We shoed Twitchell Pond last week, from the cove where a short fall turns the water white with stream leading away southward. Rounding the shore we saw the great ledge soaring over the pond. I’ve written of this ledge in MAINE METAPHOR—means a lot to me. I wrote in the book about being unable to climb, to ascend this ledge, looking to loons to see how they could be do such a feat, because loons are heavy, their flight cumbersome. One gigantic cleft of the ledge splits its face.
Here is Jasper Mary telling how God spoke the mountains of Western Maine into being.
In Maine life and in books, I love the big house full of people, or a small town community, a neighborhood full of people. Or it might be a school. In books I’m immersed in the familial, communal life of characters. When you get enough people together there’s always something going on. Character interiority, while refreshingly necessary, is but one aspect of fictive or nonfiction communal life. Community roles are important to me in creating characters and place. Every bunch is different, and its culture, whether familiar or unique, is lived out in these roles and made live.