In central Maine, we came through Tuesday’s storm just fine and were spared the worst. We didn’t lose our power, for which we were very grateful.
I did make some oatmeal squares ahead of time, just in case we needed to console ourselves in the flickering light of an oil lamp.
As it turned out, we consoled ourselves in the nonflickering light of electric lamps.
But we did get some snow, and then some rain, which made a slushy mess Clif had to clean with his scoop. It was too wet and heavy for our electric snow thrower.
The birds, who had sheltered in the woods behind our house during the storm, were out in full force on Wednesday morning. It’s hungry work staying warm during such bad weather. Most, if not all, are finches.
The Maine coast, however, wasn’t as lucky as inland. There were massive surges and flooding where roads and even some homes and businesses were destroyed. Here is a clip from News Center Maine that shows some of the damage from Tuesday’s storm.
It’s been one heck of a winter, and it’s just barely started.
As I mentioned in my previous piece, I had planned to start posting on Wednesdays rather than Mondays in 2024. But guess what? Another nasty storm is forecasted to blow into Maine on Tuesday night and into Wednesday. Along with a storm watch that will bring wet, heavy snow, we have received a flood warning and a high wind watch, with expected power outages. To borrow from the excellent crime show Fargo: Oh, for Pete’s sake. (Fargo is set in Minnesota and North Dakota.)
So instead of posting on Wednesday, I am posting today.
Tomorrow, I’ll be making a big batch of black bean soup, which we can heat up on the camp stove should the power go out. Also, because treats are important during a power outage, I’ll be baking oatmeal bars with chocolate chips.
What makes this storm so particularly galling is that on Sunday, we had the most perfect snow storm with six to eight inches of light fluffy snow. Clif and our daughter Dee were able to easily take care of the cleanup, and it was a pleasure to watch the falling snow while chickpea soup bubbled in the slow cooker.
Here is a picture from my dining room window taken during the storm. If you look carefully at the feeder, you might notice the falling snow along with a little bird feeding. I think the bird is a gold finch.
Here is another picture taken from my dining room window this morning after the storm.
I must admit to feeling a little discouraged at the thought of having another power outage and all the work it entails.
But on a more cheerful note, I have received gifts from some of my lovely blogging friends.
Oranges and lemons from Betsy and picked in her own backyard.
Last Thursday I went to one of my favorite places—the waterfront park in Hallowell—to meet Elizabeth, the granddaughter of my dear friend Barbara, who died eighteen years ago. Elizabeth is from North Carolina, but she worked in Maine this summer, and we were able to meet several times.
The day by the river was overcast but not too chilly. I brought a thermos of tea and some cookies, and we settled in for a long chat. Elizabeth was only five when her grandmother died, and I told her stories about Barbara—about how she was one of the best home cooks I have ever known; about her passion for nature; about her love of story and writing.
Elizabeth not only resembles her grandmother, but she also shares Barbara’s love of books and nature. Accordingly, the talk soon turned to books, my favorite kind of conversation. (And Barbara’s, too.) What Elizabeth was reading—Rachel Carson—and what I was planning to read—The Bee Sting by Paul Murray. We discussed the current trend of not using quotation marks to set off dialogue. I admitted that I’m not a fan of leaving them out. Elizabeth thought that it all depended on the writing and how sometimes it worked to have dialogue without quotation marks.
As we sipped tea and munched cookies, the sun came out, illuminating a white house across the river.
Wouldn’t it be cool, I asked, if the house appeared only when the sun was shining a certain way? And that it would be invisible at all other times?
Elizabeth agreed this would be very cool.
While we were talking, we heard the shrill cry of bald eagles. One flew right over us, and we were duly impressed. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough to get a picture of that eagle.
However, I did get this picture, a little blurry, but clear enough to give an impression of this big beautiful bird whose species was nearly wiped out in this country. When I was young, I never saw a bald eagle. Now they are a common sight, proof that sometimes things do change for the better.
As we admired the eagles, I thought about Barbara and how thrilled she would have been to be part of this day. She would have jotted down some of Elizabeth’s book recommendations, just like I did. (The Golem and the Jinni and The City We Became.) She would have exclaimed with pleasure when the eagle flew over us. In her excitement, Barbara might have jumped out of her chair.
I remember one day when Barbara and I were going somewhere together, and I was driving, Barbara cried stop, stop! I stopped, and Barbara rushed from the car to examine a snapping turtle who was laying eggs along the side of the road.
So in a sense Barbara was with us by the river as Elizabeth and I talked in a way that was reminiscent of the way Barbara and I had talked many, many times.
Last week, Clif, Dee, and I took four days off—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday—from our regular routine to relax and have fun. Our daughter Shannon, her husband Mike, and their dogs joined us on Friday and Saturday.
On Friday, the weather gods were in a good mood. Although it was hot, there was no rain, and off to Absolem Cider Company we went for a picnic and drinks. Mike’s aunt, Claire Hersom, met us there.
I had an utterly delicious drink of rum mixed with strawberry liqueur.
Dee took this picture of us. In the picture, Claire looks uncertain, but really and truly, she had a good time.
Clockwise: Claire, Mike, Clif, me, and Shannon
Chickens, hoping for a treat, joined us. They might have gotten some popcorn that made it to the ground.
Here are a couple more pictures of this lovely place, only five miles from where we live. How lucky is that?
On Saturday, the weather gods continued to smile for the morning and early afternoon, and we spent the entire time on the patio for a bagel breakfast and a lunch of Clif’s legendary grilled bread.
I forgot to take pictures of the food, but I did manage to capture this daylily against my Great Library/Elferterre sign.
Unfortunately, the rain came late afternoon, bringing flash flooding to some places. But Shannon and Mike and the dogs made it home safe and sound.
On Sunday we went to the movies to see Haunted Mansion. Not a great movie by any means, but it was a lot of fun albeit tinged with some sadness.Â
On Monday, we had planned to go to East Boothbay and have a picnic on rocks by the ocean. But guess what? The forecast was for rain in the afternoon. As it takes an hour and half to get to East Boothbay, we decided to stay closer to home and have a picnic by the Kennebec River, about seven miles from us. However, the weather gods foiled us, and by the time the picnic was packed, we could hear thunder rumbling. Out to our patio we went, and we had barely finished eating when the rain came. Back in we scurried.
The rain did not last long, and we decided to console ourselves with ice cream at Fielder’s Choice in the neighboring town of Manchester. We might not have made it to the coast or even to the Kennebec River, but we had some wicked good ice cream.
One of my blogging friends, Carol Ann of Blogging for Joy, recently read Maya and the Book of Everything, the first book in my Great Library Series. She had such kind things to say about my novel. Many thanks, Carol Ann! I’ve written this before, but I feel like it must be noted again: Because of my blogging friends, my Great Library series has traveled around this country and around the world, too. No small feat for an indie writer. To borrow from Shakespeare: “I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks; and ever thanks…”
For new readers: Yes, Franco-Americans are an actual ethnic group in the United States. Between 1840 and 1930, about 1 million French Canadians immigrated to the United States. They primarily settled in New England but also spread out to other states where there was factory work.
In Maine, the state where I live, about 30% of the population is descended from French Canadians. That would include me—my family name was Meunier—and indeed French was my mother’s first language. My great-grandmother never did learn how to speak English, but the feeling was that she understood more than she let on.
Unfortunately, the Yankee Protestant population did not welcome us with open arms, and there was active discrimination and prejudice against Franco-Americans. In Maine, Ku Klux Klan membership was huge, with rallies and cross burnings other methods of intimidation.
In Maine, June was a very rainy month, and it seems that July is following suit. I know, of course, that too little rain is a terrible problem, but it is possible to have too much of a good thing. Although my perennials are thriving, my annuals are a bust this year. The tomatoes are tall and spindly with few blossoms; the cucumber plant looks stunted; and the nasturtium seeds rotted in the ground. According to Maine Public, this was one of the rainiest Junes on record, and if the weather gods don’t relent, this also will be one of the rainiest summers on record.
On Saturday, the weather gods must have been looking elsewhere because there was no rain for the entire day. Before they could change their minds, Clif, Dee, and I hurried out to the patio, where Clif made his legendary grilled bread. As we Mainers would put it, that bread was some good. We had small bowls of marinara sauce for dipping.
We also had drinks to salute this day without rain. The owl wine glass belongs to Dee, and we toasted Jackie Knight, a lover of owls. (Jackie is the wife of blogging friend Derrick Knight.) Jackie, we love owls, too.
July is the time for fledglings, and with my wee camera I was actually able to catch this pair of woodpeckers. The one at the bottom is the fledgling, who with a squawking and fluttering of wings, followed and pestered its parent for food. I do love those fledglings, on the edge of independence but still young enough to want to be fed.
In the front yard, there are bursts of yellow and red to add variety to all the green.
On July 4, Clif, Dee, and I went to Regal Cinema in Augusta to see Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Because of Covid, it had been three years since we actually went to a cinema to see a movie. With all that’s available on streaming, I thought I was just fine not going to the movies. After all, we have a really nice television with a good sound system.
Turns out, I was wrong. As soon as I settled into one of those big recliners, and the room went dark, I was completely absorbed, enthralled, even. Once a cinephile, always a cinephile. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I was watching Harrison Ford, one of the biggest and most charismatic stars of my generation.
Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny followed the usual contours of the previous Indiana Jones movies: There were lots of bad guys—Nazis, again; a magical artifact that would cause big trouble if it fell into the wrong hands; a thrilling opening sequence where a digitally de-aged Indy ran across the roof of a long, long train; and chase scenes galore. As you can see from the poster, Indy had his trademark whip and hat.
These repetitions could have made the movie feel stale, but they didn’t. Instead, it was a thrill to see Indy on the hunt again, this time for Archimedes’ Dial, which supposedly opens fissures in time. On that train, in 1944, Indy escaped with half of the dial, outwitting the Nazi astrophysicist Jürgen Voller (played by the excellent Mads Mikkelsen).
Is there another half of the dial somewhere? Is the Nazi astrophysicist obsessed with it? Does Indy, spurred on by his goddaughter Helena (a luminous Phoebe Waller-Bridge) go after the other half? Yes, yes, and yes.
But Dial of Destiny, with its themes of sorrow, regret, and the trials of old age, rises above the average adventure movie. After the thrilling chase scene on the train, the movie shifts to 1969, when Indy is no longer young. We see him at a low point in his life—sad, sleeping in his boxer shorts in a chair, drinking first thing in the morning. His old cocky days are long gone, and it gave me a pang to see him like this. While things perk up when his goddaughter Helena arrives on the scene, that sadness threads itself through the movie, elevating it.
Readers, I loved this movie and would gladly see it again. If you are an Indiana Jones fan, get thee to a cinema, where you can see it in all its glory on the big screen.
Recently, Ju-Lyn, of the excellent blog Touring My Backyard, wrote a post about spending five minutes with Fishing at Singapore River, a sweet sculpture of a boy and his dog. Ju-Lyn wrote, “When I encounter public art, I try to take about 5 minutes to explore it from several angles…” This idea came about from a challenge via a blogger who no longer blogs, and Ju-Lyn invited blogging friends to join her in this five-minute mindfulness exercise, which could include any subject or scene.
And where would I go? To my patio, of course, which is approaching peak loveliness.
Sitting at the table, I faced the garden, the bird feeders, and the woods. With my wee camera, I snapped a picture of a chickadee, Maine’s state bird. As my friend Barbara once observed, chickadees might be plentiful but they are never common. No, they are not.
Here’s a photo from another angle.
In a tree above the feeder, a male goldfinch waited. Leery of coming too close when I was on the patio, he was not quite as brave as the chickadee. The sun was shining directly on him, and unfortunately the yellow is a little blown out.
To another feeder came a little whizzing visitor, always a pleasure to see.
And finally, a bit of whimsy.
As I sat and took pictures, I heard the flutter of wings. The strident call of blue jays. The cheep, cheep, cheep of the goldfinches. From up the road, the sound of a lawn mower. A loud clunking as our next-door neighbor worked in his yard. Insects buzzing in my garden.
All around me was life—birds, insects, people.
When I looked at the time, I was a little surprised to find that seven minutes had passed. With so much to see, Time just whipped by.
A very happy Fourth of July to those in the United States. Clif, Dee, and I will be heading to Augusta to watch the newest Indiana Jones movie. It will be the first movie I’ve seen at a cinema in three years, and I’m really looking forward to seeing Indy on the big screen. At eighty, Harrison Ford is having yet another moment, and he’s one of those actors who has managed to keep his mojo over the years.
After the movie, we’ll be coming home to a little feast of potato salad and, weather permitting, grilled plant-based sausages. If the rain continues, which it’s done for most of June, the sausages will pan-fried.
But no matter which way the weather goes, we’ll have a good time and a good meal.
In Maine, it seems that winter has finally showed her frosty face. It is snowing today, and it snowed last week when I took the following pictures.
The backyard looked serene in its muted colors,
and birds came to the feeder to eat.
A female cardinal,
a woodpecker,
and a chickadee.
Out front, the shovel and the buckets of salt and sand waited,
and Clif used Snow Joe to clean the driveway and walkways.
I know you all enjoying seeing our red home nestled in the snow so after the snow was cleared, I took this picture.
On the weekend, after all that snow, I figured we deserved a little treat, and I made these chocolate vegan muffins.
Actually, snow or not, I would have made these muffins. After all, what is life without treats? Six days a week, we eat a low-carb, low-calorie diet, but one day a week we splurge. While the muffins might be vegan, they are certainly not low in calories or carbs. But, as my Yankee husband might say, they are pretty darned good.
I listen to a lot of podcasts, and I especially like ones that cover books, movies, and television shows. A few weeks ago, on Slate’s Culture Gabfest, Julie Turner, one of the hosts, recommended the American-Irish writer Tana French, who writes crime novels. This is not my first choice of genres, but Turner praised French’s writing, her craft with words as well as her ability to tell a ripping good story.
I decided it was time for this old reader to learn a new trick, and I requested French’s first novel, In the Woods, through my library’s interlibrary loan system.
In the Woods is about two crimes that happen twenty years apart on the outskirts of Dublin. In the 1980s, three children go into the woods—only one, Adam Ryan, comes back. Adam’s memory of what happened is completely gone, and he is unable to help the investigators. Adam and his parents move; he takes his middle name, Rob; and the past recedes. Rob becomes a detective in Dublin and befriends fellow detective Cassie Maddox.
Then twenty years later, along comes another murder in the neighborhood where Rob grew up, and he discovers that the past is never really past. Are the two murders connected? Will Rob’s memory return to help him solve the original crime? Will Cassie and Rob’s relationship move past friendship?
I will not answer any of these questions, but I will note that although the middle sagged a bit, In the Woods kept me reading, and I raced through the last fifty pages to see how the story would end. I was not disappointed by the ending, which somehow managed to be both surprising and unsurprising.
French is indeed a good writer, with a pleasingly understated—at least to me—style. Both Cassie and Rob are prickly, flawed characters that I came to care about. Also, French describes Dublin in enough detail to give a sense of place but not so much that it becomes tedious.
I’ll be reading more Tara French, even though crime thrillers are not my preferred genre.
I am coming down the homestretch with Of Time and Magic, Book Four in my Great Library Series. Everything is ready for the cover, which I should be able to share with you in mid-July. So exciting!
But I’m just plain worn out, both from book work and from all that’s going on in this country. I need some time off, a staycation of a couple of weeks, where I read, nibble on chocolate, and putter around the house and garden. And that’s just what I’m going to do.
Speaking of the garden…here are a few photos from our yard at the edge of the woods.
Slowly, slowly Spring is tiptoeing into Maine. In May, she will be in a rush, but right now she is just leaving hints here and there.
The male goldfinches have begun their change from drab feathers to bright summer yellow. Not wanting to scare them, I took this picture through our dining room window. The bird on the left illustrates how the male’s feathers are becoming brighter. When I go outside to do yard work—another sign of spring—I always bring my camera, and I’ll try to get a better picture.
Speaking of which…when I was outside, I did get this picture of Mr. Cardinal, that red beauty who graces our yard. I was especially pleased to get him in a maple tree with its spring buds, also red.
When I turned my gaze downward, I was thrilled to see the green shoots of irises in my back garden. I so love this tender color of Spring.
Now that the snow is gone and we can actually reach our front deck, Clif and I figured it was time to take down the Christmas decorations, which were looking more than a little frowzy. We also put away the shovel and the blue bucket with salt—you can see a glimpse of them behind the wreaths. Farewell until next winter. We hope. 😉
Finally, here’s a picture of a chipmunk that I took while I was resting on the patio and soaking in the birds and the trees and the natural beauty that comes from living on the edge of the woods. Truly a gift, one that gives in every season.
I am happy to report that this week I made good progress on my YA fantasy novel Of Time and Magic.
Word count this week: 6, 605
Total word count: 80, 789
Here’s a metaphor that describes how I feel with each book I write: When I start out, I’m leaving my safe port and heading out to sea. I know my destination, but I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to get there. In the middle of the book, I am completely surrounded by water with no land in sight. I usually hit the doldrums, where I seem to make little progress. This winter, I was there for several months. But now, come spring, I’ve escaped the doldrums and can finally see land. I’m still some distance away, but I will soon be reaching the book’s ending port.
Onward this week to another 6,000 words. Or maybe even more.
Notes From the Hinterland 