All posts by Laurie Graves
A Blast from the Past with Sesame Street
Everybody loves me ’cause I’m spring? You bet!
What a Difference a Week Makes
Last week on the patio, when Clif was toasting our blog friends Derrick and Jackie, this is what the backyard looked like. (Note the flower bed just behind Clif and how it is completely covered with snow.)
But what a difference a week makes in Maine. Yesterday, here is what the patio looked like. The weather was so warm that Clif didn’t even need to zip his jacket.
By gum, my flower bed is nearly free from snow, and I’ll begin working on it this week.
When spring comes to Maine, it comes in a rush. One day, it’s winter, and the next week the snow has shrunk to the point where gardening has become more than a dream.
Still not many flowers in central Maine, but soon, soon.
Book Signing and Card Sale in Lewiston, Maine, on April 8, 2017
On Saturday, April 8 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., I will be at the Artisan & Craft Fair selling books and cards at the Lewiston Armory on 65 Central St. in Lewiston, Maine. Maya and the Book of Everything is featured about half-way through this little video of items that will be at the fair. If you’re in Lewiston on Saturday, stop by and say hi.
The Stream’s Song
Last night, we had the first thunderstorm of the season. The windows rattled with each strong rumble of thunder, and the rain pelted against the house. There was even a power blip, but fortunately it didn’t last long.
Was this winter’s emphatic farewell? It is, after all, April, the beginning of spring even for Maine. We shall see, but I am hoping in the next few days that these little beauties can be put away.
The strong rain brought flood warnings to the southern part of the state. In the backyard, it whittled down the snow to such an extent that there are now bare patches of lawn. And mud. And plenty of branches to be picked up after the winter storms ripped them from the trees.
It feels as though we are in a purgatory, of sorts, in a dreary, almost hopeless place between winter and spring.
Yet this morning as I was taking pictures in the backyard, I could hear the roar of the little stream in the woods as it rushed to the Upper Narrows Pond. Free from ice and strong from the rain, the stream’s voice was loud, insistent, exhilarating.
“Take heart!” it called to me. “Spring is coming, and I am the herald.”
If my knees were less creaky, I would have made my way to the stream, clambering through the still-deep snow and sliding down the bank. Then, I would have dipped my hand into the cold, rushing water to feel its spring journey.
Never mind! The stream’s song more than made up for the ugliness that is now the backyard.
Spring is coming, and that’s exactly what I needed to hear.
Springish in central Maine
An Interview with Jeanne Birdsall, Author of the Penderwicks Series
In two weeks time, I have finished all four books in the Penderwicks series, a sort of modern-day Little Women, which follows the lives of four sisters—Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty (Elizabeth). I am not ashamed to admit that I binged on them, and I even stayed up until 3:00 a.m. to finish the last one—The Penderwicks in Spring.
I also have a confession to make: I really took a dislike to one of the sisters. It started in the first book and intensified by the fourth book, where she inflicts great pain on one of her sisters. In fact, I disliked this character so much that after I finished reading The Penderwicks in Spring, I thought of her for most of the day.
On the one hand I couldn’t help thinking, “What the heck! This character isn’t even real. Why are you brooding about her so much?”
On the other hand, only a very good writer can make you dislike (or love) a character in a novel, to make that character so real and intense that she gets under your skin.
Hats off to Jeanne Birdsall. I am eagerly awaiting the fifth and last book of the series.
Below is an interview with Jeanne Birdsall. (I came across this on a blog I follow, Letters from a Hill Farm.) I always love to hear authors talk about their books and the writing process.
For Derrick and Jackie: A Drink on the Patio
On April 1, while snow fell on central Maine, I was in England, at least in spirit, visiting Derrick and Jackie’s glorious gardens. (Oh, the wonders of the blog world and the Internet. )
I practically inhaled picture after beautiful picture of daffodils and tulips. It might have been cold and snowy outside my home, but I could feel warmth and sunlight pouring out of my computer as I toured Derrick and Jackie’s garden.
Then, at the end of Derrick’s post, I came to this: “For the first time this year we took drinks in the rose garden before dinner. I hope it is not too long before Laurie and Clif can do the same on their patio.”
Well, I thought. Well, well, well. Our patio is still buried under snow, but where there is a will, there is a way.
Derrick and Jackie, this post is dedicated to you as Clif, on our patio, raises his glass to daffodils and tulips and spring and the glory of an English garden.
April Fools? Au Contraire!
Here was the view from our front porch this morning.
Mother Nature’s quite the trickster, isn’t she? Now, if this had come in, say, February or even mid-March, no problem. But in April? Sigh.
All right. In the spirit of my blog friends who celebrate Three Things Thursday, where they share three things they are grateful for, I’m going to celebrate Six for Saturday.
- We only got four or so inches of snow rather than the twelve predicted. This is something to be wildly grateful for because this April 1 snow is wet and very heavy. There’s a good chance that twelve inches would have knocked the power out in many central Maine homes, including ours.
- It’s pretty. The snow clinging to the trees makes our yard and road look like a winter wonderland. Even if it is technically spring and April 1 to boot. But wait. Here I am, sliding into ungratefulness. How easy is the slide.
- We are warm and snug in our home, and Clif and I will be making bean soup this afternoon in preparation for friends who are coming over tomorrow.
- The mud and grit outside are temporarily covered, which means we don’t track in much when we go in and out of the house.
- We have four more seasons to go of the television series The Walking Dead, my newest obsession.
- My blog friends from Fernwood Nursery sent me a book—many thanks!—and this will be the perfect afternoon to read it.
Despite the snow, there is much to be grateful for.
By a Strange Coincidence…from N.D. Wilson to Jeanne Birdsall
I could write about how this has been the Marchiest March we Mainers have had to endure in quite a while. Lots of snow, plenty of mud—and we’re just starting with the melting—and joy of joys, another storm on the way with wet, heavy snow forecasted. I could share this quotation I found on Facebook: “Maine. They call it ‘Vacationland’ because it sounds better than ‘Six Months of Suffering-Land.'”
But no, I’m not going to brood about the weather. Instead, I’m going to turn my attention to a much happier topic—books—and how I coincidentally came upon two authors who write children’s books and how those authors turned out to be connected, even though they write very different stories.
About a month ago, my husband Clif introduced me to the middle-reader fantasy 100 Cupboards by N. D. Wilson. It’s set in Kansas, just like another famous children’s fantasy, and the protagonist, Henry York, discovers magical cupboards (portals) in the attic room he’s staying in while visiting his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Overprotected and somewhat neglected, Henry finds warmth, solace, and generosity with his aunt and uncle. Much of the book focuses on the everyday domestic life in a small town, with large dollops of barbecues and baseball. But through a magical cupboard Henry eventually goes, where he encounters strange mystical lands, an evil witch, and a mystery that takes him right back to Kansas.
I liked 100 Cupboards so much that I immediately read the sequel, Dandelion Fire, which dispenses with the domesticity and hurtles Henry headlong into the fight between good and evil, the concern of most good fantasy novels. There’s a third book in the series—Chestnut King—which I definitely plan to read.
A week or so ago, on a blog I follow—Letters from a Hill Farm—I came across a book recommendation, The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall. A day or two later, I found The Penderwicks at a bookstore, The Book Review, which I recently visited for the first time. (I’ve written about the book and the bookstore a couple of posts ago.) I loved The Penderwicks so much that I borrowed the next three in the series from our library, and I’m whipping through those books the way I would a box of chocolates.
Now as far as writers go, N. D. Wilson and Jeanne Birdsall couldn’t be more different, even though they write for the same age group. As I indicated earlier, Wilson’s books are classic fantasies. Family is important—as it turns out, very important—but so is the larger story of the battle between good and evil. With her Penderwicks series, Birdsall focuses exclusively on the family, with its gentle ups and downs and the relationships of the various characters. Death brings a thread of sadness into these stories of four sisters and their father, but these are quiet books compared with Wilson’s fantasies. You might even call the Penderwicks series the Miss Read books of children’s literature. (However, Little Women was Birdsall’s inspiration.)
Here’s where the weird coincidence part kicks in. I like to read author websites, where I can find out a little bit more about writers and their books. I was reading Jeanne Birdsall’s author website, and I came across an event that featured both Birdsall and her friend (her wording) N.D. Wilson, where they would discuss Narnia. Unfortunately, the event took place last year in Chicago, and as I have no portals (or a Book of Everything) to take me back in time and across the country, this qualifies as a missed event.
Still, what a strange coincidence to come upon that nugget of information. Two months ago, I had never heard of either N.D. Wilson or Jeanne Birdsall. Now, not only am I fan of both writers, but I discover they are friends.
Thinking about books, authors, and neat coincidences sure beats brooding about snow.
















