Scattering of notes from our trip to Ohio, Maine
The land here is like Ohio, deeply rolling, like an ocean, green, standing still. Rural Ohio in the Eastern Uplands of Maine. There is a difference, however. That would be Katahdin in the distance, beyond the woods. The greatest Mountain, risen, in the state of Maine.
Boom!! A swift fierce storm on our arrival. We stay on Mountain Glory Farm.
The Amish are here, very quietly. This is an Ohio view from the back weathered deck of an old farmhouse converted to apartments, a duplex, north and south by name. There across the pasturage are rear ends of the black-and-white milkers through trees beyond the meadow. Maybe they are eating apples. Wild apple forest, thick. Thick. The tails do flicker.
Bike in Patten yesterday after burgers at the clam shack (I know). Surprising, the traffic of small rural communities. More so where we live in the mountains. We came home to walk the Farm loop path and saw the great ghost of Katahdin upon reaching the owner’s lawn, great meadow beside her house. As she first saw the greatest Mountain on her visit to the woods. Snowmobiling.
Bike Wildflower Lane—the Farm loop reverse after breaky we make in “our” kitchen.
Post Meridian. Drove to Island Falls. Some kind of community ‘do ongoing. Wanted to bike but it was too hot.
R. spies a monarch butterfly from the deck — he says the fifth-generation it is, time to return to Mexico this autumn. He likes milkweed for these butterflies.
The breeze picks up, clouding across the vast Ohio-Maine sky. Yesterday power was out from a lightning strike nearby—but the village was out as well. We discovered on our bike ride later, listening to the in-home portable generators (outside).
R. goes off with his Sony digital camera to picture the great brown draft horse. We saw it early a.m. on our dewy walk — between two close-grown tall, shading but thin-stemmed apple trees. Picturesque.
On our return from our Island Falls outing, just a bit ago, a very young Amish boy waved gladly, and called “hi!”, hoping for our glad return. Twice! It was fun and joyful. Especially on his part, and I can but linger over it, hopeful. Children learn a dialect of German, then English as they mature. Clouding more. Now still. Very quiet here now a dirt bike (I think) just went past.
He got it!! The picture he wanted this morning! He went and stood just beyond the trees, and the draft horse, curious, came over and took his place as hoped! The sun is back, the clouds drift apart and whiten. Fat dark bottoms, still, drifting peaceably. The power will stay on? Now the breeze is back, the leafy shadow-shaking, real leaves a’rustle.
The bumbley bees have been so busy about the unnamed flowering ground cover, hundreds, hundreds. They are small colorful many handed acrobats over these pale gray blossoms, fluffy cumulus of leafy flowering.
Monday, August 3, 2015 Mountain Glory Farm, 4:15 a.m..
In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
And God said, that there be Light!
The same was in the beginning with God.
But there is Katahdin over there, as I write later in the p.m. out on the deck in great warm dry wind. Voluminous! Papers from our day’s travels blowing away. The great mountain rises ghostlike or solid depending on the weather, its weather—amid these rolling Ohio hills. Greatest Mountain in Maine, terminus of the Appalachian Trail.
We planned to go to Smyrna after Island Falls, and then Houlton. These are in Aroostook County. The County, next to Penobscot County and the village of Patten. On to Houlton for the refresher—the look of the town. Is it different from that showing 25 years ago? Houlton Pioneer Times newspaper, two articles, front page. Two Maine towns are disbanding.