People

A Coastal Farewell to an Old Friend: Sherry Ballou Hanson, 1944–2022

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On a blue and dazzling Saturday, I drove to Bailey Island in Casco Bay to celebrate the life of a dear friend, Sherry Ballou Hanson. The celebration, hosted by Sherry’s family, was held at Cook’s Lobster & Ale House, one of Sherry’s favorite places.

To say Cook’s is a restaurant with a view doesn’t begin to describe its stunning location. This is a picture taken from inside Cook’s as I looked out the window.

And here is the view around the restaurant, situated on a spit of land surrounded by the ocean.

I met Sherry—a fine writer—thirty years ago when we both belonged to a group called Maine Media Women (MMW).  As the name suggests, MMW was an organization that promoted women in all aspects of the media, from those who wrote poetry to those who worked at television stations. Sherry and I served on the board together, and over the years, we became good friends.

About ten years ago, Sherry was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and she and her husband decided to move from the East Coast to the West Coast so that she could be closer to her family. But every summer, Sherry would come back to Maine, rent a cottage on Bailey Island, and host a gathering for her MMW friends. She was the glue that held us together, and we looked forward to these gatherings where she generously treated us to lobster rolls from her beloved Cook’s.

As I’m sure you all know, ovarian cancer is a hard one to beat, and last summer, Sherry died after fighting many battles with this terrible foe. (For various reasons, her family had to wait until this summer to host the East Coast celebration of Sherry’s life.)

We filled one half of a large room at Cook’s. Sherry’s son and daughter-in-law spoke movingly of Sherry and encouraged everyone to introduce themselves and talk about Sherry. What came through, with both family and friends, was how much Sherry was loved. There were tears, and some people had to stop, unable to continue their remembrances. For me, most moving was Sherry’s young teenage granddaughter, filled with love and grief for a grandmother who did puzzles with her and helped her look for agates. As the granddaughter cried, her brother—Sherry’s grandson—held her hand. After that, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the place. I know mine weren’t.

I was reminded yet again that to be mourned is to be loved, that grief is an honest, fitting expression of what we feel when someone we care about dies. Eventually, we dried our tears, ate our lunch, and went outside to listen to some of Sherry’s poetry set to music by her son.

As I looked at the deep blue sky and the sparkling water, I thought that this was a Sherry Hanson kind of day, absolutely perfect for a beach lover who collected sea glass and loved to go to places where dogs were allowed. A hard-working woman who disliked people that “were all talk.” Someone who valued cleanliness and order but who knew how to have a good time.

Sherry’s East Coast friends have decided to continue the tradition of meeting every summer, to gather and remember this special person who brought so much to our lives. While Sherry might be gone, she is certainly not forgotten.

 

 

 

Books, Food, summer

Of August Days and Jeri Theriault’s Poetry Reading

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Sunday was one of those August days that draw tourists to Maine in the summer. Warm weather—around 80°—combined with low humidity and sunshine made for a perfect afternoon on the patio. As it turned out, we had invited our friend Jill over for drinks and appetizers, and we were thrilled that the weather gods decided to smile on us. Yes, we could have had drinks and appetizers inside, but how nice to sit on the patio and watch the birds flutter in out and of the woods as they visited the bird feeders.

A beautiful August summer afternoon in Maine. When the rain and cold and snow come, I will try to keep this day in my heart, to be warmed by the memory of good food and good conversation.

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From the Department of Good News

In this time of climate change when some people suffer from too much heat and others from too much rain, reading good news provides welcome relief. In her post “This week’s Small Pleasures #348,” my blogging friend Barbara of Thistles and Kiwis wrote about how bird counts are up in Wellington, New Zealand. Way, way up. Some by as much as 260%. If my knees weren’t so creaky, I would jump for joy.

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Listening: Poetry Reading at Greene Block + Studio in Waterville, Maine

Self-Portrait as Homestead by Jeri Theriault

Last Friday, I went to Waterville to hear Jeri Theriault read poetry from her terrific new book Self-Portrait as Homestead. Like me, Jeri is Franco-Amercan, and she also grew up in Waterville, a small mill city by the Kennebec River.

It gave me great pleasure to hear Jeri use the word “mémère” (grandmother) in her poetry. And what a thrill that the title of one of her poems comes from a street in Waterville’s South End, where I lived as a baby and visited every week as a child. My home, my geography, my ethnic group. While Jeri Theriault’s poetry ranges far from Waterville—to Iwo Jima and the Middle East—for me, Waterville was the center that rippled outward to other places. Perhaps someone not born and raised in Waterville would have had a different take, but that is what stayed with me no matter how far Jeri roamed in her poetry.

To add to the mood of the reading, Jeri’s husband Philip Carlsen and his son Mel played music between the poetry—Philip on the cello and Mel on the piano. So lovely, so lovely.

Jeri asked that the applause be held until the end, and she spoke about each poem, telling the audience how her poetry wasn’t memoir, which allowed her to use some artistic license; how she thought of the “self as house”; how the book was “supposed to be all feminist poems,” but somehow her father crept in. Jeri filled in her father’s silence with her own words as well as ones taken from a local newspaper article about his time in Iwo Jima.

After the reading, editor and journalist Bob Keyes had a conversation with Jeri, which illuminated her poetry and her process.

From her moving poetry to the music to the conversation, this was one of the best poetry readings I have ever been to. I bought Self-Portrait as Homestead, and instead of shelving it with my poetry collection, I will be tucking this one among my Franco-American books.

Jeri Theriault, on the left, with Claire Hersom, also a fine poet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birds, Food, summer

A Mini Staycation

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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. 

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.

That surely has to count for something.

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Reading

Tooting my own horn

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…”

Introducing…

Volume Five of Résonance, an online journal. The following description is taken from its website: Résonance  features works “primarily by and/or about the Franco-American communities of the United States….There has long been a need for this type of resource. Franco-American and other writers who wished to communicate the reality of this linguistic minority have often found no literary-focused vehicle to do so….Résonance is published by its Editorial Board in Orono, Maine, under the aegis of the Franco American Programs of the University of Maine.”

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.

For more about this, read David Vermette’s excellent piece in Smithsonian Magazine.

Sometimes, situations do improve, and Franco-Americans no longer face they discrimination they once did. By gum, thanks to the University of Maine at Orono and editor-in-chief Steven Riel, we even have our own journal, Résonance. And I am happy to report that I am the creative nonfiction editor.

Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Animals - especially dogs, Flowers, summer

Barbenheimer: Barbie vs. Oppenheimer

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This was a big weekend for us as we went to two movies—Barbie   and Oppenheimer. Would there be a victor in this match-up? Would one movie triumph over the other? Yes and yes, but before I write about the two films, I have to comment about the weather.

Before climate change really got ripping, weather was considered a boring subject discussed by folks who didn’t have much to say. (Those whose livelihood depended on the weather certainly must have disagreed.) But now, with torrential rain and raging fires, record floods and droughts, talking about the weather can no longer be considered boring.

For the past two months, the Northeast has had nonstop rain, with destructive results, which I described in my previous post. Central Maine, where we live, was spared much of the destruction, but as we watched the water pour from our rooves and gutters, we wondered if summer was ever going to come our way.

This weekend, at long last, Summer decided to show her pretty face. The sun shone, the temperature was pleasantly hot, and best of all, the humidity was low. We had lunches and dinners on the patio. A friend came over for wine, cheese, and crackers. The lilies and bee balm were in glorious bloom, and water murmured in the little blue fountain. The cat from across the street came over for a visit.

Welcome, Summer! We certainly hope to see more of you in August, which traditionally has been one of Maine’s finest months.

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Watching

Movies: Barbie vs. Oppenheimer

Two more different movies could not go head to head. Barbie, as the title suggests, is about the doll that so many folks have mixed feelings about. Oppenheimer centers on the man who led the project to develop the atom bomb during World War II. People have mixed feelings about him as well. Maybe Barbie and Oppenheimer have more in common than it seems at first glance.

Some moviegoers decided to make Barbie and Oppenheimer a double feature, but with Oppenheimer clocking in at three hours, we thought it would be best to see them on different days: Barbie on Saturday and Oppenheimer on Sunday.

Here’s a brief description of each movie, with the winner announced at the end.

Barbie

As I child, I played with Barbie, and although I understand the objections—her ridiculous body, the focus on consumption—I have no personal animus toward her. As soon as I left childhood, I left Barbie behind, and as an adult, I have no particular interest in the doll. This is a long way of saying that a movie about Barbie is not necessarily in my wheelhouse.

However, my interest was piqued when I learned that Greta Gerwig was the director. I am a huge fan of Greta Gerwig, and Lady Bird, her directorial debut, is one of my favorite movies. If you haven’t seen this wonderful coming-of-age story, I strongly recommend that you do.

So how was this movie about Barbie? As to be expected, it was silly and fun, camp and completely over the top. There is not a subtle moment in this film where Barbie deals with disruptions in her perfect life when the real world intrudes on Barbie Land.

But, as to be expected of the director Greta Gerwig, the film was also a sharp commentary about women’s role in society, and the relationship between men and women. I found the ending extremely poignant, to the point where there were tears in my eyes. That’s quite a lot to get out of a Barbie movie.

The casting—especially Margot Robbie as Barbie and Ryan Gosling as Ken—was perfect, and there wasn’t a false note in Barbie.

Oppenheimer

First the good: The acting was excellent as was the make-up and the score. The bomb scene was so powerful it made me jump. Cillian Murphy, with his chiseled cheek bones and intense eyes, was terrific as Oppenheimer, and Robert Downy Jr.—far, far from his role as Iron Man—nearly stole the show.

I particularly liked the dreamy yet bright visualizations as Oppenheimer theorized about black holes. And even though I’m not exactly a physics enthusiast, I got a kick out of seeing a movie that featured Eisenstein, Neils Bohr, and Werner Heisenberg. No uncertainty about this at all.

But—and it’s a big but—too much material was covered, from Oppenheimer’s younger days at university to becoming a professor to his work on the bomb to the smear campaign against him afterwards. Ironically, the movie felt too long yet not long enough to really delve into Oppenheimer’s eventful life. I think the material would have been better served by being a series where Oppenheimer’s life could have been explored at greater length in shorter chunks.

Despite its flaws, this ambitious movie is worth seeing, and I expect Oppenheimer will collect many Academy Award nominations.

And the winner is…

Barbie, which was not a minute too long and did everything it set out to do. It was a perfect combination of fun and pointed observations about femininity and masculinity.

 

 

 

 

Flowers, Movies, summer

For the Rain it Raineth Every Day

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As I noted last week, you can get too much of a good thing, and this certainly applies to the nonstop rain we’ve been having.

WBUR, Boston’s NPR News Station, recently featured a newsletter with the headline “Weather whiplash hits home.”  Nik DeCosta-Klipa wrote that the “historic rain caused severe flooding in Vermont and washed out roads and farms in western  Massachusetts.”

In her post this week, Judy, of New England Garden and Thread, writes about the west side of New Hampshire, “which has seen a dam break and roads just disintegrate leaving communities land locked until it is safe to start repairs.”

In western Maine, heavy rain caused washouts and extensive road damage. However, in central Maine, where I live, there was not much damage. This reminded me that sometimes luck—or Fortune as the Elizabethans would call it—plays a big roll in life. If we lived fifty or sixty miles inland, we might be landlocked, too. But while the rain was heavy in our area, it wasn’t heavy enough to cause extensive damage.

While my gardens definitely look beaten down, the flowers are blooming, bringing spots of color to my shady yard.

A toad peeks through an opening of the green leaves of  a platycodon.

Various daylilies are in bloom.

I know I posted a similar picture last week, but I just can’t resist the red against the blue.

Finally, more peeking, this time it’s astilbe through ferns.

We’re supposed to have a few sunny days in a row this week, and I  am looking forward to them. We don’t have central air conditioning, and every thing is damp and sticky.

I’ve heard that summers are only going to be getting hotter as we go forward. We have to adapt, but we also must do what we can to stop the situation—climate change—from getting worse.

Perhaps this is foolish of me, but I remain hopeful.

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Book Reading

This Saturday, July 22, at 2:00 p.m., I will be giving a presentation at the Vassalboro Public Library.

This is the library I went to as a child, and it is one of the libraries featured in my Great Library Series.

I know many readers are far-flung, but if there are readers in the area, please do stop by if you have the chance.

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Watching

Movies: Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One

Last week, we had such a wonderful time seeing the new Indiana Jones movie that we made a bold move: We bought movie passes at our local cinema. For $20 a pass, we can see as many movies as we want. Normally, because of the cost of tickets, we are very judicious about which movies we watch at the cinema. Now, we can take a chance on movies we normally wouldn’t go to the cinema to see.

Mission Impossible is such a movie. I have to admit that I am not a huge fan of Tom Cruise—sorry Tom Cruise fans. But this seemed like a fun summer movie to see with some great supporting actors—Rebecca Ferguson, Hayley Atwell, Ving Rhames, and Simon Pegg, to name a few—and off I went with Clif and Dee.

How was it? Well, there was a lot of action, including one extremely suspenseful train-wreck scene. (That seems to be a thing in movies.) Not surprisingly, Mission Impossible was short on character development, and in both books and movies, I love character development.

The plot revolves around a sentient AI gone rogue and the race to find two keys that will stop it. There will be a Part Two, and I couldn’t help but think that if some of the action scenes had been trimmed, one movie would have been just fine.

Mission Impossible wasn’t exactly a bad movie, but it wasn’t riveting either. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Tom Cruise is no Harrison Ford.

Next on the movie docket: Barbie and Oppenheimer. Or Barbenheimer as the two movies have come to be called because they are opening on the same weekend.

Stay tuned!

Addendum: I forget to mention how long the $20 movie passes were good for. They are good for a month. Going to two movies pays for the pass. After that, it’s gravy. Vegetarian, of course. 😉

Birds, Flowers, Food, Movies, summer

Birds and Blooms and Rain. Plus, a Review of the Newest Indiana Jones Movie

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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.

Here is a closer look.

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Watching

Too Many Nazis

Movie: Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

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.

 

 

 

 

Birds, Flowers, summer

Five Minutes—or So—on the Patio

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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.

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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.

 

 

Home, summer

Those weather gods

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To borrow from my blogging friend Carol Ann Siciliano of Fashioned for Joy, this weekend was filled with many delights.

On Friday night, we went to Absolem Cider Company, which has become one of my favorite places to go in Winthrop. Along with having a great atmosphere and great drinks, it’s only six miles away from our home. Another bonus: Friday was one of the few sunny days we’ve had in June, which has been cool and rainy, reminding me of the Junes of my youth.

At Absolem, we met our friend Judy, and we spent several beautiful hours at a picnic table on the deck. We drank wine, beer, and cocktails, which we had with hand-cut fries and chips and salsa.  I only thought to take pictures at the very end, but they do give a sense of this wonderful place, where the open sky stretches above the cider company, and you can watch the moon rise.

 

On Saturday night, our friends Dawna and Jim came over for dinner. We had planned to eat on the patio, where Clif could make his legendary grilled bread. Alas, the weather did not cooperate. After one sunny day, the rain came again, and we had to eat inside, having garlic bread, which is good enough but can’t compare with grilled bread. Dawna, who loves being outside as much as I do, kept looking longingly out the dining room window at the backyard and the patio.

“We’ll invite you another time,” I assured her, “when the weather is better.”

As it turned out, the weather was better the next day. As my blogging friend Tootlepedal often points out, the weather gods do like to have their little jokes. Out I went with my wee camera to get photos of my gardens, which are starting show colors other than green.

And what did I spy?

In the front yard, daisies among the ferns and hostas.

Astilbes growing in front of Minerva.

In the backyard, yellow primroses and orange lilies are abloom.

Here’s a closer look at the evening primroses.

I caught a glimpse of one of our resident chipmunks.

And the cat from across the street came for a visit.  The cat, whose name we don’t know, has coloring very much like our own dear Little Miss, who died in March. This cat has a very sweet personality, just like Little Miss, and is most welcome in our yard.

So here we are at the end of what has been a rainy June, and the forecast is for rain for the rest of the week. While I’m fine with cool rainy days, there comes a point where enough is enough.

I’ll have to speak to those weather gods. But I have a funny feeling that they are unlikely to listen to my request for at least a few sunny days.

Weather gods are like that.

 

 

 

Art, Gardening, People

South of the Border to Bedrock Gardens in Lee, New Hampshire

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“The property was a 37-acre dairy farm that had been abandoned for about 40 years. The first years were clearing out the acres of poison ivy, and the pucker-brush. Work on the farm as a landscaped project started about 1987….Bed by bed, gardens were eked out. In 1991, a wildlife pond was added….Now, about 2/3rds of the property is garden.”
—From the Bedrock Gardens website.

Thursday was quite a day for this homebody. In my trusty red Honda Fit, I traveled out of Maine to go to Bedrock Gardens in Lee, New Hampshire, where I met my blogging friend Judy of New England Garden and Thread.

We had hoped other bloggers from northern New England would be able to join us, but that did not work out. A busy time of year, I know.

But two is indeed company, and as soon as we met, we chatted as though we were old friends, which, in a way, we are. We have been blogging friends for many years and have gotten to know each other through our words about our lives in Maine and New Hampshire.

Here we are at the entry to fabulous Bedrock Gardens. Lovely Judy is on the left, and I am on the right.

And here are some pictures of Bedrock Gardens, a really wonderful place. I am afraid my pictures do not do justice to these beautiful  gardens with its many sculptures, most of them done by Jill Nooney, one of the founders who designed and planted Bedrock Gardens.

A faithful canine waited near the entrance to the gardens.

We went through the magic pathway,

where three guardians waited.

What was this lurking in the woods?

Or this?

Then there was this fine fellow.

Finally, a more tranquil scene.

After spending over two hours at Bedrock Gardens, Judy and I went a few miles down the road to Emery Farm Market and Café.  We had delicious bagel sandwiches, and we were able to sit on the café’s porch, where we could eat and chat as long as we wanted.

What could make this already excellent day any better? Why, an utterly delicious donut. (Longtime readers might remember my passion for donuts.)

All too soon, it was time to head home. But I was full of good memories and good food. As we would say in Maine, it was a finest kind of day.

I am hoping that meeting with Judy in the summer will be an annual event, perhaps in New Hampshire, perhaps in Maine. Such a great pleasure to meet with blogging friends.

 

 

 

Environment, Gardening, Spring

The Smoke Blows and the Garden Grows

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Last week, the East Coast had quite a time. Smoke from Canadian forest fires blew down, making New York City look like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie—the air was so thick with smoke that the Statue of Liberty was barely visible in the harbor, and the street lights were turned on at 2:00 p.m.

Incredible as it might seem, Maine—right next to Canada—escaped the smoke. A low-pressure system stalled off the Gulf of Maine kept our air clear. Thank you, low-pressure system.

Fortunately, our eldest daughter Dee, who lives in Brooklyn, decided to come to Maine last Sunday, right before the smoke filled the city. She will be working remotely on a permanent basis and has decided to make her home in Maine. Such a delight to have her here.

Over the weekend, the weather patterns changed,  clearing the smoke away from the East Coast. But the Canada wildfires rage on. We can only hope that the smoke doesn’t travel south again.

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On a happier note, at our home on the edge of the woods, my gardens, with their various shades of green, are flourishing. After a very dry May, we had a week of rain, too much for some people, but I was delighted with the wet weather.

Here are some scenes from the garden.

In the front yard, the chives are in pink blossom,

the blue gazing ball rests between two toads,

and the hostas make a pleasing sweep of green.

The hosta that Judy—from New England Garden and Thread—sent me is thriving.

Now around to the backyard.

The patio is once again an inviting place to sit and listen to the birds sing their spring songs. Last night we heard the ethereal song of the hermit thrush. Such a delight.

And irises, my favorite of favorites, are in bloom.

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This summer is shaping up to be a really busy one filled with events, family, and friends. Therefore, I’ve decided to take the weekends off from reading and commenting on blog posts. But never fear, from Monday through Friday, I’ll be reading and commenting, and come fall I plan to go back to my regular reading.

 

A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.