and the play of sharing simple pleasures with those working around us. Happy Labor Day.

The 'Hood

The South End. A transitional neighborhood. Up and coming. The other side of the tracks. My new neighborhood. Realtors and newspaper reporters told me to look here when I was searching for a house. From early in my search I knew I wanted to be here. Not for its investment value, which was predicted to rise. Prices here, like most places, have gone down a little since I bought two years ago. The houses were pretty much all built between 1860-1890. Back when building actually had some substance to it. So even here, on the working class side of town, the houses have a lot of character........and characters. Not too many years ago, when the sardine factory was more than a fading memory, and the odor was barely waning, you could snatch up these houses for under $50,000. Then in came MBNA. Cleaned up the waterfront, built the boardwalk, started renovating some of the grander houses down by the waterfront and built their new spiffy 60,000 or more sq ft building. They also pumped millions of dollars into the community, helping to expand the already fine Farnsworth Gallery and Museum, and downtown Rockland. A salty and seamy seaport started to look kind of charming. MBNA offered jobs too - where you didn't have to get your hands dirty or smell like fish. Folks started following their lead, and investing in Rockland. Galleries and bookstores and coffee shops popped up. Restaurants where you could get some decent wine and upscale dining.

When I lived in the midcoast 33 years ago, there seemed to be only two reasons to go to Rockland. First, the Farnsworth, which was already a class act place. Second was the dime store, a Ben Franklin I believe. It was so retro in 1976 that it was like walking into an antique store in the making. I loved it. It's long gone, and nothing quite like it remains.

Although MBNA pulled out of the midcoast and left a lot of people unemployed and reeling, Rockland somehow maintained its upswing. Folks had to be a little more creative to hang on and pay taxes here, but I think that really helped build a more interesting community. Who wants to live next to a bunch of bank processing workers anyway? People who stumble into Rockland now pretty much just see it as a very culturally cool and scenically well located hub in the glorious midcoast of Maine. From my little house on the south end I can easily walk to all of it - the harbor, the incredible art theater, the Farnsworth, great restaurants, coffee shops, bookstores, a fine fresh fish market, and some of the last working waterfront on the huge coast of Maine.

But the south end is funky, a splattering of old and relocated new like myself. By oral report, there used to be a lot of fighting in these streets, a few genuine flop houses for the seamen, and some pretty rowdy bars frequented by burly bikers. If you look closely, you can still see plenty of remnants. Some of the families who worked in that sardine factory and never really were quite employable by MBNA and aftereffects era are still here, hanging on to old houses that haven't seen renovations in near 100 years. They might share those houses with a few generations of working or not working poor. Though the neighborhood is by and large quiet, their loud voices sometimes resonate. I swear the ocean breezes can carry sound better than some other places. Sometimes it seems they blow from both the past and the present. You have to have an open mind and a sense of humor some days.

I'd like to tell a few stories about people I've encountered in the 'hood. I'm a little leery, because I'm not sure they would like the light I shed on them if they happened to stumble onto this blog. And who am I anyway, but a newcomer 'from away.' There's surely nothing generic about any of them. The loudest award, as well as most folks crammed into one small space, goes to the Hatfields. (Do you think I'd be foolish enough to tell you their real name?) The kids being bred into this clan are some of the hooligans I've talked about. They're actually good kids - like all kids basically are - who have weathered some pretty tough shakes, and go looking for attention wherever they can find it. They live far enough away to mostly ignore, and I tend to head the other way on my walks if they are spilling over onto the street. There are a LOT of single women living in the 'hood. That was kind of a surprise. Survival of the stronger sex, perhaps. But also several like myself that just up and moved here. Go figure. There's a southern belle renovating a farmhouse, some artists, a hardened feminist, a social worker. My house was actually owned for 40 years by the sister of one of my neighbors. She ran a beauty salon in my living room. Maybe that's why I hear a lot of interesting echoes, or why so many women find their way here. Most of my neighbors I haven't met yet, so I start to make up stories about them when I go on my walks or bike rides. There are a lot of dogs, and a lot of fences. I'm hopeful that there will also be some interesting men. You'll notice no triple digits on the addresses, so it's all kind of close in. The melting pot of such a unique place can't be described in a season or a day. Likely the stories real and imagined will unfold over the revolving seasons ahead.

Vacationland

For decades, Maine's state motto, and license plate subtitle, has been "vacationland." Some years back, I think they changed at least the motto to "Maine - the way life should be." I now have the license plate fixed on my car, and the other -the way life should be- has been rattling around in my head for the last couple years. Now that I'm actually here, I'm mulling often about what it is that defines Maine.

With the exception of a short 6 month stay in 1976 - when I was in my young "seasonal drifter" phase - Maine has always been vacationland for me. I don't know how many trips over the last 33 years I've made to visit family, friends, and this unique place and quality of life. But now, on the other side of the residency line, perceptions start to shift. In the peak of summer and tourist season, I too glory in the incredible days when they happen, but resent a little when they fall on a workday. My work of course takes me out and into this beautiful county, and into the rural and village homes of the little people I work with, so it's not totally like being left out. But it is of course different than wandering aimlessly over beaches or floating in the lakes and harbors tracking loons, waves, or white sails across the horizon. I've thankfully had several visitors this past month, most of whom were experiencing Maine for the first time, and wallowing in the wonders of Maine "vacationland." I've heard words and phrases like "Eden," "amazing," etc.

It's a little hard to descirbe what it feels like from the 'inside' looking out. Summer does have it's blissful moments, and it's great to share them with folks who head up Route 1 to see what all the fuss is about - and are lucky enough to grab one or a few of the peak summer days here. The local fish market has a phrase - "Summer people, some are not." You get really possessive about the magic that is summer in Maine, and just a little resentful I guess, about those who come and take it in while you might be working..... Vacationland takes on a differenet ring if you're the one working when others are vacationing. But underneath, you know that you get all of the days....good, bad, foggy, rainy, sunny, white light and impenetrable gray. You get lobster whenever you want, ruggedly independent neighbors, and more lakes, streams, mountains, and oceanfront than you can navigate in a lifetime.

The summer is one unending festival. Blues Festival, Lobster Festival, Boats homes & Harbors festival, country fairs, boat races of all dimensions. The tourists come, wallow, wonder, and leave again. Maine vacationland. It's a great place to live, share, and presumably, just be after it all moves to another dimension. I've not yet made it past the first season. Yet somehow, I'm wishing I had chosen one of the other license plates. Save the children, whales, working water front, loons, lobsters........... or just plain 'the way life should be.' Now that it's home, and I'm a residential working stiff.....anything, but "vacationland."

PS I AM grateful to all of you that have come to visit!! (and supported the local economy!!!....:) and as they say in the south.....Y'all come back now!

40 Days & 40 Nights

Ok, this one is for those of you who purport to be jealous of my new found Nirvana. Every silver lining has a cloud ---- or a month of them. It is now the rainiest month on record for Maine. Over 12 inches in the midcoast. The roses and peonies are drooping and exhausted. The tomatoes and basil are limping toward the hope of sunshine. Other plantings are of course loving the rain forest effects, thriving and soaring. The good news? My basement is dry(!!!) and the vapor barrier that I laid down last week over my dirt/gravel floor seems to be helping hold down moisture. The patience of all is tested. The newspaper talks about foot long leopard slugs, the seeds in my birdfeeder are all sprouting, all the doors and windows are swollen and sticking. The Department of Marine Resources closed the entire Maine coast to shellfishing because the heavy rains are flushing contaminants into near-shore waters and the red-tide phytoplankton is surging. It is hard to tell when it is misting or just heavy fogging. The rains are more obvious. Late last night, to cap this month of rain, we had a severe thunderstorm. No stranger to thunderstorms in Virginia - when extreme heat and shifting fronts regularly erupt in thunder and lightening and downpours, this one followed but another cool and misty day, and was a more unusual phenomenon - or maybe just the last straw. The dog was freaked by it, making me get out of bed to see if maybe the water was rushing into the house or something. Alas, all was well, and my dehumidifier along with my whole house air exchange system was cranking hard to do what it could to keep high humidity levels outside. I actually fell back asleep to a marvellous dream, and slept until 8:15 AM this morning - the latest since my arrival here 6 weeks ago. I am in no hurry for my morning walk today, but relish a big breakfast with the fresh farm eggs I bought from a coworker. I wonder if the hens' nests are molding.

I have a little creek (aka drainage ditch) in my backyard that surges and swells, soaking the hostas and bog plants that I have planted there. The neighborhood children (aka hoolilgans) have a history of riding their bikes through my yard and over my little bridge to the next street. Despite many 'requests' to not play in my yard, they returned yesterday, somehow not understanding the firm NO I had issued only minutes before. I imagine myself finally attaining the role of Cloris Leachman, the ageing eccentric who lives alone and shuns the world in the movie "Prancer" -screaming "my floribundae! my floribundae!" as they sail through her gardens on sleds. They plaintively tried to assure me that my yard was the ONLY place that they could play, the youngest adding that maybe they could LIVE there and have their own little brook. How cool would THAT be??? Bicycle mud tracks, strewn candy wrappers, my fire wood thrown into the brook and flooding my gardens. I try to assure them that they are very smart and strong children (thinking noisy, insolent, unbridled, audacious) and will surely find somewhere else to play. OK, this weather is not bringing out the best in any of us.......

On my eventual walk, I took these pictures, trying to capture the essence of sog. Accompany them, if you will, by the steady drone of foghorns and the sound of water rushing through the sewer lines as you pass the aging iron street drains. For a few flickering seconds, the sky seemed to lighten. Would the sun make a guest appearance.....today?? Tho the heavens were grey, I swear I saw my shadow. I turned around three times to see if I was only imagining. I wonder if anyone is looking. If I am experiencing the polar opposite of the desert mirage. I pull off my rain parka (one of 6 varying styles and warmth that hang now in my mud room). When it is humid and low 60s, it is hard to tell if your body is chill and damp or hot and clammy. Splashing through a puddle in my treasured early pea green rain galoshes that Corrina rejected as a gift too garish, I return home to treasure another day off, a good book, domestic projects, and a prayer that the sun WILL return.....one of these tomorrows.

icons

The things we carry....

My dear friend said, "You'll know you're home when you hang up the thumb." I spent a couple days searching for it in boxes, crumpled newspaper, suitcases. Could I have possibly just thrown it out?? Of all the things you pack and unpack......and find a place for in your heart and homes....what is really important?

Honestly, a part of me was ready to push it all off a cliff. There's a scene in the movie "Up" (a good one, if you haven't seen it) where the ageing Carl Fredericksen, who is flying his beloved house filled with memories via balloon power to Paradise Falls - destination of his long-dreamed great adventure - realizes that he can't take everything with him. So he just starts hurling everything out the door into the abyss. It's really liberating - or at least was from my current perspective. You kind of realize that it's not the things, but the memories and experiences that we collect that carry us onward.

But then there are all of these THINGS that remind us of the memories....and somehow anchor us in space and time. So.....I started thinking about what really IS important when we transition from one place to the next?? I decided to imagine moving with only a 12"x 12" box, and figure that you could reaccumulate anything else that you might need for the next journey. What would warm my heart and provide me with a sense of home - and familiar -when I put my feet up in a next place?

When I bought this house two years ago, I spent about 6 weeks in Virginia buying furniture and household on Craigslist and at thrift stores, loaded a truck, and Walla! instant house / home. Whoa. Cool. Every time I visited, I realized that I had everything I needed.....and nothing more. I loved the simple comfort of my 'vacation home.' Oh sure, I was always cruising thrift stores to find a garlic press or wine glasses, or funky funstuff. But gone was the usual clutter of my life on every surface. And I realized that you can easily shift from one pair of glasses to another. And at some point....you could just acquire one new whimsy when you were ready to shed another. Some things of course....are not easy to discard - hence the 12" box.

So here I am, striving to keep it simple, and cherish the treasures of my memories, my dreams......and the contents of the little box.

Transitions...

Everything about this transition has felt right, telling me that it is what I'm supposed to be doing.

Well, OK, the move WAS greuling, and I don't think I've been that tired in......ever. Corrina (who drove my car up from Virginia), and Tag (who rode shotgun with me in the rental truck) were both ready to kill me before the journey ended. Tag (now 14ish) sat bolt upright in total shell shock the whole first (approximately 14 hour) day, refusing to lay down or sleep. Which meant that he was blocking my right rearview mirror the entire time, forcing me to stay in the right lane, and hope to hell that any merging traffic was intimidated by a midlife woman and a rigid dog driving a Budget rental truck. I also managed to have a tire blow out that day - really FUN! Did catch up with a good friend for coffee and dinner. And by the time we stopped at a hotel that would take the dog, because there was no way we were making Corrina's apartment in New York, she was yelling at me to get off the road and stop hitting things! (apparently I had clipped off a little road sign backing out of a driveway and bumped into a few firmly immovable objects in the parking lot..) I suppose it's good to have sane and sensible children tell you when you're being irresponsible and reckless, but they could learn to do so more quietly and respectfully! By the second day, I figure out how to leash the dog and jerk him down when I needed to change lanes. When we reached the Maine state line, I was too tired to move another inch. Corrina was yelling at me about what we were doing, and I was trying to explain to her that this is why they call them "rest" areas, and that in fact all those truckers and people were actually trying to rest, which is what I intended to do. I rolled up my window and closed my eyes. Shortly she was pounding on my window telling me that she was going on to Rockland (about two hours ahead. The dog was near comatose by then, so I didn't have to worry about him giving me grief. In fact, I was starting to think....maybe I won't have to build that fence for him when we get there... After a little power nap, I decided to head up the road myself, with the glare and scrutiny of night road repair crews checking my sanity between long stretches of isolated Maine beauty - obscured by night and exhaustion. I arrived at the house about a half hour after Corrina, around 2AM. We fell like rocks into comfortable beds, in a vacation rental that had just become -home.
I can only tell that story and admit how stupid I was to subbornly tackle so much of the move myself......because we survived, recovered......and mostly because moving here feels so right.

Here and there

Morning, Maine, Midcoast

Where I am, wanted, wandered, and arrived. On planting roots...

Strange, when the strings of plans made weave together and finally form the tapestry of change anticipated. And then the exploration, the wondering, the musing about the change that has and is unfolding. The gardens of our life...

Three years ago the idea of buying a house in Maine was percolating. Almost 30 years settled in the Piedmont of Virginia - a place that everyone who knows, sighs and says, "Oh, it's beautiful there!" Beautiful springs, mild winters, abounding cultural and natural amenities. A community I had come to know, friends, coworkers, work that I loved. A community blessed and chided by a great and lofty university. Academic and intellectual conversations galore. But also pretentious, segregated, sometimes more pompous perhaps, than in fact, progressive. Yet supportive of great arts, talent, and in it's own sidestepping way, diversity and change. Charlottesville, Hookville, C'ville. I love it there, and especially the great friends I made and keep. And will always have a root there.

Midcoast Maine. Rockland in particular. Leaving Wisconsin about 35 years ago, I said, "I will never live in the north, or in a small town again." Hah! Never say never. Rockland - raw, simple, direct. Again, an area of great beauty. Rolling hills to the ocean. A shoreline peppered with quaint and unique towns and villages, offshore islands, sailboats, lobster boats, windjammers, and kayaks. More art than seems possible for such a remote corner. Lots of retired and retiring folks - some ageing well (boating, building, creating, biking, painting, gardening, walking.....) others not. Life is not easy here, or for the wimpy. Winters are long, summers divine and intense. And so, here I am, trying to make my way, make sense of my move, and the unfolding third act of my life.

It makes a lot of sense to seasonally drift between the two locations and homes - if one can somehow manage two houses 900 miles apart. Not exactly what they recommend in the real estate investment manuals. Tho that is the plan...for now. I can't imagine missing out on the unparalelled beauty of springtime in Virginia. When snow turns slowly to mud in Maine, and the dogwoods and Azaleas are blooming down south. But my ageing bones started to reject the long hot and humid summers there. Already my energy is adjusting. It is June, the days are very long, and it is still springtime here. My tulips were blooming when I arrived mid May, and lasted a month! My kitchen garden is now planted in the raised beds off my deck, and the thought of picking fresh salads and veggies just off my deck through the summer - when the cicadae chorus is blaring and leading the insect orchestra in Virginia. Oh, they do of course have bugs here. The infamous black flies are reportedly subsiding, tho I haven't seen a one. I live a couple blocks from the ocean, and they don't lite here. There are of course mosquitoes. May even be the state bird for the size of them. But oh the lilacs!! Most of them bloom for Memorial Day weekend, and are now fading. But there is a Korean dwarf variety that blooms a couple weeks later, and they're now permeating the air - around the two planted at my stoop steps, and in the 40 yard long row of them edging the harbor on my morning walk. Simply intoxicating. The lupines are also peaking now. The fields are laced with them as you drive up and down the coast or into the hills. I am having a hard time staying away from the plethora of amazing garden centers that also abound. The season is so intense (and ultimately short, I suppose) that you can almost hear things growing. I love that you can grow rhododendrons, azaleas, weeping cherries.......favorites from Virginia springtimes.....but also delphiniums, beach roses, lilacs, and of course lupines.

And so the seasons, like the locales, are pretty nicely spaced for drifting between. If my work were as portable as I wish, I'd be quite content to shift north and south from Maine to Virginia - maybe with Februarys spent somewhere father south -like Costa Rica, Thailand, or Ecuador. But before I start shifting my horizons (I just got here!!) I know that I am very lucky to just be here.......and there.

My hands are dirty, my muscles aching and more toned from the digging, building raised beds and fences, my dreams stretched, and my heart is happy.

Planting new gardens.