I am busy, busy getting ready for my trip to New York. Things not to forget: train tickets, umbrella, camera, notebook and pen, books for the trip, Dee’s birthday present, and perhaps the most important of all—chocolate chip cookies, which will travel in a tin layered between the clothes in my suitcase.
Dee is a cookie monster, and she has said, more than once, that chocolate chip cookies are my speciality. Well, everyone needs a speciality.
Last year for her birthday, I brought her homemade spiced pecans. She was happy enough to get them, but I could tell she was disappointed that I didn’t bring chocolate chip cookies.
This year, no such mistake will be made.
On a more serious note…Ebola has reared its ugly head in New York City. A doctor who worked with Ebola patients in West Africa has contracted the disease and is being treated in a New York hospital. As someone whose middle name should be “worry,” I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I didn’t admit that Ebola is on my mind. However, it won’t stop me from visiting my daughter. In Texas, none of Thomas Duncan’s friends and relatives caught it, and they were in very close contact with him. I figure my chances of getting Ebola are very small indeed.
On Saturday, I’ll be going to New York City to visit Dee. Just visiting with her is reason enough to go, but there are so many wonderful things to do in New York City, and some of them are even free or don’t cost much at all.
One prime example is the New York Public Library, which has “88 neighborhood branches and four scholarly research centers.” (Surprise, surprise that I would think of visiting a library.) At the Schwarzman building—often considered the main branch, with those famous lions guarding the entrance—there are two exhibitions that I’m interested in.
The first is Over Here: WWI and the Fight for the American Mind. This description from the New York Public Library’s website explains it best: “Drawing from collections across The New York Public Library, Over Here: WWI and the Fight for the American Mind explores the manner in which public relations, propaganda, and mass media in its many forms were used to shape and control public opinion about the war while also noting social and political issues that continue to resonate, such as freedom of speech and the press, xenophobia, and domestic espionage. ”
I must admit I don’t know much about World War I. For me, World War II, Hitler, the death camps, and the atomic bomb overshadow that earlier war, and it will be interesting to see how the mass media functioned as a propaganda device in the early 1900s. (I certainly will never forget how the media—even the excellent New York Times—backed Bush and the war in Iraq.)
The second exhibit—Sublime: The Prints of J. M. W. Turner and Thomas Moran—will be a little lighter. As with World War I, I don’t know that much about Turner except that he was a British painter in the 1800s and painted in an impressionistic style before Monet and Renoir made it popular. (I also know that Timothy Spall will be portraying him in the upcoming Mike Leigh bio-pic.) I know absolutely nothing about Thomas Moran. According to the blurb on the library’s website, Moran was an American painter who was greatly influenced by Turner’s work.
After seeing both this exhibits, I should know much more about WWI and the works of Turner and Moran than I do now. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s always good to learn new things.
At the Hudson Park Library, there is an exhibition called Here and There: An Exhibit of Paintings by Elliot Gilbert. So as not to ruin my perfect record of ignorance as expressed in this post, I also have to confess that I am completely unacquainted with the works of Gilbert, who is a landscape artist and an illustrator of children’s books.
Dee and I will also tuck in a movie or two and get Chinese food from a place just down the street from her apartment. We’ve talked about getting donuts from the fabulous Doughnut Plant. (I can taste a donut right now.) And perhaps slide in a trip to the Strand bookstore. Then there are cannolis from that Italian shop not far from where Dee lives.
Always so much to do and see and eat in New York City.
Saturday brought much-needed rain, and down came leaves and needles to sprinkle the yard—the lawn, the patio, and the driveway. The rain stayed just the right amount of time so that it wasn’t a dreary nuisance—or worse—and Sunday was bright and warm with a deep blue sky. A day for yard work, for getting pots emptied and washed and stored down cellar. A day for hauling wood.
It was also a day to make apple galette. The day before, I had brought a pie to a potluck at our friends Margy and Steve’s house. The leftovers stayed with them, and Clif and I were feeling a little apple-pie deprived. However, a whole pie is simply too much for Clif and me. While it’s good to have treats on occasion, a whole pie for two people would stretch that occasion from a treat to a trend.
Why not a galette, I thought? It’s like a half of a pie. Probably still way more than Clif and I need, but certainly better than a whole pie. One pie crust, half the filling of a nine-inch pie, and voilà—galette. They are fun to make, too, and their rustic qualities make galettes less fussy than a pie. Mine always come out a little lopsided, but for me that’s just part of the charm.
BeforeAnd after
After lunch, Clif and I each had a piece of still-warm galette. Clif gave it a rare “Really good!” rather than his usual Yankee “Pretty darned good.”
After the galette, we were ready to head outside and work. Our neighbor Denny stopped by as he was walking his dogs, and we talked about politics—we have a Craig Hickman sign on the lawn—and the upcoming elections in November. As we are all Democrats, we are hoping that Mike Michaud will be our next governor.
Denny continued with his walk, and we continued with our chores. The fallen leaves gave the yard a delicious nutty smell, and every once in a while I had to stop to watch the the golden swirl of needles and leaves as they fell from the trees.
I am a homebody, and to me an afternoon spent doing chores is an afternoon well spent. It’s not that I don’t enjoy getting together with friends or reading or going to the movies, but I take real pleasure in doing the everyday things in life.
And a good thing, too. As I’ve mentioned before, everyday things make up a very big part of my life—of most people’s lives—and if you don’t enjoy them, then life is pretty dreary. This is not to diminish the importance of the breaks in our routine that give life spark but instead to emphasize the importance of being absorbed with everyday matters and chores.
There are many different ways to define happiness. But it seems to me that being absorbed with work, in whatever form it takes, and getting satisfaction from it is one definition of happiness.
This week, our daughter Dee, who lives in New York, has been visiting us, and we at the little house in the big woods are officially on vacation. What a glorious week for it—warm, clear days and cool nights. Really, the weather couldn’t be better.
We had a Labor Day gathering of family and friends, and the weather was so good we were able to spend the entire time on the patio. While the birds fluttered and the crickets sang, we talked about all the things we love to talk about—movies, books, politics. Clif made his famous grilled bread, and everybody dug in as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks. For our friend Diane, the grilled bread was the main attraction, and she was particularly grateful that the weather cooperated so that we could gather on the patio.
The rest of the week has been spent going to movies, art exhibits, and staying on the patio until late at night as we eat, talk, and listen to music. Last night, we made grilled pizza. (Thank you, Kathy Gunst, for the recipe for the homemade dough.) I made a roasted tomato sauce with herbs and tomatoes from my very own garden. To borrow from Clif, the pizza was pretty darned good, if I do say so myself.
For me, the highlight of the week—so far—has been the Bernard Langlais exhibit at Colby College’s Museum of Art. Langlais is a Maine artist best known, perhaps, for his primitive wooden sculptures of animals. Because of this, and—I’ll be honest—because he was from Maine, my perception of Langlais was that he was an untrained, local yokel. “A chainsaw artist,” Sam, at Railroad Square, said when I told her this. Exactly.
Except nothing could be further from the truth. While Langlais might have been local, he was not a yokel, and he certainly wasn’t untrained. His style was diverse, ranging from cubism to abstract, and the exhibit at Colby does a terrific job of showing the dynamic breadth of this very talented artist. The show runs until January 4, and I plan to go back for another look.
Today, we are going to see the movie The Giver. Tomorrow, we’ll be heading to Brunswick to see the exhibits at the Bowdoin College Art Museum. There just might be a trip to Gelato Fiasco before heading to openings at galleries in Gardiner and Hallowell. And, of course, more suppers on the patio.
Yesterday was a banner day for the Charles M. Bailey Library. There was a ground breaking for the new addition, which if everything goes well, will be completed in April of 2015. It was a day of joy for all of us who have worked so hard on this project—six years for some and three years for me.
As I’ve written previously, there have been low points as well as high points in this expansion campaign. In a town the size of Winthrop—6,200—it is not easy to raise a million dollars (or so!). But we are getting closer to our goal, and thanks to the town council, which approved a bond for us, we are able to get started now. We have wonderful support from the community, and we also have a terrific group of volunteers who will help us continue with the fundraising we need to do to complete the project. And, I expect new volunteers will join us as time goes by.
So, allow me to blow the celebratory horn. Hooray for Winthrop, hooray for the library, and hooray for all who have helped make this project a reality!
On Saturday, Clif and I were up bright and early—for us—to set up at the Winthrop Art Fair.
Clif setting up at the fair
The weather was good—sunny with clouds, not too windy, not too hot—and while there wasn’t exactly a crush of people, attendance was steady.
Laurie minding the tent
Unfortunately, sales were disappointing. We sold enough cards to pay for the table fee plus a little extra, but not enough to warrant all the work we put into getting ready for this event as well as the two of us sitting at the fair from 10:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. Plenty of people came to look at the cards. They told us how pretty they were, but many of them left without buying anything. The cards—at $3 apiece—are a good price, so it wasn’t the cost.
After the fair, Clif and I discussed the disappointing sales. While our cards are nice, perhaps flowers and scenery aren’t unique enough to grab people’s attention. With all the great, affordable, digital equipment that is available, taking good pictures has never been easier. Perhaps fairgoers felt they could take pictures and make their own cards. Or, perhaps people just don’t send cards the way they once did. Who knows?
I realize that Winthrop is not exactly in the hub of things, and my card sales shouldn’t be judged by one fair. On the other hand, my expectations for this fair—the table fee plus $100 extra—weren’t unreasonable, and we fell far short of that.
Alec Hartman, another photographer we know, was there, and his mother told me he did quite well. However, Alec takes unique and snappy pictures of animals, and he does a great job. Most people would not be able to get the shots he takes of bears, chipmunks, and various other animals.
So, now I have to decide how much energy and money I want to put into this because by spending so much time on the cards, I neglected other things, including my writing. I have not made bread for two weeks, I have not kept track of sales in the various grocery stores, and I haven’t been as diligent at clipping coupons. Would my time be better spent doing those things rather than trying to sell cards? I honestly don’t know.
Clif has suggested I try selling cards on Etsy, and I plan on following his advice. I might also do a couple of holiday fairs, where we would not only sell cards but calendars, too.
To make up for the disappointing day on Saturday, we had a delightful day on Sunday at our friends’ home. Jim and Dawna live by a lake, and this is the view from their deck.
We had wine and appetizers on the deck, and the weather even let us eat our meal outside, too. We had grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, and a wonderful salad made with Farmer Kev’s heirloom tomatoes.
As a bonus, this butterfly—a black and white admiral, I think—landed on the deck and stayed there long enough for me to get this shot.
I enjoy taking pictures, and I will continue to do so whether or not I sell cards. But this week I am going to take a break from cards. I will make bread, get the house in order, and maybe even do a little fiction writing.
Then next week I will decide how much time I want to put into selling cards.
On Saturday, Clif and I, of Hinterland Photography, will be setting up shop at the Winthrop Art Fair. The past two weeks have been busy, busy, busy. We now have 225 cards to sell—flowers, animals, scenery, doors, and even some with food. We’ll also have framed photos to sell, ranging from big—11 x 14—to small—4 x 6.
Today will be a day to get all the bits and bobs organized—cash for the cash box, price cards for the framed photos, and all the various things we will need tomorrow. The spare bedroom is cluttered with items for the fair, but most everything is one place, which is good.
Will everything go into our Honda Fit? Or, will we need to make two trips? For this event, it isn’t an issue as the fair’s site—on Winthrop’s Main Street—is about a mile from the little house in the big woods. However, it could be an issue for future fairs. One thing at a time, as Clif and I like to say to each other.
Unfortunately, the weather forecast has gone from dry and sunny, the way it should be in August, to “checkered,” meaning cloudy mixed with a bit of sun with the possibility of showers. Not the best, but not the worst either. At least torrential downpours aren’t predicted, in which case Clif and I wouldn’t go. We would not want our cards and framed photos to be ruined by the rain. We do have a canopy, but it will provide only so much protection.
But checkered we can live with.
So readers, if you live in central Maine and feel like going to the Winthrop Art Fair, do stop by and say hi. The art fair runs from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
For several months, Clif and I have been talking about selling photo cards. We both love taking pictures, and in the course of a year, I give or send at least one hundred cards. Lately I’ve been thinking, why not try to sell them as well?
Now, we know we’ll never get rich selling cards. I am mindful of what Jeff Toothaker, of Sweet Tooth Fudge, told me, “Our hourly rate of selling fudge is about what we would make if we worked at Wal-Mart, but we have a lot more fun making fudge.”
Just substitute the word cards for fudge, and I expect we’ll have the same hourly pay. But we would take photos anyway, whether we sell them or not. I bet taking pictures and selling cards is a whole lot more fun than working at Wal-Mart.
In fact, we have sold cards before, when we were publishing WolfMoon Journal, so we have many of the things we need—table, tablecloth, stands, cash box. We also know the drill—how to set up, how to take down, and everything in between. All we really needed was a new name, and for obvious reasons, we came up with Hinterland Photography.
We decided to start small, with a show called the Bizarre Bazaar, which was held at the Winthrop Center Friends Church, about two miles away from where we live. (The actual fair was sponsored by the St. Andrew’s Women’s Guild.) The fair was close, which meant Clif could stay home and work on other projects while I was at the fair.
Because the church is a bit off the beaten path, the fair’s attendance was low. However, I not only sold enough cards to cover the cost of the table, but I also made a little extra, which I promptly spent at the fair. I now have one Christmas present each for Dee and Shannon.
Best of all, I was invited to participate in another fair, the day after Thanksgiving. Ivan Borja, who was selling some of his beautiful jewelry at the Bizarre Bazaar, came to my table to chat and tell me about the fair in Mount Vernon, which he helps organize. The table fee is low, and he assured me that the fair is very well attended.
Clif and I will give it a try. We know there will be a series of hits and misses before we discover which fairs we should attend. (Ivan said this was true for him.)
For the Bizarre Bazaar, I focused on my flower photos, but for the next fair we’ll be in—The Winthrop Art Fair—we’ll incorporate many of Clif’s photos, too. He’s taken some good ones, if I do say so myself. We’ll also be offering framed photographs.
The Winthrop Art Fair is about a month away, and until then, we’ll be busy, busy making cards.
On Tuesday, I went to Gardiner to deliver flyers for Railroad Square Cinema—I do this every 6 weeks or so—and when I drove into town, I saw something that made my heart beat fast. Very fast. On the corner, in bold red, stood a sign for Frosty’s Donuts.
Frosty’s Donuts, which sells the freshest, most delectable, most melt-in-your-mouth honey-dipped donuts in the area, maybe even in Maine, started as a small shop in Brunswick in the 1960s. The hours were, ahem, flexible, and for those who didn’t live in Brunswick, getting a donut from Frosty’s was pretty darned hard.
June and Bob Frost had run the shop in Brunswick for decades, but when June died in 2011, Frosty’s was sold to Nels Omdal and Shelby St. Andre. John Frost, June and Bob’s son, taught Omdal and St. Andre the fine art of making donuts, and Frosty’s, which had been closed, reopened on February 11, 2012. But for Clif and me, the problem of accessibility remained the same—the hours were from 4:00 to 1:00, and we are rarely, if ever, in Brunswick before 1:00.
I felt certain I was doomed to a life without Frosty’s donuts, and becasue I am crazy about donuts, even desperate for donuts, as I once wrote, this was not a happy thought. But then something verging on the miraculous happened. Omdal and St. Andre decided to expand their Frosty’s empire to Gardiner, which is much closer to us than Brunswick is. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I’ll be able to get to the Gardiner Frosty’s before it closes for the day.
Therefore, I didn’t fool around when I saw the cheery sign on the sidewalk. I parked, grabbed some Railroad Square flyers, and went straight to Frosty’s, which was not only open but still had a good selection of donuts. Clutching those flyers, I stood in a happy daze, surveying the donut case. Initially, I had planned to buy two donuts, one each for Clif and me. But somehow, that seemed confining. Two out of all those wonderful flavors?
All right, then. Four. I would buy four donuts, each of them different so that we could have a little sampler. But what about that honey-dipped twist?
“Oh, add one of those, too,” I told the woman behind the counter.
“Well,” she said with a smile. “If you’re going to buy five, you might as well make it six. You’ll save money.”
How could I resist? Two of the things I love best—donuts and saving money. “Throw in a chocolate glazed,” I said.
Now, you don’t have to be a math genius to figure out how many donuts apiece that makes for two people. And if you think that any of those donuts made it until the next day, then you would be wrong.
“Clif,” I said later that night. “We have to plan a donut strategy. I go to Gardiner every six weeks. That Frosty’s is open until 5 p.m., and I’ve been given permission to leave Railroad Square flyers there.”
“We’ll eat whatever you bring home,” Clif said philosophically.
I certainly knew that. “But how many should I buy? One twist to be shared by the two of us?” The twists are big, and both Clif and I have a special weakness for them.
Clif shrugged. “It’s not like you’re going every week.”
“A twist each?”
Clif just grinned. “That lemon-filled donut was pretty darned good, too.”
So was the raspberry-filled donut, the chocolate coconut, and the chocolate glazed. They were all tender, flavorful, and moist, without a hit of the awful dryness you find in donuts from another shop that will remain nameless.
Stay tuned. I’ll report back on Frosty’s donuts in six weeks.
This evening, friends are coming over, and there is much to do today, but the chicken is cooked and ready for the chicken tarragon salad. Soon I’ll be getting the milk and cream mixture ready for our homemade ice cream. Then there is a salsa dip to make as well as a spinach, pasta, and feta salad.
A busy day but such a lovely one. It’s sunny and dry and a little cool, even. Tonight we might have to shut the windows.
A few days ago, I received an email from Farmer Kev, and next week we should have peas in our CSA delivery. At the little house in the big woods, the gardens—filled mostly with shade plants—are thriving. We got off to a cold, slow start this spring, but the weather finally seems to be in the plants’ favor. I can’t recall a time in early summer when they looked so vibrant, so vigorous. The plants must be getting exactly the right amounts of rain and sun.
This is pure luck, of course. The weather gods do what they will. (Last summer they made it rain for 20 days in a row.) All we mere humans can do is give thanks when the weather gods nod in our direction. Because, let’s face it—with the human population hurtling toward 9 billion, we need plants—especially ones like peas—to thrive and flourish.
So on this day before the summer solstice, I give thanks for the green and thriving world that surrounds me, for the ferns, the hostas, and the irises, for Farmer Kev’s peas.
A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.
I am busy, busy getting ready for my trip to New York. Things not to forget: train tickets, umbrella, camera, notebook and pen, books for the trip, Dee’s birthday present, and perhaps the most important of all—chocolate chip cookies, which will travel in a tin layered between the clothes in my suitcase.
Notes From the Hinterland 