saturdays in the western mountains of maine

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setting up on the common

 

Almost every Saturday in the Western Mountains of Maine we find a festival. Every town, and has its special doings, drawing summer people and locals together to celebrate. Last week in our Town it was the Art Fair. Every year it expands, this year into surrounding venues near the village center—which were not yet open when we biked early morning to watch the Common ready itself for delicious handmade work (in both metaphor and real taste).

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by louise dickinson rich: we took to the woods

richardson lake map (2)

We are askew. There’s a lot going on, caring for an injured relative in a smallish log cabin on-the-grid. Daily life looks different. So right now, in snatches, I’m reading Louise Dickinson Rich‘s We Took to the Woods, one of my favorite Maine books. This is a good book, and it’s marked, plenty of marginalia from previous readings. Here’s my note on the title page, in pencil: “see p. 131-32 for the heart of it — what she has to say about their life in the woods.” I haven’t looked at that yet for this blogging. I began reading all over again this time from the beginning where she describes how she came to the woods 20 years before, one teacher among a group of such hikers (along with a guide). And how she came to write the book in 1942, living off-the-grid.

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Canada, Maine

 

Screen Shot 2016-06-14 at 8.59.24 AM

It’s late and silent, up here above the little village in our town. The parade, with its historical legacy of our town’s founding, passed by many hours ago in bright morning. Our neighbors have all gone, the few houses of my little neighborhood are empty and dark down below. Everyone’s gone to a fireworks display in the next town, and Boots—the old dog—and I are winding up Deer Hill Road. On the flat up there in the dark I, too, might see the fireworks.

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danger: local humor

Hardy

The 302 Tavern greeter

 

Contrary to appearances, this post will likely not make me laugh. I apologize to myself for this. Sadly, I could use some laughter right now, but am uncertain how to order it up. Especially without pen in hand. Certainly reading Surprised by Laughter by author Terry Lindvall does not bring it on. I know—gruesome, is it not? I guess, like any old Mainer, I will have to make do with whatever comes to hand, even laughter’s opposite. (What would that be?) Notice, I did not say I was an old Mainer. Old, however, yes.

one form of dictation

penless. one form of dictation

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Pennacook Falls

 

s. and tree shadow

We are both shadows of our former selves.

 

This is a (twin) town of several lived in on our Maine adventure, this one suggested as a possibility for us. We lived first in Mexico, Maine. (Yes!) Beside this town where jobs might conceivably be found to support our household should one appear. A household did in fact appear.

Here I am with my gnarly friend.  Can you tell which is me, and which the tree?

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Every Relationship

Here in Maine I have a friend. One of the best young people I know. She works in publishing, but oddly is not a great proofreader. She’s working on a mysterious fantasy I can’t wait to read, but, like a troublesome aunt, I have resisted to wait for the finished draft. I’m doing the same thing for my brother’s second book. It’s the only form of encouragement I can offer now, but think it will achieve results. We shall see.

Maybe she’s one of the best people I know because she is wise. Because she is loving and kind, and is patient to surmount difficulties. I just read one of her brilliant wise blog posts, and wanted to share with you. Jennifer Grace is her name. She blogged this back in early March, but I did not see it in part because, trivially, I was sacrificing for Lent: blog-reading and nuts (yum!).

Seven Truths that Make Their Way Into Every Relationship

And here is another at dreamingwithopeneyes

 

Andrea Lundgren

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