For Clif and me, last week was action packed. First there was the Kick-Off Celebration of our library’s expansion project. (I wrote about this in the previous post.) Then there was Railroad Square Cinema’s celebration party for its own expansion project, which Clif and I went to on Saturday night.
Clif and I decided to go early and meet our friends Joel and Alice at Buen Apetito, the busy Mexican Restaurant attached to the cinema. The restaurant also was expanded, and now it has its own entrance as well as a snappy new bar where customers can gather to drink margaritas—take care as they can be strong!—and eat chips and salsa. Clif and I shared an order of tasty pulled-pork nachos, and 2 margaritas each put us in a jolly mood.
After dinner, we went next door to the cinema, and the dear little place hardly looked like itself. There is a spiffy new entrance, where tickets can be purchased, and the concession stand has been moved across the enlarged lobby. The lobby was packed with people, and on the walls was an exhibit, edgy and sharp enough to be shown in a museum. (The lobby was so crowded that it put me in a daze, and I didn’t get the name of either the artist or the exhibit. Clif and I hope to go back soon to get that information.)
The new entrance at the cinemaThe concession stand has been movedThe crowd in the lobbyArt in the lobby
There is even a new closet in the women’s room. Another patron and I regarded it suspiciously. “What is that?” she asked. “A storage closet?” I ventured. A quick peek indicated that this was indeed the case.
Railroad Square Cinema opened in 1978, and Clif and I have been going there from the very beginning. We’ve seen many changes, but Railroad Square remains an important cultural center in Waterville, and it draws people from miles around. In fact, Railroad Square, combined with Colby College, the Waterville Opera House, and a wonderful public library, makes Waterville a very attractive place for seniors to retire.
So congratulations Railroad Square Cinema! May you continue to give us good movies, good art, and good times for many years to come.
For the past few years, a dedicated group of volunteers—full disclosure: I am one of them—has been working on raising money to build an addition for our town’s library. Our goal is to raise 1 million dollars, a lot of money for a little town comprising mainly middle-class people. The plan included tearing down an old Masonic hall adjacent to the library, with the new addition being built on the footprint of the old building. (The library expansion committee looked into refurbishing the Masonic building, but it simply wasn’t strong enough to support the weight of all the books. However, the woodwork has been salvaged to use in the new addition.)
The goal of the expansion campaign was to take down the Masonic building when over 70 percent of the money had been raised for the addition. Well, glory be, we finally reached that mark, and yesterday the Masonic building was torn down.
I rode Blue Beauty—my first bike ride of the season—to the library and took photos of the demolition. I must admit I had mixed feelings as I watched the building come down. On the one hand, I was excited that we are finally beginning the project that so many of us have worked so hard on for so many years. On the other hand, as the building was being torn apart, the wood cracked and groaned, and I really felt as though I was watching the death of something old that had once been beautiful. So sad!
I stood next to a man who had gone to meetings in the Masonic building, and he seemed philosophical about the building’s demise. “The Masons don’t have the membership they used to have,” he told me. “And that building was in tough shape.”
Yes, it was. And now the Masonic building is gone. From its “ashes” will rise a new building, one that will expand the library, which is bursting at the seams. When the expansion is built, the library will be able to breathe freely and more easily fill its vital role in our community.
Yesterday afternoon, 84 boxes of fudge were delivered to the little house in the big woods. Fortunately, most of that fudge is going to other people and will not be staying here long. Karen and Jeff Toothaker, of Winthrop’s very own Sweet Tooth Fudge, had volunteered to make fudge for a fundraiser for the town library—we will soon be building an expansion—and I volunteered to coordinate this fundraiser. Hence the 84 boxes of fudge delivered to our home.
To say that I have “a sweet tooth” is an understatement. I have never met a dessert that is too sweet for me, and my favorite foods include chocolate, donuts, pies, and, as it happens, fudge. In truth, I am a sucker for fudge, and Sweet Tooth Fudge—smooth and oh-so creamy—is among the best I have ever eaten. (Top honors must go to my mother’s fudge, of course.)
Is Sweet Tooth Fudge the best in central Maine? I certainly think it is. I haven’t tasted any fudge that is better, and most of what I have eaten isn’t even half as good. Sweet Tooth Fudge definitely gets the Good Eater seal of approval.
And what a sweet fundraiser this was! The Toothakers are wonderful to work with, and the fudge practically sells itself. Clif brought a sign-up sheet to work, and Kelly, one of his co-workers, asked who was making the fudge. When Clif told Kelly it was Sweet Tooth Fudge, she immediately signed up to buy 2 boxes.
Because this was a fundraiser for the library, Karen came up with clever literary names to describe the fudge. I especially liked Come Spring by Ben Ames Williams, “inspired by our driveway in spring! A layer of vanilla fudge spread with Jif peanut butter topped with puddles of chocolate fudge.” And I also really liked Talking Walls: Discover Your World by Margy Burns Knight: “Chocolate was first discovered in the tropical rainforest of the Americas. It is now enjoyed everywhere. You choose—pure chocolate or chocolate walnut.”
When Jeff dropped off the fudge, we chatted a little about the fudge-making business. Jeff estimated that he and Karen spend 1,000 hours a year on fudge—14 weekends in which they sell the fudge, and 3 evenings before each weekend to make the fudge. A lot of work, but fun work, Jeff said.
I also had the opportunity to visit Karen and Jeff’s fudge-making facility at their home. One whole room is devoted solely to fudge making, and with its shelves and double sink, the room is neat, orderly, and spic and span. January, February, and March are Sweet Tooth’s slow times, but during busy months when they have lots of fudge on hand, Karen told me I could come to their house to buy fudge directly from them. As I have a brother who is very keen on chocolate fudge and have other family members and friends who like fudge, I expect I will be buying fudge from the Toothakers on a semi-regular basis.
Naturally, I might slide in a box for myself as well. After all, the fudge keeps for 3 weeks, and I can have a thin slice every day for dessert. This will allow me to stay within the parameters of my perpetual diet and yet finish the fudge before it becomes hard and dry. Of course, Clif would help me, too, so there is little chance that a half-pound of fudge would languish in the cupboard.
Anyway, many, many thanks to Jeff and Karen Toothaker for doing this fundraiser for the library. One sweet step at a time, we are getting closer to our goal of raising money for the expansion.
Last night, Clif and I went to Railroad Square Cinema in Waterville for the opening of a photography show featuring the works of—ta dah!—Clif, as well as another very talented photographer named Alec Hartman. The title of the show is Portals, and to quote Clif, “Photography is always looking through a portal—the lens and the camera—and the photographer looks at the world through the portal of his or her own consciousness.” The photographs in this show capture many different aspects of this definition of the word portal—from trees to subway exits to doors and windows.
The event was catered by Barrels Market, and the food was so good. There were platters of cheese and apple slices; olives, toasted pita bread, feta, hummus, and tomatoes; and smoked salmon, sliced baguette, onions, and a dip. For dessert, there were brownie bits, amazing little nuggets that were crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. I ate far more of these brownie bits than I should have, and I could have one right now. Emilie Knight, the daughter of my friend Margy Knight, prepared the food for this event, and what a terrific cook she is.
Many friends and supporters came to the opening, and we had a great time talking, eating, and looking at the photographs. The lobby was filled with the happy sound of engaged conversation, and many movie goers came over to nip some snacks and look at the photographs.
All of the pictures in this exhibit are for sale, with a third of the sale price going to support Maine Film Center and Railroad Square Cinema, two organizations that make central Maine a better place. The show runs until April 5, and readers who are within easy driving distance of Waterville should definitely check it out.
Here are some pictures taken at the opening of Portals:
The Mediterranean platterBrownie bits and wineClif and Rita MoranJoel Johnson, Clif, Mike Mulkeen, and Shannon MulkeenEmilie and Margy KnightCharlie Hartman, Karen Byrne, and Alec
The dessert table, with about half the desserts that were brought to the Salon.
On Sunday, I went to Susan (aka Ida LeClair) Poulin’s house for a Franco Salon. A bit of backstory: For the past few years, Franco-American writers, musicians, educators, and story tellers have been getting together once a year for what we call Rassemblement, a gathering. The past couple of years we have met at the Darling Marine Center in beautiful Walpole, Maine. At the gatherings, we read, we perform, we present, we sing, and being Francos, we talk. A lot. At each Rasemblement, there is a wonderful feeling of support, of camaraderie, and a sense—to borrow from Susan—of coming home.
(The history of Franco-Americans in Maine is not a happy story. It’s filled with prejudice and discrimination, ranging from voter suppression to the Klan marching against Francos. By Maine law, French—as it was spoken by Franco-Americans—was stamped out in schools, at work places, and other public institutions, and by the time my generation came, it was mostly gone. No bilingualism for Maine. No, siree.)
Anyway, we all enjoyed being together so much, that someone—perhaps Denis Ledoux?—suggested we get together throughout the year to share our work and support each other. So various people have opened their homes for Franco Salons, and last Sunday Susan Poulin—a talented storyteller and writer—and her husband Gordon Carlisle—a Francophile and a talented artist—opened their home to us.
As a good eater, I must first comment on the food. There were 13 or so of us at the Rasemblement, and I swear we had enough food to feed at least 20, maybe even more. We Francos are taught, at an early age, that to not have enough food at a gathering is a very, very bad thing. Maybe not a mortal sin, but certainly a venial sin. Indeed, to run out of food at a party would be enough to make most Francos twist inside out with mortification.
Therefore, there was quantity—breads, cheese, crackers, oranges, and a multitude of desserts—but there was also quality. Oh, there was quality. Susan made two delicious soups—a turkey sausage soup and a peanut stew. She also made a huge salad so delectable that I could have filled up on just that and some of the wonderful bread other guests brought. Part of what made the salad so good was the dressing Susan made, with a high quality olive oil and balsamic vinegar she gets from a local shop. I can truthfully say that I’ve never tasted such a good dressing.
Oh, that salad!
After we finished eating and talking, we settled into the living room. I read a couple of posts from my blog, and Susan read from her “Ida” blog as well. David Morreau and Susann Pelletier read poetry. Michael Parent told a story of the legendary Ti-Jean, sometimes a fool and sometimes a genius. Lucie Therrien sang two songs. Bob Perreault read from his novel, and Denis from a memoir he’s writing about his time in the seminary. Joan Vermette read a portion of an imagined monologue from a long-dead cousin who talks from way beyond the grave. Norman Beaupré read a scene from of one his novels.
As I listened, not only did I feel as though I was “at home” with these gifted Franco-Americans, but I also felt proud to be a part of this group, proud to be Franco-American.
Michael Parent’s hand digging into dip. He, too, is a good eater.
Last Friday, Clif and I went to our friends Margy and Steve’s house for one of their snappy potlucks, which often have themes. This particular potluck was held not only to celebrate January’s full moon—the Wolf Moon—but also to celebrate Priscilla Jenkins’s years of service on the Winthrop Town Council.
There were about 15 of us in Margy and Steve’s large kitchen and dining room, made cozy and warm by a fire in the wood stove. I brought homemade crackers as well as cranberry chutney—also homemade—mixed with a red pepper jelly made by a friend of a friend. The chutney and red pepper jelly was spread on top of softened cream cheese that, in turn, was spread on the crackers. (Not too bad, if I do say so myself.) There were also quiches, salads, and the most delicious lentil soup—made by Ginny Geyer—I have ever eaten. The soup had ham, which gave it a lovely smoky taste—and homemade noodles. The soup’s smoky taste reminded me of the pea soup that Franco-Americans are so famous for. I had two bowls full, and I could have eaten more, except that I knew what was for dessert—Patty Engdahl’s homemade carrot cake, made in honor of Priscilla.
But before the cake was cut, a rather amazing thing happened—various people listed events that they were involved with and might be of interest to others at the potluck. Margy went first with PechaKucha Night in Waterville, Maine, on January 24 at 7:20 p.m. at the Hathaway Creative Center. For those unfamiliar with PechaKucha, here is Waterville Public Library’s description: “PechaKucha … is acreative networking eventfor the entire community featuring diverse presenters faced with the same dynamic challenge: telling a compelling story in 20×20 (20 images showing for 20 seconds per image).” Winthrop’s very own Patrice Putman will be one of the presenters, and she will talk about her recent trips to Africa to help eradicate polio.
Margy also announced that a revised, updated edition of her book Talking Walls has been published, and there will be a launch party for the book at the First Friday Art Walk in Portland on February 7, from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. at Mainly Frames. Talking Walls is a lovely, poetic children’s book that explores some of the great walls in various countries and the stories those walls tell. (I have this book in mind for a certain little beloved baby who came into this world a few days ago.)
Clif went next, speaking about the Cinema Exploration film series that will be running every other Saturday from now through March at Railroad Square Cinema in Waterville. (Clif and I are on the steering committee of the film series.) On January 25, the Georgian movie In Bloom will be shown, and it’s a harrowing but moving look at being a young woman in a country that was once a part of the Soviet Union.
Since he had an audience, Clif also took the opportunity to promote his own photography exhibit—Portals: TheMystery of Windows and Doors. The exhibit will be at Railroad Square in Waterville sometime the end of February, either the 20 or 27. (When I know the exact date, I’ll let readers know.)
Finally, Rita Moran told of the play—Doubt—that the Monmouth Community Players will be performing at Cumston Hall in Monmouth, Maine, from January 24 through February 2. The tickets are very reasonably priced—$10 for seniors and students and $12 for adults.
“Wow!” Margy said, when everyone was done. “No cabin fever in Winthrop!” No, indeed. This just goes to show how even small, rural towns can have plenty of creativity.
Then there was cake as we celebrated Priscilla’s 6 years of service on the town council. We applauded her, we made an acrostic with her first name, and we dubbed her Queen of Winthrop, at least for that day.
On Sunday, a bright, brisk, and beautiful day, we had a Peace Pole celebration at the Inch-by-Inch Garden at the Winthrop Grade School. As I’ve written in past posts, the pole was erected in honor of Tom Sturtevant, who died last year. In brief—Tom was an activist who made our community a better place. The Peace Pole is a fitting tribute to a man who gave so much of himself to the town, and he is a shining example to the rest of us to get out there and do what we can, in our own small way. About 100 people came to the celebration. Tom’s wife, Mary, was there, as were their children, Ben and Susannah, and it must be have been bittersweet for the three of them.
Mary Sturtevant
Karen Toothaker, a lifelong resident of Winthrop, moderated the ceremony, and she spoke about how Tom started the Inch-By-Inch Garden, about his concern with the care and nurture of seeds, and about how his father taught him to take care of his tools. Despite the many activities that Tom was involved with, he always paid attention to details.
Karen Toothaker
The Children’s Light Choir from the United Methodist Church sang two songs—Dave Mallet’s “Garden Song” and the lovely hymn “Let Peace Begin with Me.” Their sweet, in-tune voices were joined by the hesitant, sometimes out-of-tune voices of the adults.
The Children’s Light Choir
Craig Hickman, Winthrop’s State Representative and an organic farmer, spoke eloquently. He asked, “Where does peace begin if not in the garden?” He related how agriculture—with its fertilizers and pesticides—has become chemical warfare and how we can diminish that warfare by growing our own gardens organically. Tom was an accomplished gardener who understood this. He not only helped start the Inch-by-Inch Garden, but he also turned the small yard by his house into a lush, productive garden that helped feed him and Mary. Craig encouraged everyone to “Grow peace in your own gardens,” just the way Tom did.
Craig Hickman
The Winthrop Area People for Peace collected more money than was needed to pay for the Peace Pole, and a check with the remaining money was given to the Winthrop Food Pantry, where Tom volunteered and was on the board. JoEllen Cottrell, the executive director of the food pantry, was there to accept the check from a young girl who wasn’t going to hand it over until she was sure JoEllen was indeed JoEllen. I understand the young girl’s confusion. Lee Gilman, Steve Knight and I, who are all on the board, stood by JoEllen as she accepted the check, and I expect that young girl didn’t know any of us.
Doug Rawlings, of Veterans for Peace, also spoke about Tom, about how Tom was a homemaker, understanding his duties to the hearth—Tom died hauling wood—as well as a peacemaker. “It is through our deeds as well as our words that we make our mark,” Doug said. “Tom is here, today, tomorrow, and the next day. Go out and do good deeds for others in Tom’s name.”
Doug Rawlings
The ceremony ended with Ben and Susannah giving a simple thanks to those who had worked on the Peace Pole project. Susannah wore a hat that belonged to her father, and to the soft beat of a drum—Tom’s drum—she lead a heart and breath meditation in honor of Tom’s beautiful vision and beautiful heart.
Ben and Susannah
Unfortunately, I must finish this piece on a less than positive note, and I’m doing so because it illustrates just how important Tom’s work for peace was. A few people in town—those people shall remained unnamed—have been less than enthusiastic about the Peace Pole. They think that the message of peace is too controversial, too political.
Peace controversial? Why should that be? Instead, war—with all its carnage, misery, and destruction—should be controversial. What makes the naysayers’ stance especially ironic is that we are coming onto the season of “Peace on Earth and goodwill to all,” and it’s my guess that those in town who think peace is too controversial and too political will be celebrating this holiday right along with the rest of us. I hope they reflect on the message of the season and perhaps change their attitude toward peace. As they drive by the Peace Pole, maybe they can even give a silent prayer of thanks that they live in a peaceful town where they don’t have to fear for their lives when they go out to do errands.
Yesterday was an exciting day for the town of Winthrop, which got its very own Peace Pole and memorial bench dedicated to Tom Sturtevant, a long-time Winthrop resident who died in January of 2012. Tom was many things, including a friend, a teacher, a peace activist, a husband, and a father. Here is what I wrote about Tom not long after he died: “There are many ways to promote peace, and Tom’s involvement with various peace groups was one way, but helping to make the community—in this case, Winthrop—a better place is another way of promoting peace, which starts at home. Tom volunteered at the Winthrop Food Pantry and with Meals on Wheels. He helped establish the Winthrop Community Gardens and was involved with the Inch-by-Inch Garden project for the Winthrop Grade School.” Tom was also involved with the library expansion.
Tom was tall, lanky, soft-spoken, brave, and resolute. I still remember how at the November 2011 board meeting at the Winthrop Food Pantry, two people rode their bikes on that brisk day: Me and Tom, who was in his 80s. I sure miss seeing that man biking or walking around town. I miss hearing that soft-spoken voice.
To honor this man who gave so much of himself to peace and to the community, the Winthrop Area People for Peace got permission from the Winthrop Town Council to put a Peace Pole and a bench in the Inch-by-Inch Garden at the grade school. (Here is a description of what a Peace Pole is.) All the money for this project came from private donations, and the granite for the pole and the bench came from Tom’s house in Winthrop. How appropriate!
All summer was spent planning, organizing, and raising money for the Peace Pole and bench, and yesterday the big day for the installation finally arrived. John Jennings, owner of Forgotten Stoneworks, and his assistant David Krantz came with their equipment to install the Peace Pole and the bench. Margy and Steve Knight and Clif and I were there to supervise and be enthusiastic cheerleaders. To say we were thrilled by the Peace Pole and bench is a vast understatement. Ecstatic might be a better word. Did we jump up and down a little? Probably not. But I know I felt like doing so.
All went smoothly, and within an hour so, the pole, which according to Steve, weighs about 1,300 pounds, and the bench were in place in the Inch-by-Inch Garden. The phrases inscribed on the sides are: “May Peace Prevail on Earth”; “Be the Change You Wish to See”; “Let Peace Begin with Me”; and “Inch by Inch…Gonna Make this Garden Grow.”
On Sunday, November 3 at 1:00 p.m., there will be a Peace Pole Celebration at the Inch-by-Inch Garden by the Winthrop Grade School. A reception will immediately follow in the Winthrop Town Hall. Everyone who knew Tom (or who would have liked to have known Tom) is invited to come. We are anticipating a big crowd. Tom, you are still missed, and you are certainly not forgotten.
Today was one of the finest days of the year. The sky was a heartbreaking blue, and the midday temperature was 75 degrees with nary a hint of humidity. After breakfast, Clif and I went for a bike ride through town and by Maranacook Lake. I brought my trusty camera, as I often do, so that I could record this beautiful day in pictures.
Margy Burns Knight, one of the founding mothers of the Inch-by-Inch GardenTomatoes in the Inch-by-Inch GardenCharles M. Bailey Public LibraryLate flowers at the libaryAlong Maranacook DrivePeekaboo water
This week has been hot, hot, hot, but what fun we’ve had at the Maine International Film Festival (MIFF). As always, when so many films are offered, there are strong movies and not-so-strong movies. That’s just the way it goes. Naturally, the assessment of what’s good and what’s not is clearly a matter of taste, and as my friend Joel Johnson has pointed out, every film at MIFF has its advocate.
While movies are the point of the festival, a nice bonus is the old friends we see—some of them only once a year. With those friends, often over pizza and beer and fries, we talk and argue about the movies we’ve seen. These conversations add zest to an already lively event.
I’ll be seeing one more movie tomorrow night, but my two favorite movies so far are Fruitvale Station and Tu Seras Mon Fils. It’s my guess that Fruitvale Station will receive multiple Academy-Award nominations, and it will be returning to Railroad Square sometime after the festival. Both movies are dark and powerful and beautifully acted. (I’ve provided links to both of them for more detailed descriptions.)
MIFF 2013 has been very well attended, and as I watched people hurry to get a seat or stand in line for popcorn or talk in groups after a movie, I was reminded, yet again, of how much Railroad Square Cinema and MIFF, both now a part of the Maine Film Center, bring not only to Waterville but also to central Maine. Over the coming year, Clif and I will make every effort to support Railroad Square and Maine Film Center. We live on a modest budget, but there are some things worth spending money on, and Railroad Square and MIFF certainly fall into this category.
Scenes from this year’s MIFF:
A train passes by Railroad Square CinemaHere’s looking at youClif at MIFFThe Square at dusk
A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.
For Clif and me, last week was action packed. First there was the Kick-Off Celebration of our library’s expansion project. (I wrote about this in the previous post.) Then there was Railroad Square Cinema’s celebration party for its own expansion project, which Clif and I went to on Saturday night.
Notes From the Hinterland 