The Time has come…

After ten years, the time has come to say farewell to Notes from the Hinterland. This was not an easy decision as this is a wonderful community, and I have made friends near and far. I have even been fortunate enough to meet a few blogging friends in person, and what a pleasure that has been.

But as I approach seventy turns around the sun, I am keenly aware that I have more years behind me than I do ahead of me. And with the passing of those years has come a reduction in energy. Cleaning house, cooking, gardening, reading, and fiction writing absorb most of my time. Back in the day, I could whip through all these activities and have energy to spare. But no longer. Now I have to choose.

Fiction is my first love, and for sixty years—since third grade—that love hasn’t diminished. (I think of nonfiction writing as a beloved cousin.) This fall, my fifth novel, Darcy Dansereau, will be published, and I am already working on a sixth, Iris Starmoss: Elf Detective. I have many more ideas for future novels, probably more than I will ever get a chance to write. But I’m going to make a stab at it, and fiction writing is where I want my writing energy to go.

So farewell, Notes from the Hinterland. It’s been a great run, and blog writing has brought me a lot of joy. From time to time, I’ll pop into readers’ blogs and leave a comment, but it won’t be on a regular schedule.

For those who want to stay in touch, there are two easy ways: on Facebook (Laurie Graves) and on Bluesky (lauriegraves). On Facebook, I am already friends with several blogging friends, and I enjoy the brief snippets they share about their lives.

I’ll end with a couple of photos of our backyard on the edge of the woods. Winter has come, and with it the beautiful light that this cold season brings.

Again, farewell!

 

When Pigs Fly and a Blogging Break

On Saturday, Dee, Clif, and I piled into our EV and headed south to Kittery, the banana belt of Maine, as we like to call it. The occasion? Dee’s birthday. Shannon and Mike, who live in Massachusetts, joined us for a meal at a restaurant called When Pigs Fly. Pizza baked in a wood-fired oven is one of their specialties, and Dee is a pizza hound extraordinaire.

But first we had appetizers and drinks: a pumpkin martini for Dee, a beer for Clif, and iced tea for me. (Shannon and Mike were stuck in traffic and joined us later. Ah, Boston!) The fries and the pretzel sticks were mighty tasty.

When Shannon and Mike joined us, we had a nice little feast.

Pizza for the birthday girl and Clif,

soup and sandwiches for Shannon and Mike,

and tangy sweet and sour tofu for me. It was so good that I could have some right now.

Was there room for dessert? Yes, Indeed. The birthday girl and Shannon had ice cream, and Clif had a brownie sundae. However, I only had eyes for one thing —an order of cannoli that Mike and I shared.

The cannoli were everything they should be: crisp and sweet but not too sweet. Mike and I agreed that a soggy cannoli is a crime against nature and should not be allowed.

I had been to When Pigs Fly before and knew how crowded it could get. When Clif, Dee, and I arrived at 11:30, there were plenty of seats. By the time we left around 2:00, not only was the place packed, but there was also a waiting line.

So off we went to Starbucks for tea, coffee, and presents. None of us are huge Starbucks fans, but it was nearby, and we don’t know the area all that well.

That might change. The Kittery/York/Kennebunk area is a good halfway point for us to meet, and we plan on getting together once a month or so, even when there isn’t a birthday to celebrate.

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It is time for another blogging break.

I have finished writing my children’s novel, Darcy Dansereau, a slice-of-life fantasy set in Waterville, Maine, in the 1970s. Some readers might recall The Dog Angel, a short story I wrote a few Christmases ago and shared online for free. In The Dog Angel, Darcy and her mother, Janine, were kicked out of their apartment because Janine had hurt herself while cleaning houses and couldn’t pay the rent. Help comes to them from an unexpected source that changes Darcy’s and Janine’s lives.

In Darcy Dansereau, I have expanded The Dog Angel to a longer story, where Darcy not only encounters more magic but must also deal with the prejudice that comes from being poor and belonging to a second-class ethnic group.

The story is written. Now it is time for editing — picky, time-consuming work that takes all of my little brain cells. Hence the need for a break.

I’m not sure how long the break will be, but I think it will be at least a month, perhaps a little longer.

I’ll catch you all on the flip side!

 

 

 

Introducing Résonance, A Franco-American Literary Journal

Along with writing novels and pieces for my blog, I am an assistant editor for Résonance, which as the title of this piece indicates, is a Franco-American Literary Journal.

For readers unfamiliar with Franco-Americans, here is a brief history: from the mid-1800s to the 1930s, there was a huge migration—almost a million from Québec— of French Canadians to the United States. They came to farm and to work in the factories and forests and settled primarily in New England. On my mother’s side, my great-great grandparents, Prudent and Demerise Jacques, bought land in northern Maine and grew potatoes.

Many of the French Canadian immigrants were dark haired and had olive complexions. They all spoke French—indeed French was my mother’s first language—and by and large, they were Catholic. In short, they were foreigners and were looked upon with hostility by the dominant Yankee culture in New England. One newspaper described Franco-Americans as “a distinct alien race.”

In Maine in 1919, a law was passed outlawing French in public schools except during formal language classes. In the 1920s, the Ku Klux Klan was a huge presence in Maine, and they marched against the Franco-Americans.

It wasn’t until 1960 that the 1919 law was repealed, and by then the damage had been done. Franco-Amercians had effectively been silenced, forced to abandon French so that their children wouldn’t be punished at school. A Franco acquaintance, who was caught speaking French on the playground, told me how she had to stay after school and write “I will not speak French at school”  on the chalkboard. Until the day my mother died, she maintained that she spoke “bad French.”

This silence extended to other areas of life. For the most part, Franco-Americans kept their heads down and worked hard, very hard, and were perhaps too passive, as one elder Franco-American put it. Outside of family circles, stories were seldom told. We were dubbed “The Quiet Presence,” a source of ridicule and jokes about how stupid we were. (Unfortunately, I have heard more than my fair share of dumb Frenchmen jokes.)

Then came my generation. We were sick of being quiet, of keeping our heads down, of feeling as though we were congenitally stupid. We have organized into groups celebrating our heritage, sometimes through performances. Slowly, slowly, books, articles, poetry, and essays have been written.

And under the auspices of the University of Maine at Orono, we have our very own journal, Résonance, which features “creative works by established and emerging writers, primarily by and/or about the Franco-American communities of the United States.” The newest issue, Volume 7, has just been published.

I help edit the creative non-fiction pieces. In this volume, there are a variety of essays, ranging from an account of the author’s ancestor arriving in Canada in 1662 to a humorous piece about a mouchoir (a handkerchief) to a reflection of nature and trauma to a reckoning of how French is spoken in Maine rather than in France.

In addition, there is artwork, poetry, fiction, and an interview with Susan Poulin, a Franco-American performer. If you have time, I hope you will check out Volume 7 of Résonance.

And for readers interested in submitting pieces to the journal, please check out the guidelines.

As we would say in French, à bientôt!

Some Good Things…

Readers must surely know that right now in the United States there is a constant fire hose of bad news that is covered, quite rightly, by various forms of media. No point in denying this bad news, and being somewhat of a news junky, I pay close attention.

But at least in my personal life, there are many good things happening too, and I hold on to them the way a person falling overboard might cling to a tossed life preserver ring. The good things help keep me afloat.

First and foremost, October in Maine. October in Maine is so glorious that it never fails to fill me with joy—that slant of sunlight reflected from the golden leaves; the deep blue sky made brilliant by the lack of humidity; the bursts of orange and red; the nutty smell of fallen leaves. I could go on and on singing the praises of October. And even this year, when the drought has muted the color of the changing leaves, it is still a wonderful month.

Here are pictures taken last week from my backyard.

A flash of red in the nearby woods,

yellow leaves against blue sky,

and the view from the patio.

Then there are the new cats, who despite their pesty ways with plants they shouldn’t be nibbling on, are bringing us so much joy and laughter.

Kai chilling on the cat tree
Little Fern helping me with my upcoming novel, Darcy Dansereau

 

Finally, there is another reason why October is such a special month for us: our eldest daughter Dee was born the end of October. We will be celebrating her birthday next Saturday with a trip to southern Maine, where we will meet our daughter Shannon and Mike. But that will be a story for next Monday.

 

 

 

 

 

Another Birthday Treat: Tea at Lady Mary Inn in North Berwick

For my birthday, which was in September, Shannon and Mike treated me to afternoon tea at the Lady Mary Inn in North Berwick. October 11 was the date everyone settled on, thus continuing our family tradition of celebrating often. Mike is not exactly into tea—coffee and beer are more his thing—so he and Clif went to a local brewery, while Shannon, Dee, and I had afternoon tea.

The inn is nothing short of spectacular. I pegged it as a huge Victorian house—the largest I have ever seen—but its official description, taken from their website, is Queen Anne-Eastlake Victorian style. That’s a new one for me. Whatever its architectural style, I think we can all agree that this is some house.

As the link in the first paragraph of this piece takes readers to a history of the Lady Mary Inn, I’ll just give a brief description, again copied from their website. “Mary R. Hurd was born in 1839, daughter of William Hill, a member of the large Quaker population of the area and founder of the North Berwick Woolen Mill. Upon her father’s death in 1873, she inherited the mill. This determined woman took over the administration of the mill, an astonishing task for a woman of her era….It was at the time of her second marriage that she built the great Queen Anne house on a hill at the prominent intersection overlooking the mill.”

Those Quaker industrialists apparently knew how to get things done. We had one in Winthrop, too—Charles M. Bailey, who was an oil cloth manufacturer and donated money for the construction of the town’s library in 1916.

But back to tea. Dee, Shannon, and I all had our own pot of tea—I order the Lady Mary Grey, a floral black tea. Then came tomato soup and little sandwiches—curried chickpea, toasted cheese, tomato, and cream cheese.

Next came scones.

And finally dessert, complete with a little candle in honor of my birthday. Yes, I made a wish when I blew out the candle.

Afterward, we all felt perfectly full but not stuffed, which is a nice way to feel.

Finally, here’s a picture of the room across from where we had tea.

Not only was the food tasty, but the service was also exactly the way I like it—attentive, friendly, relaxed, and unpretentious.

If you live within driving distance of North Berwick, and like tea, little sandwiches, scones, and sweets, and are in the mood to treat either yourself or someone special, then afternoon tea at the Lady Mary Inn is the perfect outing.

Many thanks Mike and Shannon!

 

One Heck of a Week with a Happy Caturday Ending

Last week was one of those weeks—nothing serious, thank goodness, but with some decidedly unpleasant moments.  We all have them, I know, and mine involved a trip to the dentist. I expect I could stop right here, and most readers would be able to sympathize. I won’t go into graphic details except to note I had a very difficult extraction that left me with a swollen face and an aching jaw. (Three more teeth to go, and then I’ll have an upper plate.)

To add to the fun, I had a Covid vaccine on Thursday. I was expecting a blah day on Friday, but my jaw was still bothering me so much that it masked whatever effect I might have had from the vaccine. I guess that comes under the category of “it’s an ill wind that blows no good.”

However the week ended on a much happier note: on Saturday, Dee adopted two cats from the Greater Androscoggin Humane Society. They are two years old, brother and sister, and obviously part Maine coon cat. The large one is the male, and Dee has named him Kai. The smaller one is his sister, and Dee has called her Fern.

Fern and Kai checking out the Narrows Pond Road.

 

Two sweeter cats you will never find, and Dee asked, “How could anyone give them up?”

“You don’t know the story,” I said. “So you can’t know the reason.”

But boy did we luck out with these two love bugs, who cuddle and purr on our laps. We were supposed to keep them isolated in a room for two weeks, but on the first day, Kai staged an escape, his sister followed, and that was that. They immediately became part of the household.

Dee, a cat whisperer, is in her element. Although Fern and Kai have bonded with all of us, Dee is the clear favorite. When a scary delivery truck pulled into our driveway, Fern bolted and hid under Dee’s bed until it was safe to come out.

The Humane Shelter can be a sad place with so many animals in cages waiting for a home, but it can also be a joyous place. As I was waiting for Dee to fill out the adoption paperwork, a mother with two adorable daughters came in looking for a small dog to take home.

“Come with me,” said one of the staff, and he led them to a room out back. I couldn’t see what happened next, but I sure could hear.

“Oh,” the little girls cried in piping voices, “you are so cute! You are so cute!”

I heard joyous barking, and I could imagine the scramble of paws as the little dog danced in the glow of their affection.

The man came out, leaving the mother and daughters alone with the dog, and we smiled at each other. I had tears in my eyes as I listened to the continuing happy commotion.

Sometimes, every once in a while, sad stories have a happy ending, and there were at least two that day at the Humane Society.

Lovely Fern on the sofa

 

 

The Joy of Blogging Friends

Last Thursday, on a very rainy day (much needed!), I took the Bolt and headed south to York, Maine, about 95 miles away from our home. My destination was the café at Stonewall Kitchen. The Bolt, our new EV,  was fully charged, with 240 miles as its estimated range, but it could be more, or it could be less, depending on how I drove. Would I be able to make it there and back again on a single charge? Only time would tell.

A trip that far, even with an EV, needs more than a café with delicious food to entice me. And so there was. The café was a meeting point to get together with two blogging friends—Judy from New England Garden and Thread and Dot from The New Vintage Kitchen. Meeting with them for lunch was more than worth the nearly four-hour round-trip drive. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Long-time readers might remember that I have been getting together with Judy in June for the past few years. We have become friends in person as well as through our blogs. We are both blogging friends with Dot, and we wondered how the three of us might be able to get together. Dot lives in Vermont, and Judy and I were trying to figure out if there was a half-way spot where we could all meet for lunch.

However, Dot solved that problem by coming to stay in Maine for a couple of days, where she could easily drive to the Stonewall Kitchen Café for lunch. As Dot has noted in a recent post, we all felt as though we had known each other for years. So true! As we ate our tasty lunch, we chatted like old friends, and the conversation just flowed from one topic to the other, from jury duty to food to gardening to television shows to family. What an absolute delight!

We hope to meet again next year, perhaps in Vermont if the stars are aligned. Plans are afoot!

From the left: Judy, Dot, and moi

After four hours of wonderful camaraderie, it was time to head home in the Bolt. Would I have enough power to get home? Or would I have to stop in Kennebunk for a charge?

Readers, I am happy to report that the Bolt made it home without needing a charge. I even had twenty-five miles or so leftover. I was pretty darned pleased.

Getting together with blogging friends is such a joy. Blogging friends, if any of  you come to Maine, or even New Hampshire, please let me know if you have time for a meet-up. I have no problem driving two or two and a half hours for a get together. Over the years, I have met some wonderful bloggers, and I hope to meet more of you in the years to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jury Duty: The Importance of Technology

Last week I was on jury duty, and what a week it was, both riveting and emotionally draining. The case involved a man in his late thirties who was accused of Gross Sexual Assault and Unlawful Sexual Contact with an eleven-year-old boy.

Right from the start, the evidence was against the defendant. On the first day of jury duty, we saw a video taken by a police officer—who was wearing a bodycam—when he went to the defendant’s home to collect his phone. As soon as the defendant, who was outside, saw the policeman get out of the cruiser, the defendant booked it inside. Then, the defendant made the police officer wait outside for five minutes before letting him in.  After which, the defendant proceeded to tell lie after lie about how he didn’t have his phone and couldn’t remember the number. When the police officer informed the defendant that his home would be torn apart if he didn’t produce the phone, the defendant finally took the police to where the phone was hidden, in a vent in the bedroom.

The second video we saw was filmed the day after the alleged assault when a councilor at a local sexual assault unit interviewed the boy. I will not go into any details except to say the boy looked as though he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He wore sneakers with Velcro straps, and during a particularly tense part of the conversation, the boy ripped the straps back and forth, back and forth. I want to add that the councilor was very respectful and kind, using different approaches to put the boy at ease.

The third compelling piece of evidence came from DNA testing and the testimony of forensic experts. The morning after the alleged assault, the boy told his mother what had happened, and fortunately there had been no shower to wash the evidence away. The mother immediately brought the boy to the local sexual assault unit, where DNA swabs were taken, and the boy was interviewed. Only two DNA profiles were found under the clothes on the boy’s body, his own and the defendant’s.

The defense lawyer brought in his own forensic expert, who maintained that DNA could travel in many ways from person to person, with sneezing being a prime example. This would turn out to be the defense lawyer’s main argument, that his client’s DNA profile under the clothes on the boy’s body could have come from anywhere.

When all the evidence had been presented, when all the witnesses had been called, and the closing arguments made, the jurors went to the jury room, and it was the court’s turn to wait for us.

As it turned out, the court only had to wait for a little under an hour. We discussed all the evidence presented and the various testimonies, including what we had seen in the videos. It didn’t take us long to agree that the defendant’s DNA profile under the boy’s clothes didn’t get there by way of sneezing or through any other route that DNA might take. We found the defendant guilty of both Gross Sexual Assault and Unlawful Sexual Contact.

This, of course, is an abbreviated version of what happened in court. Out of respect for both the boy and my readers, I have avoided using the upsetting language that I heard. I expect you will be able to read between the lines.

In conclusion: I was so impressed with the judge, who was cool and even during the whole trial;  with the passionate prosecuting lawyer, whom one juror described as a pit bull; with the defense lawyer, who had a thankless job; and with my fellow jurors, who listened intently  and closely to both sides. We took our job seriously. Finally, I was also impressed with the way that technology was used as evidence by the prosecution. The DNA profiles and the videos made the picture much clearer.

Next week, I will return to more pleasant subjects—Clif’s birthday, fall coming to Maine. But as my jury duty indicated, life is not always rosy in the hinterlands, where people commit serious crimes, just the way they do anywhere else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fall Flurry

September is shaping up to be quite the month. There are two birthdays—mine and Clif’s—and while our celebrations are simple, they are always so much fun. My birthday is next Monday, and Dee, Clif and l will all be playing hooky, taking time off from work, having lunch at a local noodle shop—how I love noodles—going to a movie (surprise, surprise!) and depending on the weather, enjoying tea and cookies by the Kennebec River. Finally, ice cream on the way home. Phew, sounds like quite the day. Clif’s birthday is at the end of the month, and of course the birthday boy will get to pick his birthday outings.

Between my birthday and Clif’s, Shannon, Mike, and their dog Holly will be joining us for more birthday brouhaha. Our philosophy has always been: celebrate early, celebrate often.

At the end of the month, I will be getting together with two lovely blogging friends—Judy from New England and Thread and Dot from The New Vintage Kitchen. What a treat that will be! We will be meeting at Stonewall Kitchen in York, which is about a 200 mile round trip from my home. That will give our EV Bolt a good workout. Will I be able to get there and back again without stopping at the Kennebunk Travel Plaza to charge the Bolt? I’m thinking I will, but stay tuned.

Speaking of the Bolt…how I have come to love our zippy little car. I’ve gone here and there locally, and what a pleasure it is to drive the Bolt. Best of all, we charge the car from home and therefore never have to go to a gas station. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don’t miss that smelly experience. Not one bit. The final cherry on the sundae? It costs half as much to charge the Bolt as it did to put gas in our Honda Fit.

On a more serious matter, I was chosen for jury duty, and the trial will be held on September 16, 17, and 18. I found the jury selection process fascinating, and I was so moved by the judge’s ending speech to us, where she reminded everyone that the defendant is innocent until proven guilty, that we need listen closely to the evidence and keep an open mind. This I will make every effort to do. After the trial and verdict, I’ll write more about my experience.

Finally, after some testing of the camera on my phone, Clif, Clif the computer guy has determined it is the hardware that’s at fault. Therefore, next month, when this phone is paid off, I will be getting a new one, and once more there will be pictures on my blog. I have only had this phone for three years, and, yes, it burns my biscuit that it stopped working the way it should so soon. We are not ones who replace things at the drop of a hat. We like to things to last.

But, to borrow from Tony Soprano, what are you gonna do?

Note: I will be taking the week of September 15th off from blogging. Between my birthday and the trial, I know I won’t be able to keep up with reading blogs and commenting. I will back on September 22.

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the ‘Ber Months!

Yesterday, my son-in-law noted that we have made it to the ‘ber months, his favorite time of year.

Mine, too. I don’t think I’m overstating the case by claiming that autumn in northern New England is spectacular. Blogging friends, if ever you want to visit Maine, this is the time to do so. While there are still plenty of tourists until mid-October, the summer frenzy is over, and the weather is usually delightful—warm days, cool nights, low humidity.

Then there are the changing leaves where, among others, the maple and beech trees are a burst of glory that lights up the landscape in even the smallest town. After such a dazzling display, November can seem like a somber month, but I like the modest russets and browns of the oaks, which hold on to their leaves longer.

This September is proving to be a busy time for me. I have been called for jury duty, and on Thursday, I will find out if I have been selected. If I am selected, I am not sure if I will be able to keep with reading other blogs and making comments. I might have to take some time off.

But I will keep you posted.

Note: As the lack of pictures indicates, I am still having trouble with the camera on my phone. I’m not sure what I am going to do about this. So for now, no photos. Sorry!

A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.