All posts by Laurie Graves
Farewell, Little Green
The day Clif and I had been dreading came to pass: After searching the Internet, Clif was not able to find a belt to fit Little Green, our trusty electric snow thrower. (Readers might recall that a rodent, probably a mouse, chewed through the old belt.) To write that we were disappointed doesn’t begin to describe how we felt.
First, we have become fond of Little Green. (Bound to happen, I suppose, when you have a propensity for naming inanimate objects.) For eight winters, plucky Little Green has been clearing our driveway and the paths to our bird feeders and compost bins. He has been a stalwart buddy.
Second, we hate, hate, hate to get rid of anything for want of a simple part. This goes completely against our philosophy of fixing things—with duct tape, when applicable—until they have fallen apart and can no longer be used.
But the time had come, we decided, to buy a replacement for Little Green. Winter is here, and neither Clif nor I relish the thought of hand shoveling the whole driveway after a good-sized storm. We did this when we were younger, but in our senior years the chore seems more daunting. So we ordered a new electric snow thrower that even comes with its own name: Snow Joe.
And just in time, too. A few days after Snow Joe arrived, we had a wet, heavy storm dumping snow that would have been a bear to hand shovel. With a minimum of fuss, Snow Joe did a fantastic job of taking care of that snow.
But still, we are sorry to lose Little Green. As a farewell, I took this picture of Clif between Little Green and Snow Joe.
Good-bye, Little Green. We will miss you very much.
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Nifty Posts from Some of the Lovely Blogs I Read
I am absolutely smitten by this picture of a cardinal featured in Change Is Hard.
When Tanja Britton dreams of butterflies, her thoughts range as far and wide as the beautiful creatures she features on her blog.
Eliza Waters, with her wonderful photographs, illustrates just how enchanting a frozen landscape can be.
In Touring my Backyard, Ju-Lyn features a light show I would love to see.
From Thistles and Kiwis: Summer, beautiful summer in New Zealand.
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I listen to a lot of podcasts, and one of my favorites is On Being. The show is more than a little woo-woo, but Krista Tippett, the host, often interviews guests who explore big questions and topics, some that are of our time and some that have been with us for ages.
Last week’s guest was Oliver Burkeman, a journalist who has written about the problem of time management. As the blurb on the On Being website puts it, “He [Burkeman] invites us into a new relationship with time, our technologies, and the power of limits — and thus with our mortality and with life itself.”
Well worth listening to, and Burkeman confirmed what I have been thinking: We can’t do it all, especially as we age. We have to pick and choose how we spend our time, which means saying no to some things that we might love. For me, focusing on my writing has meant saying no to having a dog, which takes a lot of time and energy. Alas, as I am someone who loves dogs. Also, to volunteering, which I have done since I was a young woman.
But if I don’t focus on my writing right now, when will I focus on it?
Have any of you made similar choices?
Maranacook Lake in Early Winter
Dead Calm and Zero Degrees
This morning when I got up, it was dead calm and zero degrees. Actually, a little below zero.
The top window over the sink was so frosty that I couldn’t even see outside. (Fortunately, the frost is on the outside storm window.)
And here is the view from the window by my desk.
With the wood furnace going, it’s a balmy 65°F inside. We might have to turn on the electric heat tonight as the temperature drops further.
The title of this post comes from one of my favorite documentaries, Alone in the Wilderness, in which one man, Dick Proenneke, filmed his experience of living by himself for one year in Alaska. (The documentary is narrated by Bob Swerer Jr.) During that year—1968—he used hand tools to build his own cabin as well as many other things he needed for daily living. Proenneke’s skill, ingenuity, and creativity are nothing short of astonishing.
Here is a short clip that gives a sense of this extraordinary documentary.
During his time in the wilderness, Proenneke recorded the temperature every morning, and often it was “Dead calm and zero degrees,” just as it was this morning in Maine.
A little brisk, as my Yankee husband would say in his understated way.
Scenes from a Recent Snowstorm
Northern woman that I am, I love the look of the landscape during a snowstorm, the way it is pared down to its essence in color, not quite monochrome but certainly muted. When there is a snowstorm—and to a certain extent in the winter in general—the landscape has a soothing quality that provides me with a much-needed rest from the exuberance of spring, summer, and fall. Yes, by the time dreary March rolls around, I am more than ready for the glorious burst of spring. However, from somber November through frozen February, I am grateful for the quiet that comes in late fall and winter.
Here are scenes from a recent snowstorm:
On a less soothing note…COVID is ripping through Maine, and the positivity rate is 18 percent, the highest it has ever been. (And to think that last June the rate was below 1 percent. Those halcyon days.) The hospitals are overwhelmed, and I’ve heard that beds with patients are lining the halls.
Clif, Dee, and I are hunkering down, grateful we’re in a position to do so. We are well aware not everyone is as lucky as we are. Also, we’re aware there is a high likelihood that we’ll all eventually come down with COVID, which probably will be circulating around the world pretty much forever.
However, we want to give the hospitals time to recover from the onslaught of patients. If I’m unlucky enough to have to go to the hospital because of COVID, I want a bed in a room. I do not want to be in the hall, tended by folks who are completely frazzled. I’m also hoping that sometime soon antiviral drugs will be readily available for an effective treatment. Finally, I am hoping that COVID will mutate to something that is more like a cold, unpleasant but not an unpredictable killer. In the meantime, I’m sticking close to home and wearing my KN95 mask when I go out.
Despite the nastiness of COVID, things could be worse. On a recent episode of the podcast Radiolab, I learned about the year 536 AD, when there was “A supervolcano. The disappearance of shadows. A failure of bread. Plague rats.” Holy cats, that’s a lot of bad things to deal with all together.
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Now, on to something more upbeat…Nifty posts from some of the lovely blogs I follow:
What could be better than a winter scene? How about one with a sunset and the red splash of a cardinal? On Cimple, a fabulous photo provides all three.
From Whippet Wisdom, different kinds of listening and music. This post certainly made me smile.
For the biggest, most fabulous sticky bun, check out Touring My Backyard.
Thistles and Kiwis features gorgeous beaches and mouthwatering food. Oh, New Zealand!
Judy, at New England Garden and Thread, makes an excellent case for going south for the winter.
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I haven’t shared any music videos lately, and here’s a beauty—Yasmin Williams: Tiny Desk (Home) Concert.
I’m an anxious person who lives in an anxious world. Williams’s soulful, cascading music never fails to make me feel tranquil, and lately I have started my day by listening to her. Also, note how Williams uses tap shoes for percussion. Clever, clever!
Head above the Snow
A Lovely, Simple Vacation
My holiday vacation is over, and what a lovely, simple one it was.
Clif, Dee, and I started out on Christmas Eve with chocolate peppermint martinis. (We had some on New Year’s Eve, too.)
With the martinis, we had lots of nibble and nuts, which I did not photograph.
For Christmas, I gave Clif a game, Horrified, which we played every afternoon during our vacation. It’s a cooperative game where everyone must work together to save the villagers from various monsters. Sometimes we won. Sometimes we lost. But win or lose, we had such fun.
During my vacation, each morning—with a mug of tea—I settled on the couch and read until everyone was ready for breakfast. The books I read were The Fortnight in September by R.C. Sherriff; Harlem Shuffle by the fabulous Colson Whitehead; and Wintering by Katherine May. Three very different books but all worth reading and a great way to end the year.
We watched lots of movies, but the standout for me was Pig with Nicolas Cage. Pig is about a man named Rob and his beloved truffle-hunting pig. When the pig is stolen, Rob sets out in search of her. He leaves his seclusion in the woods and travels to the big city, where he encounters obstacles but also receives help. Part fable, part meditation on love, grief, loss, and forgiveness, this movie touched me in a way that only a few films ever have, and it is my favorite of the year. The movie’s slow, indie pacing won’t be to everyone’s taste, but for those with patience, Pig is a must-see.
In the middle of the week, we had a little ice storm, but fortunately we did not lose our power. Clif went out and took some pictures.
And now January is here. It’s back to work for me and the rest of the family. Our restful vacation reminded me, once again, that while it’s good to have purpose and to work hard, it’s also good to take a break now and again.
Refreshed, we can approach what we do with vigor and enthusiasm.
Onward to finishing Book Four of my Great Library Series.
En Hiver
In the still, in the cold…
Although I love spring and summer and the lengthening of the days, I also cherish this time of year, this time of giving, this time of rest, when I have tea on the couch at 4:00, and out the big window I watch the sky go from blue to black and the bright shine of Venus, which glitters just above the horizon.
I will be taking a blogging break from now until the New Year. Because of Covid, it will definitely be a staycation, but it will be a luxury to read in the mornings, play board games in the afternoon, and watch Oscar nominees at night. And, of course, nibble on treats.
I know many of you are wondering about Little Green, our trusty electric snow thrower. Clif did indeed find the problem—a rascally rodent, probably a mouse, who not only made a nest inside Little Green but chewed the belt in half as well. A new belt is on the way.
Because I am Franco-American, I wish those who celebrate Christmas a joyeux Noël.
And to everyone a Bonne Année.
Whatever you celebrate, have a joyous and safe time. I hope your holidays are filled with warmth, merriment, and good food.
See you all in 2022.
A White Christmas
On Saturday we got another small snowstorm that left about four inches, which is enough to give Mainers what they always crave in December—a white Christmas.
The day after the storm was beautiful, as it often is, and out I went to take some pictures.
Here is our backyard, on the edge of the woods, looking very northern with its snow-covered trees.
Next, a side view of Clif cleaning the driveway. (Little Green conked out, and Clif will soon be doing an assessment to see if the snow-thrower can be fixed, or if we need to buy another one.)
Then, a view from the front of our cozy home tucked by the woods.
Finally, a picture I know you’ve all been waiting for—the trusty town plow. Thanks to the diligence of the people who clean our roads, we are never stranded at our homes for more than half a day, no matter how much snow we get. Note how clear the road is a day after the storm.
This is what you might call a lucky shot. With camera in hand, I happened to be by the mailbox across the street from our home, when I heard the distinctive roar of the plow. I didn’t have to wait long before it came thundering up the road. After exchanging a friendly wave with the driver, I took a picture of the truck with its sand and plow that is so essential to life in the north in the winter.
The Dog Angel: A Maine Christmas Story
Much of writing involves discipline—sitting at the desk, day in and day out, and working even if you aren’t exactly filled with inspiration. I believe this is called discipline, and it is essential not only for writing but for many other things, too.
However, once in a while a writer gets lucky, and a story seemingly drops out of nowhere, practically whole cloth with only a small amount of fiddling. So it was for me this November with my short story “The Dog Angel,” with two things coming together to inspire me.
First, there was Aimee Man’s melancholy but lovely Christmas song “Calling on Mary.”
Then there was this ornament, which I featured in a previous post.
Actually, there was a third inspiration, and if you look closely through the glass table, you can see Rumer Godden’s The Story of Holly & Ivy, one of my favorite Christmas tales. Do read it if you haven’t already. Anyway, “The Dog Angel” is a sort of homage to The Story of Holly & Ivy.
In my imagination, I saw a little dark-haired girl and her dark-haired mother, two drifters in the snow, homeless. They were in Waterville, Maine, in the 1970s, in the South End, the Franco-American section of town where I lived when I was very young. Because I like fantasy and folderol, I added a dog angel.
And the rest, dear readers, I will let you discover for yourselves if you are in the mood for a Maine Christmas story. “The Dog Angel” is a free online read available on our Hinterlands Press website. It’s a longish story—about 7,000 words—but it pops along, and you can certainly read it in sections if you like.
Happy holidays to all! May the spirit of generosity be with us not only now but throughout the rest of the year, too.
Notes From the Hinterland 