All posts by Laurie Graves
Birds, Birds, Birds!
The end of March, and our backyard is positively aflutter with birds. The trees are full of them, and the cheeping of the goldfinches at times reaches a shrill but thrilling crescendo. In between, I hear the lovely song of our cardinal; the chipper call of the chickadees, plentiful but never common, as a good friend once noted; the cooing of mourning doves; and many other bird voices.
New to the backyard are our cardinal and his mate. To say it is a thrill to have them here is a big, big understatement. Cardinals, recent arrivals in Maine, tend to like open spaces, and the yard at the little house in the big woods is anything but open. However, the cardinals came to us last spring, and they are with us still. I suppose there is less competition from other cardinals here as well as a steady supply of food. Whatever the reason, I hope they (and their descendants) make this their permanent home.
Another new arrival is the red-bellied woodpecker, and this bird is even more recent than the cardinals, which have been in Maine for fifteen or twenty years. Until a couple of years ago, I had never seen a red-bellied woodpecker. Now, they are fairly common to the area, and we have at least one coming to the feeder. (Perhaps more. It’s hard for me to distinguish one from the other, but I have only seen one at a time.)
Last week, we bought bird seed and filled the feeders. Within a week, the feeders needed to be refilled. The birds are hungry, even hungrier than they were in the winter, when we filled the feeders every few weeks. Perhaps it’s because they are getting ready to start their families, and no doubt this is hungry work. Whatever the case, we dote on the birds and will keep those feeders full.
In a month or so, when the weather is warmer, we plan to invite our friends John and Beth over for grilled pizza. They love sitting on the patio and watching the birds as much as we do, and last spring we spent a happy afternoon watching the fluttering beauties who are not in the least bothered by us or our noisy dog.
My little camera, which does such a great job with flowers and food, does not capture birds very well. Nevertheless, knowing I am in for heartbreak and disappointment, I try, snapping away at the various birds that come to our backyard. Clif also tries to take pictures of these little creatures that seldom sit still.
But once in a while, we even get a couple of pictures that we can actually use in a post.
Fish and Chips, Art, and Bread: A Trip to Waterville
On Saturday, Clif and I went to Waterville to see their library’s art show. But before going to the show, we had to sustain ourselves with lunch at the wonderful Riverside Farm Restaurant in Oakland. (Thanks, Rose and Steve, for the gift certificate.) Inside, Riverside Farm is rustic but oh so pretty.
As it turned out, Saturday was our lucky day—fish and chips were on the menu. Because of overfishing, we only eat wild-caught fish about twice a year. (One more meal to go.) Goodness, those fish and chips were tasty, cooked exactly right so that the fish was tender and flaky and the fries were brown on the outside yet chewy on the inside.
After such a lunch, we were fully fuelled and ready to go to the art show at the Waterville Public Library. Readers, I have a confession to make. As much as I love our library in Winthrop, I must admit that the Waterville Public Library was my first library love. I was born in Waterville, and this is the library where I began what would be a life-long adventure in reading. So like all first loves, the Waterville Library is very special.
A sign directed us to the art show.
The art show was in a relatively small space, but the library made good use of display panels, and there was a lot of art to look at.
As with any local show, the art was a mixed bag. There were many pieces that we would have been eager to take home, given that we had the extra money—we don’t—and the wall space—ditto. Other pieces, not so much. Still, we enjoyed the show as well as talking to the young librarian at the desk. (These young librarians are certainly a lively bunch. Love them!)
The librarian spoke about how the art show was yet another way to bring people into the library, to promote community, and to emphasize how important the library is to Waterville.
Yes, indeed.
After the art show, we checked out a relatively new bakery, Universal Bread, that was celebrating its second anniversary. The bakery is tucked away on Temple Street and is not visible from the main street. Nevertheless, by 2:00 p.m. there was a sad sign on the door—SOLD OUT.
Still, I decided to go inside to see the bakery and chat with the baker, Adrian Sulea. And a good thing, too, because although the fresh bread was sold out, he still had some day-old bread available.
“What time does the bread usually sell out?” I asked, looking around the simple but clean shop with racks of bread waiting to be picked up by customers who had placed orders ahead of time.
“Oh, around 2:00,” he answered with a smile. The shop is open until 5:30 p.m.
“Wonderful,” I said. “It’s great that you’re doing so well. Congratulations on your second anniversary.”
More smiles and “Thank you, thank you.”
Off we went with a day-old baguette. We stopped at the grocery store to buy brie and Jarlsberg cheese. At home we sliced the bread, the cheese, and some apples.
How was the day-old bread? Chewy and immensely satisfying. I can see why Sulea’s bread sells out by 2:00 p.m.
Even though I make most of the bread we eat, I’ll be going back to Universal Bread, especially when Dee comes from New York for a visit. Oh, that girl loves bread, and this is her kind of bread.
But I’ll be sure to call ahead.
March Madness
Oh, wily March. Yesterday you gave us snow. Today, we get freezing rain. There is nothing quite like that tick, tick, tick of freezing rain as it hits the house. Here are what the steps looked like this morning when I returned from a hair appointment in town.
Here is a close-up. You can bet I used extreme caution going up and down the stairs.
And just so the backyard doesn’t feel left out, here’s a picture of our woebegone patio.
Never mind! Clif has a fire going in the wood furnace, so all is cozy at the little house in the big woods. Tonight is going to be treat night with chips and dip, frozen pizza, and a fun movie—we haven’t settled on which one yet.
So take that March and freezing rain!
Old-Timey Biscuits for a Gray Spring Day
Today the sky is Puritan gray, as gray as a bleak day in November. At the little house in the big woods, there is still snow in the front yard. Not much, but it is there.
I am itching for warmer weather, to pick up sticks in the yard, to start removing leaves from my flower beds, to plant some pansies, one of my favorite flowers. How I love their little faces. There are, of course, many chores I could be doing inside, cleaning and organizing, but I don’t want to do any of them. The spring bug has bitten me, even though it doesn’t seem very much like spring in central Maine.
I know. This is Maine. This is March. I have the doldrums. I get them every year at about this time, and I am not alone. As I have mentioned in previous posts, March is not very popular in Maine, and many people get the doldrums during this month. I wouldn’t categorize the doldrums as a full-blown depression but rather, a restlessness, an impatience that can make a person a little cranky.
But April, sweet April—not the cruelest month at all, not by a long shot—is just around the corner. In Maine, April is the month when the trees begun to bud and the flowers show their lovely green foliage. April is the month where the water runs along the side of the road, singing its spring song, and in the little swamp up from us, the peepers add their enchanting trill.
I’ve written this before, and I’m writing it again: Spring and rebirth are an old story that never gets old. Each year, I greet it with a beginner’s mind, so very grateful to be here for yet another spring.
In the meantime, we have March, seven more days of it. What to do? What to do? Why, make biscuits and turkey soup. Years back, I shared this biscuit recipe, but that was many posts ago, and I thought it was time to share it again. It is an old-timey recipe given to me by my mother, and it calls for heaping teaspoons of baking powder and a cup of milk, strong. Goodness, my mother could make biscuits. I’ve never tasted any that were better. Mine aren’t bad, but they can’t compete with hers.
For a New Englander, any time is biscuit time, but they are especially good on what we call “raw” days, when the weather is gray and bone-chilling and all you can do is think about the darling buds of May. In fact, you’d settle for the swelling buds of April.
Serve homemade soup along with the biscuits, and you have what might be called a March consolation.
Old-Timey Biscuits (Rochelle’s Recipe)
Ingredients
- 2 cups of flour
- 1 teaspoon of salt
- 3 heaping teaspoons of baking powder
- 4 tablespoons of shortening
- 1 cup of milk, strong (Pour the milk until it comes just a bit above the one-cup mark.)
Directions
- In a large mixing bowl, add the flour, salt, and baking powder. Stir well.
- With a fork or a pastry blender, cut in the four tablespoons of shortening until the mixture is crumbly.
- Add the milk. The mixture will be very runny. (When it comes to biscuits, the softer the dough, the better.) Let it rest a few minutes until the baking powder kicks in to firm-up the dough.
- Scrape the dough onto a floured board or counter. With floured hands, pat it a few times until you have the desired thickness.
- Using a biscuit cutter or a glass, cut out the biscuits and put them in an ungreased 8×8 pan. Note: I like my biscuits squished together so that they come out very soft. If you like crispier biscuits, put them on a cookie sheet and leave space around them.
- Dab tops with butter.
- Bake them in a preheated 450 degree oven for 15 to 20 minutes or until the tops are golden brown.
- Serve ’em hot with plenty of butter. That is how they are best.
Wordless Wednesday: Gray Kittens Against a Blue Sky
The Power of Kind Words: You’re Cured
Yesterday, I went for my annual physical at Winthrop Family Medicine, which is conveniently located right here in town at a health center in an old converted factory. Although I dislike going to the doctors as much the next person, I am very grateful to have this health center in Winthrop, where the staff is friendly and efficient and the services range from lab work to imaging, including walk-in mammograms. Winthrop, population 6,000, is one lucky little town. (When my husband broke his arm, he was in and out of the health center in an hour, and that included getting a cast. )
Dr. Gasper, my doctor, went over my blood work with me, and for someone who is, ahem, carrying a little more weight than she should, I am in amazingly good health. I suppose it must be partially genetic and also partly because that even though I eat more than I should—I am a good eater, after all—I do eat well, with plenty of fruit and vegetables in my daily diet, very little red meat, and a fair amount of olive oil.
Then we moved on to a topic that has dominated my life for the past six years—breast cancer. In the summer of 2010, I was diagnosed with this disease. Fortunately, the cancer was slowing growing and lazy, both very good qualities when they’re applied to cancer. I had a lumpectomy and radiation. Chemotherapy was not needed.
Dr. Gasper, that rare doctor who actually has a calming effect on people, looked at me and smiled. “You are considered cured,” he said.
Cured! What a wonderful word.
Now, Dr. Gaspar wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. At the Cancer Center in Augusta, after five years, I was given the option of going to my primary care physician for yearly check-ups, and that’s exactly what I decided to do. I will not miss those trips to the Cancer Center, and going to my regular doctor makes me feel like a regular person, which, after breast cancer, is a wonderful way to feel.
But to hear my doctor say those words—“You’re cured”—well, it was as though he had given me a gold star.
After I left, feeling oh-so-happy, I reflected on the power of words and their ability to either bolster us or drag us down. Kind words, even if they are true and self-evident, can ripple forward for years, leaving a good impression in our memories. They can steer us in the right direction and help us to think better of ourselves.
Going forward, I will be more mindful of what I say. Are my words kind or unkind? Do they help or hurt? Even if they are true, do they need to be said?
A final lesson for me: No matter how old we are, we can always learn to become more mindful. And more kind.
Goodbye, Spring. Hello, Snow
Yesterday, according to my calendar, was the first day of spring, and this is what greeted me when I got up this morning.
Snow, and not just a dusting. Ah, March. No matter how you might lull us into thinking that spring is here, you always have a little snowstorm up your sleeve to show us who’s boss.
Once more, Little Green will be pressed into service to clean the driveway. Out will come the shovels, and the scraper for the car. Fortunately, the snow is light, and it doesn’t look as though there will be power outages. For this we must be very grateful.
The snow won’t last long. Still, even though I know this, a snowstorm the end of March feels like a setback.
And I don’t like it. Not one little bit.
Our Thirty-Ninth Wedding Anniversary
Yesterday was our thirty-ninth wedding anniversary, and the bright, beautiful day was filled with simple pleasures.
First, we went to Railroad Square Cinema for Cinema Explorations, a winter film series. As Cinema Explorations begins at 10 a.m., delicious bagels, provided by Bagel Mainea, are available. Clif and I can never resist.
We always get to Railroad Square early so that there is time to chat. Clif is on the left, and our friend Joel is on the right.
The movie Dukhtar, which means daughter in English, was showing, and it is the last of the film series. This excellent Pakistani film is about a mother and her young daughter who flee from the latter’s arranged marriage. Dukhtar is by turns tender, harrowing, sad, and triumphant, a movie very much worth seeing.
(Eye in the Sky, a movie with Helen Mirren and the late, great Alan Rickman, will be coming soon, and Clif and I are looking forward to seeing it.)
What to do after the the movie? Why, go across the parking lot to Grand Central Cafe for pizza with friends and a discussion about Dukhtar.
Because the day was so fine and the dog had been left alone for a fair amount of time, we decided that after pizza, a walk in the woods was in order.
I was taken by the juxtaposition of pussy willows next to frayed cattails.
In the woods, the snow is completely gone.
The horned tree stands guard over the trail.
Two of my favorite guys.
Clif and I ended the day with Trader Joe’s Mandarin Orange Chicken, egg rolls from our local Chinese restaurant, and white rice we cooked ourselves. We both had a rum and coke to go with this meal.
Happy anniversary to us!
Hail, March!
March is what you might call a temperamental month, giving ample proof to the old chestnut that if you don’t like the weather in Maine, just wait a bit, and it will change. Yesterday morning, when I went out to get the mail, the weather was so mild and warm I decided that after lunch, I would poke around the yard, doing bits of clean-up. But the weather had other plans—thunder and rain. No yard work for me.
Last night, as Clif and I were watching Bosch, we heard a rapid patter against the house. Clif paused the show—we were watching it on Amazon Prime—and “That sounds like hail,” I said. This morning when I looked outside, my suspicions were confirmed when I saw little ice balls scattered on the leaves around my garden.
The weather forecast for the next few days? More thunder and rain, and then the prediction that every Mainer dreads but expects this time of year—a major snowstorm on Sunday that will go into Monday. If we do get this storm, I can almost guarantee that the snow will be wet and heavy, and the possibility of a power outage rears its ugly head.
Ah, well. Our shovels are at the ready, and Clif will bring in some wood. I’ll be sure to fill my big pots with water because at the little house in the big woods, no power means no water. (We have a well.) And on Sunday, maybe I’ll make turkey soup and some biscuits. Then, if the snow comes we’ll have a big batch of comfort to get us through the storm.
In the meantime, I’ll listen to the male cardinal singing his spring song. Perhaps the dog and I will take a walk up the road to check if the pussy willows are in bloom. I’ll also check on the little swamp to see if the ice is out. If there is no ice, then the peepers will soon be singing their spring song, and this always lifts the spirits.
But snow, snow, stay away. Don’t come back until next winter.
Notes From the Hinterland 