All posts by Clif Graves

Community

The Inch-By-Inch Garden at Winthrop Grade School

On the edge of the Winthrop Grade School, on a piece of land that gets full sun, is the Inch-By-Inch Garden, a little patch started four years ago by Karen Toothaker, Margy Burns Knight, and Tom Sturtevant. As I ride my bike, I pass the garden nearly every day, and I have watched the garden expand over the years.

“The first year, the seventh graders planted radishes and lettuce,” Margy told me. “And this year we have beans, tomatoes, basil, garlic, and sunflowers. We told the children that we’ll get beans if there is no frost.”

A very good lesson on the vagaries of Mother Nature.

Margy gives garden talks to some of the grade school classes, and “the whole garden revolves around literature” as she finds books about various aspects of gardening for the children to read. Margy hopes to add flowering bulbs and blueberry bushes, the latter, of course, being a perfect match with Robert McCloskey’s Blueberries for Sal. Kuplink, Kuplank, Kuplunk.

Steve, Margy’s husband, has a worm farm in their basement, and he gave a show-and-tell worm farm talk to some very enthusiastic second graders, who were apparently thrilled by the worms.

Various members of the community have tended the garden in the summer, when school is not in session. Weeks were allotted, weeding and watering were done, and the garden has thrived.

“Next year, we’ll put in 5 more rows,” Margy said. “Inch-By-Inch. The name of our garden comes from a Dave Mallet song.”

I’ve come to love this little garden, modest but getting bigger each season. May it continue to grow and flourish.

Beans in the Inch-By-Inch Garden

 

 

News

30 at 55

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The Kennebec River, not mighty but still beautiful

Last Saturday was my birthday, and to celebrate, my husband, Clif, and I decided to go on a long bike ride, from Hallowell to Richmond and then back again. Round trip, it was about 30 miles.

The day started out gray and there were even a few sprinkles, but by noon the sky had cleared, the sun was out, and the temperature—about 70 degrees—was perfect for bike riding. Clif loaded the bikes in the car, and we headed to Hallowell to pick up the rail trail, which would take us as far as Gardiner, about 5 miles away.

Clif and me, at the beginning of our ride

The rail trail was sheer bliss. What a relief it was to be able to ride on a route where we didn’t have to worry about the cars. All through Maine, I wish there were many trails like the rail trail . True, we had to watch out for pedestrians, but that was not a problem at all. We duly slowed down when we approached pedestrians, and we let them know we were going by on their left.

On the rail trail, we crunched over dry leaves—a reminder that fall has arrived—and to our left, the Kennebec River shimmered in the bright sunlight. Narrow and placid, at least in central Maine, the Kennebec River cannot be called mighty, but it is beautiful, and we would follow the river all the way to Richmond. What is it about water that draws us so? Mountains might have grandeur and deserts their stark beauty, but some elemental part of us seems to respond to water, to love it, to want to be near it.

We stopped in Gardiner—the end of the rail trail—for lunch and had peanut butter sandwiches, Goldfish crackers, and a cookie. Clif and I discussed how the DOT (Department of Transportation) should not essentially be the DOC (Department of Cars), that it should include and accommodate various modes of transportation—from bikes to trains to walking. And while there is plenty of room for improvement, it was heartening to see new sidewalks in Farmingdale, on busy Route 201, going right into Gardiner. So progress has been made, but as is so often the case, it is slow and uneven. (I’m thinking of my terror rides up Pelton Hill, where there are no bike lanes, and the traffic zooms by at 50 miles an hour. “Terror” is not too strong a word to use.)

Lunch on the rail trail

From there, we rode through town to South Gardiner, which with its flat roads and paved breakdown lanes, is another biker’s delight. We left the main road twice to go on two quiet side routes that followed the river and, as a bonus, bypassed two huge hills. We rode past broad fields and plenty of pointed firs. One dog, a border collie, rushed at us, but he didn’t leave his yard, and as Clif put it, “He’s all bark.” Our kind of dog. A little farther on, another dog, a huge Newfoundland, watched serenely as we rode by, and we didn’t hear as much as a soft yip.

A field along the way

Eventually we came to Richmond, which has a splendid little park complete with restrooms, a wonderful amenity when you are biking. We sat by the river and admired the view—Swan Island, an old metal bridge—and all too soon it was time to head back to Hallowell.

The view from the park in Richmond

We dawdled a bit along the way, until we realized that we were running a little late. We had arranged to meet our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike, at the Liberal Cup in Hallowell, and it was time to stop dawdling. Pedal, pedal, pedal back through South Gardiner, to Gardiner, and onto the rail trail. We were 15 minutes late, which is not too bad, and Shannon and Mike were waiting for us at the Cup.

Let’s just say that after a long bike ride, fish and chips and a cup of cheddar soup tasted pretty darned good, to borrow a phrase from Clif. Then, it was back to our house for cake, ice cream, and presents, which we had around the fire pit.

The title of this piece refers, of course, to the number of miles we rode and to my age. Both Clif and I are so pleased and grateful that we are able to ride this distance at our ages—Clif will soon be 61. Never for one minute do we take our health for granted. We know all too well that life is unpredictable and that bad luck can strike anyone. However, right now, we are both more than able to ride 30 miles on our bike in a day. And the best thing is that the very next day, we went on an 11-mile ride and felt just fine.

I can’t think of a better way to have celebrated my 55th birthday. Well, that’s not quite true. If only our daughter Dee could have joined us. Nevertheless, it was a splendid day.

Community, Environment, News

The Somerset Grist Mill

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On Saturday, September 8th, a misty morning, my husband, Clif, and I drove to Skowhegan, about an hour from where we live, to the grand opening of the Somerset Grist Mill, a $1.5 million dollar project that has been in the works for just three years. The road was shiny and dark, and as we went up and down hills, we rode past fields as bright a green in September as they were in June. This central Maine region, where the Kennebec River flows, is a fertile part of Maine. Also, once there were many mills in Skowhegan, mills where my grandparents worked, but most of the mills have closed—New Balance is the happy exception. So in a way, the Somerset Grist Mill combines two historical strengths of this region—the mills and agriculture.

Skowhegan, a county seat, has a reputation for being a depressed area, where many people receive state and federal aid. Yet in the parking lot next to the grist mill was a farmers’ market with 20 vendors or so, and business was brisk. In this market, I felt an energy and an exuberance that, if carried forward, could balance and perhaps even lessen the hard times of this mill town.

The grist mill, owned by business partners Amber Lambke and Michael Scholz, is in what was once the sprawling Somerset County Jail, which was built in 1897 and is in downtown Skowhegan, within walking distance of a cinema, a bakery, and other shops. Lambke and Scholz bought the jail for $65,000, and at the grand opening, we learned that the height of the jail was one of its chief features—gravity could be used to bring grain to the various machines.

The tour started at 10:00, and there must have been at least 100 people waiting by the wooden doors. In fact, there were so many of us that the group had to be split in half, and even then, it was still crowded. As with the farmers’ market, there was a feeling of energy and exuberance.

Before the tour, Lambke gave a brief history of the mill, of how the idea sprang from the 2007 Kneading Conference, held in Skowhegan at the end of July. There were no commercial grist mills in central Maine, and the feeling was that a grist mill would be a place that would bring bakers and wood-fired oven makers together with grain growers. Perhaps even more important, the grist mill would encourage the rebuilding of a grain-growing economy that was once so vital to this area.

In addition, the old county jail was big enough to house other businesses, ones that would be in keeping with the grist mill’s philosophy of the importance of local businesses and local economies. Already, there were a yarn shop, a pottery studio, a café, a place where people pick up their CSA deliveries, and the Tech Spot, where teenagers help older folks become more comfortable using computers.

Then the tour began, where we duly admired the various machines—most of them old and bought second hand but one of them brand new, made in Austria with such beautiful blond wood that it almost looked like a work of art. We learned that enough Maine farmers were growing various grains—wheat, oats, and rye, to name a few—that the mill would have no trouble remaining open during the winter.

The finished products will be sold at the grist mill as well as at various stores around the state. So Maine readers, keep your eyes open for flour and other grains that have been ground at the Somerset Grist Mill. Buy these products whenever you can. As I have noted in a previous piece, with climate change and its disruptions, Maine might once again become a breadbasket, and we can only be thankful that people such as Lambke and Scholz had the foresight to open a grist mill right now, in Skowhegan, Maine.

(Click on any of the pictures below to see the pictures as an onscreen slide show)

 

Food for the Soul, Recipes

Roasted leek and Tomato Soup by the Fire

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Yesterday, Clif bought a fire pit for our backyard. It’s something I’ve been wanting for a while. On our bike rides along Memorial Drive and the lake, we often see people grouped around fire pits as dusk comes and the temperature drops. Somehow, there is something so cozy and satisfying about sitting around a fire. I suppose it takes us back to our tribal days, when the fire was a source of heat, companionship, and sustenance. Do we have ancestral memories? I don’t know, but fire in a pit or in a fireplace or in a wood stove still has an irresistible pull.

Naturally, we wanted to use the fire pit immediately. For dinner that night, I had planned a roasted tomato soup and corn bread.

“How about if we eat soup and bread by the fire?” I asked Clif.

“Sounds good to me,” Clif replied, and we did just that.

In the morning, I roasted the tomatoes, as well as some leeks. When they were cool, I whirred them in the food processor and then stored the mixture in the refrigerator. When we got back from our afternoon bike ride, I chopped some garlic, sizzled it in a bit of oil, added the tomatoes and enough water for a nice consistency, and let it all simmer for 45 minutes or so. Then, a bit of milk to smooth the soup and a cup of small pasta to give it a little bulk.

As we slurped soup around the fire, I asked Clif, “What do you think?”

“Pretty darned good,” came the response. “Smooth and fresh tasting.”

The dog, in Sheltie fashion, circled the patio until the night came, at which point he settled down beside us by the fire. Dog and people by the fire. How primal is that? The night became chilly and damp, but the crickets sang their fall song. We stayed outside until the fire burned to embers, and then we reluctantly went inside.

Clif, with Liam behind him, by the fire

I expect sitting around the fire pit will be one of our favorite things to do this fall. Along with bike riding, of course.
[amd-zlrecipe-recipe:9]

Food for Thought, Nature

Late Summer

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Notes from the Hinterland

In New England, is there a time more bittersweet than late August or early September? Summer is not quite gone, and fall hasn’t really arrived. Often, the days are warm, but the nights are cool. The gardens are producing abundantly, and there is a glorious outburst of tomatoes, potatoes, squash, and corn. Dinner still revolves around fresh vegetables, and how sorry I will be when that is over. I love soup, but nothing can take the place of those succulent vegetables, picked just hours before they are eaten.

The humming birds are still here, but I know they will be gone in the next week or so. I am always amazed to think about how these ethereal creatures can migrate so far. Such strength, despite its diminutive size.

My gardens always look their best in July and are more than a little ragged this time of year. But, the coleus look fine, and they will for another month or so, until the frost nips them. And the orange cat always looks fine as he stretches out by the coleus.

September. A time of endings and beginnings. Beautiful but a little sad.

News

Labor Day 2012

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Notes from the Hinterland

Labor Day was surely one of the most beautiful days of the season, which is edging from summer to fall. The day was warm and dry, and the sky was a brilliant blue. For my husband, Clif, and me this could only mean one thing—a long bike ride. We decided to ride what we call “the big Monmouth loop,” with a stop in the middle at Cumston Hall for iced tea and a granola bar and then on to Winthrop and an ice cream, at the end, at Tubby’s. The loop is about 17 miles, and most of it is on back roads lined with trees and fields, on roads where there isn’t very much traffic. The route, like most routes in central Maine, has its fair share of hills, but Clif and I have gotten to the point where most hills really don’t bother us that much. I never thought we’d get to this point, but when you bike long enough and push yourself to go up hills, this does indeed happen.

We made it to Monmouth in good time, and here is where we bought the iced tea. It’s a general store with an old wooden floor and various items ranging from milk to iced tea to used books.

Then on to beautiful Cumston Hall, home to the Theater at Monmouth and the town library, where we could rest in the shade and admire this spectacular old building as we drank our iced tea and ate our granola bars.

Through Monmouth we went, down busy 132, which doesn’t have a breakdown lane. This was our least favorite part of the trip, but then we were back on country roads, and we biked by many gracious homes that have been around for a couple of hundred years.

All too soon, our bike ride was over, and we pulled into Tubby’s for an ice cream.

Clif with his bike in front of Tubby’s

And what to do after Tubby’s? Why, return home and make pizza on the grill. The roasted tomato sauce and the topping of peppers and pepperoni all came from central Maine farms. I hate to boast, but Clif makes great pizza.

Then with rum and Coke, we said farewell to summer and welcome to autumn.

And we hope there are many more bike rides before the snow falls.

News

Biking to the Cancer Center

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Notes from the Hinterland

As many readers already know, two years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was lucky in that the tumor was small—stage one—as well as slow-growing and nonaggressive.  I had surgery and radiation treatment, and although my prognosis is excellent, I go for regular check-ups at the Harrold Alfond Center for Cancer Care in Augusta, about 14 miles from where I live.

Last year, when I was the heaviest I had ever been, I decided the time had come to lose weight, exercise, and, in general, start taking good care of this body, which, after all, is the only one I have. Fortunately, I love to ride my bike. Not only is it great exercise, but it is also easy on the joints. For me, there is something very satisfying about pedaling and the forward movement of the bike. It sounds crazy, I know, but pedaling really is a pleasure for me.

One of the things I like to do is set challenges for myself, especially when it comes to biking. Now, I know that challenges have a down side. They can drain all the fun out of an activity and turn a person into a driven, humorless Puritan, a real partypooper.  But, approached in the right spirit, challenges can add fun and excitement to life. They can be positive goals for a person to focus on, which in turn can be a way to relieve stress. For me, challenges definitely fall into the second, non-partypooper category, and my husband, Clif, and I have a lot of fun with our biking challenges.

Over the past year, as I began to lose weight and became a stronger biker, I decided that I wanted to bike to the Cancer Center for my summer check-up. It would be a way of saying, “All right, I had cancer. But look how strong I am now.” I would also be riding in honor of the many friends and family members who have had cancer.

Well, yesterday, I did it. I biked to the Cancer Center. I left Winthrop and pedaled on busy Route 202, which fortunately has a wide break-down lane so it’s not as bad as it might be. I rode past cattails, Queen Ann’s lace, and purple loosestrife, which I know I’m not supposed to like but I do anyway. I zoomed past Winthrop Veterinary Hospital, and looked to see if Dr. Dave was working. He was. His motorcycle was parked by the building.

I went up hill and down hill and into Manchester, the worst part of the ride. There is no breakdown lane, and as soon as the lights allow, the cars speed by at 50+ miles an hour. I, on the other hand, slogged up Pelton Hill, and I prayed I wouldn’t get clipped as I felt the wind of the rushing cars. I guess the god of biking was smiling down on me because I made it safely through Manchester and onto back roads leading to the Cancer Center.

I got to the Cancer Center in one piece and in good time—an hour and a half. I had lunch on the terrace overlooking a man-made pond. The sound of the fountain in the pond was soothing, and I felt comfortable, relaxed, and, I must admit, very pleased with myself as I ate my peanut butter sandwich and my apple.

When the nurses, the lab technicians, and my doctor realized I had biked to the Cancer Center—the helmet and the biking shorts were give-aways—they clucked and fussed over me in a very satisfying way. Everyone likes a success story, and unfortunately, this is not the only story at the Cancer Center.

My doctor urged me to come the upcoming Cancer Survivor Day next weekend so that everyone could see how healthy and strong I was, even though I had had cancer.

“It would give a lot of cancer patients hope,” she said.

So, next weekend, weather permitting, Clif and I will be biking to the Cancer Center for Cancer Survivor Day.

I would like to conclude with a few comments about wellness, healthy eating, and exercise. First of all, I am never smug about my health. I know that people can take good care of themselves and still get sick. Sometimes it’s a matter of luck and the way a person’s genes interacts with the environment. Second, I don’t know if healthy eating and exercise will help me live longer. They might or they might not. But here’s what I do know: they will help me feel better while I live, and that alone makes the effort—and it is effort—worthwhile.

Now, on to the next challenge! A 50-mile bike trip. If not this summer then next summer.

 

 

Animals - especially dogs, Food for Thought, People

On the Other Hand, Sometimes an Adventure Is Just the Thing

Notes from the Hinterland

In yesterday’s post, I extolled the virtues of being a homebody, but today I’m going to take the other point of view, that the experience and challenge of travel can bring zest and fulfillment to life. I was reminded of this the other day when I brought my cats, Sherlock and Ms. Watson, to Winthrop Veterinary Hospital for their yearly check-up. David Corwin, one of my favorite veterinarians, examined the cats and gave them their shots.

With his white hair and ruddy complexion, David Corwin is one cool veterinarian. He’s retired and fills in for the full-time veterinarians when they are on vacation or need time off, and when the weather is good, he comes to work on his motorcycle. I’m not sure exactly how old Dr. Corwin is, but I would guess he’s at least in his mid-sixties.

When I had come in, I had spotted the motorcycle in the parking lot. As Dr. Corwin looked into Ms. Watson’s ears, I said, “I see you came to work on your motorcycle today.”

“Yes,” he answered. “And I have a big trip planned. I’m going to ride the motorcycle to California to join my wife, who’s visiting our children.”

“All by yourself?”

“All by myself.” Then he grinned at me. “And I’m a diabetic who needs insulin shots.”

“That’s very adventurous, ” I said.

“Well,” Dr. Corwin said, “I know plenty of people along the way, and I know how to take care of the diabetes.”

I thought of my own bicycle challenges, and although they are much more modest than going cross country solo on a motorcycle, those challenges add zip and energy to my life. I said as much to Dr. Corwin, who readily agreed.

I also said, “You know, if something happens to me on my bike, at least I’ll go doing something I like.”

“Darn right,” he said. “It would beat dying in a nursing home.”

When he was finished with the cats, and they were back in their boxes, I said to Dr. Corwin, “Bon Voyage!”

“Merci!” he replied, sounding as delighted as a school boy going on holiday.

I’ll be thinking of Dr. Corwin on his motorcycle as he heads west to California, which, despite its hard times, still exerts a pull that is almost magical. Bon voyage, indeed.

 

Community, Food for Thought

Busy at Home

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Notes from the Hinterland

As I’ve written in past blogs, I am a homebody. While other people yearn to travel and see new sights, I prefer staying home, working on my various projects and being involved with my community. My backyard, with its patio and its woodland setting, is one of my favorite places to be.

Our backyard—one of my favorite places

Somehow, I am never bored at home or around town. There is always plenty to keep me busy.

Consider the events of last weekend, and Monday as well.

On Saturday, Clif and I celebrated the second wedding anniversary of our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. In the morning, I went to the Winthrop Farmers’ Market, where I would pick up most of what we needed for our celebratory meal. From Wholesome Holmstead I bought rib-eye steak; from our own Farmer Kev, I bought, among other things, potatoes and garlic; and from Jillson’s Farm, I bought corn on the cob. What a treat to be able to buy so much local food. As the day was sunny and warm, we were able to eat on the patio. We stayed there until it was dark, and we were surrounded by a sweet chorus of crickets, punctuated, from time to time, by the call of a loon.

The garden—a little frowsy this time of year

On Sunday, another beautiful day, Clif and I decided to challenge ourselves and bike to Augusta to see, very appropriately, the excellent Premium Rush, a movie about a New York City bike messenger who rides like a crazy person, especially when he’s being chased by a corrupt cop. The cinema is only 12 miles away, but there are some very challenging hills as well as a stretch of road with no bike lane that goes right through the city. At least twice, I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but we made it safe and sound to the the cinema, where the popcorn and soda tasted especially good. On our way back, we took another route. The hills were steeper, but there wasn’t as much traffic, and I’ll take steep hills over traffic any day. When we rode into Winthrop, we both felt exhilarated and proud that we are strong enough to ride like this. After all, Clif is going to be 61, and I’m going to be 55. We are not exactly spring chickens.

On Monday, I met with a friend in Winthrop to celebrate her birthday. I’m not sure if she would want me to reveal her age, so I’m not going to do so. However, I don’t think I’m giving too much away to state that I am completely inspired by her. I gave her a picture—a 5 x 7—of a Maine daylily, one of my own photos. Lately, I’ve been taking lots of flower pictures, and with Clif’s help, I feel as though I’ve improved enough as a photographer so that my pictures make a nice present. And where did I find that flower? Right up the road.

So much is right around us, if we take the time to look, listen, and appreciate.

 

People

Liberty and an Island in the Lake

Yesterday, at a party, I met a woman named Liberty who lives on a tiny island in one of our town’s many lakes. The island is close enough to shore so that Liberty’s front porch winks at you through the pine trees that surround it, and in the late afternoon, as the sun sets, the island positively glows. It is one of those islands that draws your eye and captures your attention in a warm, welcoming way. Not all islands are like this. I’ve been on one that was downright spooky, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I guess islands all have their own mood, some good, some not so good.

Liberty is as warm and beautiful as the island she lives on—perhaps there is a connection?—and I spent quite a bit of time talking to her. In the course of our conversation, Liberty told me how she came to live on this island during the summer, and it’s a story worth sharing.

In the late 1920s, Liberty’s grandparents and aunts and uncles came to Winthrop, Maine, for their summer vacation. This was at a time when the journey was made by train to the lake and then by steamboat to a big hotel built especially to accommodate those summer visitors. The passenger train, the steamboat, and the big hotel are all gone, and in this day of cars and chain hotels, it really feels like a trip to the past to picture people coming to Winthrop by train and boat.

While on vacation, Liberty’s family canoed around the lake and came upon the island, which just happened to be for sale at a very good price. The family pooled their money together and bought the island, complete with house, in the summer of 1929, just before the stock market crashed in October.

“They bought it just in time,” Liberty said.

They certainly did, but what makes this story even more extraordinary is that Liberty’s family came from Harlem, and they were, of course, African American. Winthrop, like most Maine towns, was white as white can be, and with only a few exceptions, it still is. Also, during the 1920s and 1930s, the Klan was very big in Maine—only Georgia had a bigger membership.

Craig Hickman, who was at the party and who is also African American, said, “Just think, in the late 1920s, a black family bought an island in Winthrop, Maine.”

It is indeed amazing to think about, and although Winthrop has its share of problems and cranks—don’t get me started about how the school budget has twice been voted down—it is also an amazingly tolerant town. You can be pretty eccentric and different in this mostly meat-and-potatoes town, and nobody bothers you. In fact, the town’s people might even like you and invite you to parties.

“Maybe Winthrop has had a history of being tolerant,” my husband, Clif, observed.

Maybe it has. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to get into an in-depth conversation with Liberty about whether her family had to deal with discrimination in town. But Liberty has invited me to come visit her on her island, and as I don’t own a boat, she has even offered to fetch me. Perhaps I’ll take her up on her offer, if not this summer, which is fast coming to an end, then maybe next summer.