As longtime readers might recall, April 22 is a special day for our family. It is the birthday of Shannon, our youngest daughter. How long ago it seems when she first came into this world, and how thrilled we were to greet her. I remember her little baby body and face, immediately so dear to both Clif and me. (We felt exactly the same way about our eldest daughter Dee when she was born.) So a very happy birthday to you, Shannon. Even though it’s a weekday, I hope you slide in some kind of special treat.

Today is also Earth Day, its 55th anniversary. With another administration, this might have been a time of great celebration, a time to honor and love this beautiful planet that gives us life.  However, I have not heard that the Trump Administration has anything special planned for Earth Day’s 55th anniversary. (Unless of course,  you count trying to roll back environmental protections as a hateful kind of reverse celebration.) Gone are the days when both Democrats and Republicans worked together to create the first Earth Day, which in turn gave rise to the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and other environmental protections.

While cities, especially, benefited from the Clean Air Act, the whole country benefited from the Clean Water Act. I am old enough to remember when the rivers in Maine were a polluted mess, seemingly dead zones that most folks avoided. In central Maine, the Kennebec River ran dark and dirty, winding through Waterville and Augusta as it made its way to the ocean. I don’t recall ever seeing a bird on the river. Now, the Kennebec is filled with life from both within and without. Sturgeons, that prehistoric-looking fish, leap and splash in the waters. Bald Eagles and Osprey have made their homes by the river, and you can hear their calls as they talk to each other and hunt for food. (I was an adult when I saw my first Bald Eagle. Now they are common in central Maine.)

At our home on the edge of the woods, we do our best to live, as the Daily Stoic put it, “in accordance with nature.” The lawn is left to its own devices, our philosophy being if it’s green, it’s good.  My beds are nourished with compost and organic fertilizers, and I have never used pesticides on any of my plants. This means, of course, that my gardens are far from perfect looking. Insects and other creatures will nibble, and by August my hostas look like green lace.

Never mind. The dark mysterious woods that abut our yard have so much life that flutters, jumps, and creeps. What pleasure it gives us to be part of this, to watch baby chipmunks make their first cautious forays out of their burrow; to watch the various fledglings—nuthatches, cardinals, and chickadees—as they pester their parents for food. We smile at the little leopard frog that has taken up residence in our garden fountain.

In the summer, on the patio at night, we listen to barred owls hoot to each other. Bats fly in a swish over our roof and disappear into the woods. From the nearby Narrows Pond, we can hear the lonesome cry of loons: “Where are you? Where are you?”

We are right here, along with all the other creatures who call this place home. And here we will stay as long as we can.

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Listening

Songs for Earth Day
(And, yes, the songs were chosen with diversity in mind.)

Paradise by John Prine

Wake up America by MIley Cyrus

Burn On by Randy Newman

Go to the Woods by Dar Williams

And last, but certainly not least, the great Marvin Gaye’s Mercy Mercy Me.

On Saturday, Dee, Clif, and I went to Boston to visit Shannon and Mike. Shannon’s birthday is in a week or so, and we figured last weekend would be less busy for travel than next weekend, which is Easter weekend.

I’d like to write that Saturday morning was bright and sunny, a perfect day for traveling. But that’s not how it was. Instead, we woke up to snow. When we checked the forecast, we discovered that the snow would soon turn to rain and then rain for the entire weekend. We figured if we left early, we wouldn’t have to hurry and would safely get to the train station, which is in Brunswick, about forty-five minutes away when the weather is good.  All went as planned. We made it safe and sound to the train station in good time. However, we did see an accident on the highway—fortunately on the north-bound side—and we were glad we had taken it slow.

Eventually, the snow did turn to rain, giving everything a mysterious, ghostly look as we headed south to Boston.

We went by misty trees and water.

Even the overpass looked moody.

But inside the train, all was warm and cozy. Clif got his usual can of Sam Adams to kick off the trip.

Once at Shannon and Mike’s apartment, we were greeted by Holly the dog.

Mike made us martinis.

As we sipped our drinks, we listened to actual albums on the record player Dee, Clif, and I bought Mike for Christmas.

And what did we listen to? Harvest by Neil Young. It still amazes me that Dee, Mike, and Shannon like the music I listened to as a teenager. Let’s just say I don’t feel the same way about my parents’ music and leave it at that.

Then it was off to Carlo’s Cucina Italiana, a cozy restaurant with a fun, friendly vibe. Not only was the food delicious, but I was also impressed with the way the staff treated elders. They were solicitous of me as without my cane, I carefully made my way into the restaurant. Then, after I was seated, two women, also elders, came in. They might have been sisters; they might have been friends. One of the servers, a man, rushed over to them.

“Hello, darlings,” he said. “So good to see you two.”

Then he escorted them to one of his tables. The women were obviously regulars. Perhaps they left especially good tips, but whatever the case, they were welcomed in a way that seniors aren’t always welcomed.

Best of all, the food was so good. And plentiful. Here is a picture of my tortellini. I could only eat half. The other half was boxed and brought to Shannon and Mike’s apartment to be left with them as part of a supper meal some night.

Shannon had a seafood pasta dish, and like me, she couldn’t eat all of her meal. This, too, was boxed and taken home. The other half of Shannon and Mike’s supper meal.

After Carlo’s it was back to the apartment for presents and cupcakes.

What a jolly day of food and fun.

We are so grateful that Shannon and Mike live within an easy train trip of us. And while I’m at it, I am also grateful that Amtrak was recently extended from Portland to Brunswick. It’s much easier for us to take a train in Brunswick than it is to go to Portland, a half hour south of Brunswick.

Vive le train! Such a great way to travel.

Life is certainly exciting in Maine. On Thursday, April 4, we had a Nor’easter that brought us twelve inches of wet snow and widespread power outages. By, Monday, April 8, most of the snow was gone, and it was warm enough—60°F!—to sit on the patio and watch the solar eclipse. While we weren’t on the edge of the path of totality, we were close enough for a fascinating view of the moon meeting the sun.

Because the eclipse was, well, an event, we decided it would be all right to have drinks even though we don’t usually drink in the afternoon. Clif had gotten special glasses at our library, which meant we could safely watch the sun as the moon covered it. Nothing like burnt retinas to spoil an eclipse.

Clif swept the patio—the first sweeping of the season—and brought up two chairs and a little table. Here is Clif in his groovy sunglasses, toasting the eclipse.

The yard was a mess—downed branches everywhere courtesy of the nor’easter.

Still it was fine to be sitting on the patio and not need a heavy jacket. In the back woods, I could hear the little stream rushing to the Narrows Pond. A male cardinal sang his spring song, claiming his territory, our yard. Mourning doves cooed, and chickadees called to each other.

The eclipsed started at about 2:48, with the edge of the moon sliding over the sun. First a quarter of the sun was covered and then a third. The light from the sun grew dimmer. As Clif put it, the sun looked like a fat crescent. As the moon continued to slip over the sun, the crescent looked less fat until it resembled a crescent moon.

By 3:05, two-thirds of the sun was covered, and it felt chillier. But the birds were still calling and tweeting. It was not dark enough for them to stop. It was more like dusk. Except it was a little past 3:00, and even in the winter, dusk doesn’t come that early. By then the sun was a sliver, but even a sliver of sun throws quite a bit of light. (Solar power, baby, I’m looking at you.)

One of the loveliest aspects of the eclipse was the way the sun shadows danced on the patio. Over the years, I have seen the patio in shadow and shade, but never like this.

As I watched the eclipse, I thought about how poetic it was for the sun and the moon to come together. One is bright and extroverted; the other cool and introverted.

A meeting of opposites.

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Listening

Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles

Because, what else?

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A  Wee Break

For the next two weeks, I’ll be taking a short break from blogging. Lots to do, including a trip to Boston to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.

See you all on April 29.