This is the kind of rainy day I like: The clouds went away to be replaced by blue sky and sun. While I do understand that rain is necessary, in Maine this is not usually a problem. In fact, just the opposite. Once it starts raining, it doesn’t have enough sense to stop. After the third or fourth day of rain, it gets a little old, especially this time of year when there is much to do outside.
I was so encouraged by the blue sky that in a burst of optimism I even put in a load of laundry to be hung on the line. After my morning writing, I’ll be heading outside to work in the gardens. Who knows? I might even get to have lunch on the patio.
Here are some more pictures from the backyard:
A patch of Jack-in-the-pulpitsClosed yesterday, in bloom today
Spring is here, but how cool it still is. The other day I met a friend at the grocery store, and she said, “Look what I’m wearing—a turtle neck, a sweater, a big shirt, and a jacket.” I nodded. I was similarly dressed, and when I got home, I shed the jacket but kept the triple layers. It is as cool inside as it is outside, and my husband and I are too stubborn to use the heat. We are both longing for warm days where we can sit outside and be comfortable wearing a short-sleeved shirt.
Despite the cool weather, the plants and trees and lawns are thriving. The green of the new growth is so bright that it lights up the gloomiest days, which we have had in abundance this past month. The woods in back are positively aglow with green, and I love looking into them as I work in the kitchen. The dwarf irises, with their deep purple flowers, are ready to bloom. They are one of the first flowers in my gardens, and they are eagerly anticipated.
The birds also seem to be thriving, and our feeders are busy. For Christmas, Clif bought me a lovely red-glass hummingbird feeder, and last week I boiled some sugar and water, filled the feeder, and put it on a hook in the backyard. It didn’t take long for the hummingbirds to find it, and I was thrilled to see the flash of red and green and hear the whirring of wings as I worked in the yard.
However, a few days ago when I was working in the kitchen, I was even more thrilled when I saw a burst of bright blue at one of the other feeders. “Clif, Clif, come here. I think there’s an indigo bunting in our backyard.” Clif hurried to the window and then to the bird book. Yes, that blue beauty was indeed an indigo bunting, and we stood and watched as the bunting picked at the sunflower seeds. I’ve only seen an indigo bunting one other time, while I was driving, and a streak of blue crossed the road in front of me.
This weekend, we are planning on having a barbecue for Memorial Day. Who knows what the weather will do? Naturally, we have two plans—grilled teriyaki chicken if the weather allows and broiled if it doesn’t.
In the meantime, as we still eat most of our meals inside, here is the recipe I promised for the chickpea cutlets, which are so tasty and easy to make that they are fast becoming a staple in our house. We heat up a bit of jarred spaghetti sauce to go on top of them, but if time allows, homemade, of course, is always best. Basically, these cutlets are a variation on a recipe for chickpea patties I posted a while ago. But I’ll repost the pattie recipe, with added instructions for making the cutlets.
I’ve decided to add a new category—A Closer Look—to this blog. Sometimes it will be close-up shots of food. Other times, it will be of nature or of everyday things around the house. As I noted in a previous post, too often I have the tendency to rush through my days and not take the time to look closely at what is around me. While it is good to get things done, too much rushing and not enough looking leads to a much poorer life. I have vowed to look more closely.
This is a photo of moss I removed from my garden and set on the glass table on the patio.
We tend to see moss as “green,” and green it certainly is. But look at the different shades of green, bright and dark, and look at the little balls on the stems. This could be the landscape of a fantastical world.
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.
Mary jane Auns, trustee chair, and Richard Fortin, libary director, beside the new sign
On Thursday, we had our Kick-Off Celebration at the Charles M. Bailey Library to begin the public phase of the library’s expansion campaign. We need to raise 1 million dollars for the addition, and to date we have raised almost $750,000, enough to get us started some time in the next few months.
For most of Thursday the sky had been gray, but just before the Kick-Off, the sky cleared, and it was sunny and warm. Bailey Library sits close to the street and has very little land. Therefore, the police department graciously agreed to close off part of the street so that the short ceremony could be held outside.
And a good thing, too, because people came and came, spilling from the sidewalk and onto the street. We clapped and cheered as the various speakers—members of the community—extolled the virtues and the beauty of the library. They all spoke from the heart, and it was clear that Bailey Library was dear to them all and of vital importance to their lives.
The crowd listens
Our library is of vital importance to many people’s lives. Winthrop has a population of about 6,000, which increases in the summer as people come to stay at the many lakes in town. In April, circulation at the library was 4,888, with half of the materials borrowed being honest-to-God books made of paper. As Mary Jane Auns, the chair of the trustees, put it, “What a town of readers!”
Yes, we are!
Judi Stebbins, chair of the campaign team, spoke at the Kick-Off Celebration, and the sentiment she expressed mirrors what I have been thinking for the past week or so. She spoke of how Charles M. Bailey, a wealthy Winthrop resident who helped established the library in the early 1900s, started something that not only benefited the town in his own time but has also benefited Winthrop residents 100 years later. Now, she said, it was our turn to pay it forward so that residents 100 years from now will be benefiting from the work we have done to expand the library.
Judi Stebbins
I want to add to Judi’s lovely, generous notion. It’s not every day that ordinary folks can come together to work on a project that is larger than themselves, for something that will benefit not only their current time but for something that will also ripple forward to benefit children who haven’t even been born yet. Our lives are short, but the library will continue long after we are gone.
What a good feeling it is to be part of this project.
This afternoon, I spent a couple of hours making a double batch of gingersnaps for the Charles M. Bailey Public Library’s Kick-Off Celebration for the new expansion. The Kick-Off will be held tomorrow, Thursday, May 15 at 5:30 p.m. at the library on Bowdoin St. Those of us on the expansion team are hoping we’ll get a good turnout for this event.
For those who come, there will be plenty of homemade treats as well as a chance to talk to members on the campaign team and to maybe, maybe make a donation to this very worthy cause.
Initially, at the beginning of the week, rain was forecasted for Thursday, but as I write, the weather report looks pretty darned good for tomorrow.
On Mother’s Day, in central Maine, we got oh so lucky with the weather. The day was sunny and warm. At the little house in the big woods, Shannon and Clif made a bang-up brunch for me and Gail, Mike’s mother. While brunch was being prepared, Gail and I sat on the patio, chatted, and luxuriated in the sun. How wonderful to be able to sit outside without a jacket! And how nice, just for once, not to have to fuss over a meal, to relax and talk while someone else fussed.
For our Mother’s Day brunch, Shannon and Clif made home fries, waffles, a sausage and cheddar breakfast casserole, and a fruit salad.
Then there was dessert, chocolate soufflé cupcakes with mint cream, a Smitten Kitchen recipe. This cupcake is rich and flourless and has become a favorite of mine. Shannon made it last year for Mother’s Day, and I requested it this year. Best of all, these cupcakes can be made the day before and still be moist the next day.
We had dessert outside on the patio, while the dogs ran and sniffed around the backyard, and the goldfinches tweeted and twittered. Gail and I complimented the chefs—Clif for his wonderfully light waffles, and Shannon for the tasty breakfast casserole, crisp home fries, and incredible cupcakes.
I commented on how Shannon only started cooking when she was in her late 20s, and Gail was surprised. “She’s such a good cook. I thought she had been cooking for a long time.”
Then Shannon said something that I’m still mulling over. “Even though I wasn’t interested in cooking, I had a mother who cooked, so I knew the basics—stir frying, sautéing, baking. I wasn’t completely inexperienced.”
Maybe so, but if my memory is correct, Shannon didn’t do many of those things when she was at home. Could watching me really have given her a head start? Or, is she just a quick learner? Whatever the case, Shannon has become a fine cook, and I’m always eager to eat a meal she’s prepared.
After everyone left, it was still light, and Clif and I went on a bike ride. After the ride, we sat by shimmering Marancook for a while, watching the sun set and some brave souls wade in water that must be very cold.
Although everything is late, spring has finally come to Maine. The hermit thrushes are back with their pan-pipe songs. Yesterday, I saw a hummingbird—time to put up the lovely red feeder Clif bought me for Christmas. It’s been sunny and warm enough for lunch on the patio, and mild enough, even, for an hour on the patio when Clif comes home from work. Best of all, the black flies, the scourge of the north, have yet to rear their ugly little heads. Dare I hope that this will be a sparse spring for black flies? I sure do!
In the garden, in the woods, by the road, flowers are blooming, and plants are unfurling. Here are a few pictures I recently took:
Such a busy time of year. For the next few weeks I will be digging, planting, and, in general, grubbing in the yard. There is also a lot going at our library, with the expansion entering its public phase. (I’m a trustee and a volunteer.) There will be a kick-off celebration next week, and—surprise, surprise—I was the one to organize the food.
Busy or not, I’m still cooking dinner every night, of course. Clif and I hardly ever eat out, and I even have a recipe to share—chickpea cutlets—and another to experiment with—chili made with black bean “meat balls.” But these recipes will have to wait for either a rainy day or June.
In the meantime, here is a picture of the chickpea cutlets, adapted from a Mark Bittman recipe. My, my, they were tasty, if I do say so myself. A definite make-again dish.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day, and at the little house in the big woods, there will be a waffle brunch, complete with home fries, fruit salad, and an egg dish. I’m told there will even be chocolate cupcakes for dessert.
Spring in Maine continues to be cold and gray. I am still wearing my winter garb—turtle neck, sweater, big corduroy shirt—and that is inside the house. Outside, I am even more bundled up.
Despite the recalcitrant weather, the grass is turning a bright green, and undeterred by cold, the perennials in my garden are bravely emerging from their winter sleep. However, I’ve heard that many farmers are behind in planting peas. The soil is just too cold for seeds to germinate.
But right on schedule, the maple flowers have started falling from the trees. Although May brings many delights that are much showier than this delicate flower, I’ll miss the cheerful red fringe on the maple trees in my backyard.
Until I took a picture of a maple flower and then cropped the photo, I had never really examined this little flower. I had never noticed the wave of stamens, the burst of petals, the lighter center. Instead, I had seen them the way an impressionist painter might, a welcome dab of red in a landscape just beginning to show color.
The maple flower is a reminder for me to slow down, to look closely at what surrounds me. All too often I rush through my days, checking off one chore after another: Vacuum, make bread, tidy the kitchen, work in the garden, do laundry, write, type the minutes for the last library trustee meeting, bike to the food pantry to volunteer. Chores certainly need to be done, but there must be some kind of balance between doing and looking. Listening and smelling should also be added to looking. Perhaps a better word would be noticing. Or observing.
After all, what kind of life do we have if we are so busy doing that we never take the time to notice, to observe? Whether you live in a suburb, in a city, or in the countryside, there is always something to notice—the changing of seasons; nature, even in cities; the weather; sun and rain and clouds and sky; other people; buildings; animals. There is so much to observe, wherever you are.
Best of all, you don’t have to have a lot of money to observe closely. This is something the greedy financiers, who have grabbed and ruined so much, cannot take away from us. Despite how much actual money you might or might not have, a life spent observing, looking, and noticing is a rich one.
I’m thinking it might be time to buy a magnifying glass, so that I can look even more closely at the little marvels all around me.
Yesterday, I went to the Lewiston-Auburn College with my friend Claire Hersom to the third annual Poetry & Peace Potluck. Not only did this event include an abundance of poetry and food, but there was also a documentary called Down by the River’s Edge. The film is about the Otis Paper Mill in Chisholm, the southern end of Jay, and the people who worked in and lived by the mill, which closed in 2009. Not surprisingly, the predominant ethnic group was Franco-American. (By one estimate, Franco-Americans make up 30 percent of Maine’s population.) But Chisholm also had Italian and Slovakian immigrants as well. Who knew there were so many ethnic groups in the Jay/Livermore Falls area? I certainly didn’t.
Down by the River’s Edge is a combination of stills and clips of interviews with people, some of them quite old, who had worked in the mill. The film did a nice job of weaving in the various elements of life in a mill town—the history, the hard work, the big families, the crowded living conditions, the sense of community, the Catholic church, and the fun that people made for themselves.
Susan Gagnon, the writer and director, was on hand for a discussion after the film. She told about how she wanted to expand the stories told about mill towns, which usually included the words “dirty” and “working class.” Growing up in Chisholm, Susan saw a vibrancy and a keen sense of community. She became aware that the story of the workers at the Otis Paper Mill had never been recorded, and Susan had to “beg and borrow but not steal” the many stills featured in Down by the River’s Edge.
The story of Maine is also the story of the Ku Klux Klan, who were a major presence in the state and marched against Franco-Americans and other Catholics. Susan decided not include that segment in her film, and while I understand that her focus was on the people and the community of Chisholm, it seems to me that to not include something about the Klan was a major omission.
Nevertheless, Down by the River’s Edge, four years in the making, is a good film. Not only is it worth seeing, but it also tells the stories of people who for too long have not had a voice.
After the documentary came poetry, and many of Maine’s notable poets were at the Poetry Peace Potluck. Henry Braun, Gary Lawless, Robert Farnsworth, Jeri Theriault, and my personal favorite, Claire Hersom, are just a sample of the fine poets who read yesterday. The general themes were peace, May Day, and workers.
Claire read “In America Dreaming,” which ties in Walt Whitman, the Civil War, and the Vietnam War. She gave me permission to quote from the poem, and here are the last two stanzas, especially lovely and poignant and wistful.
Isn’t that what you wanted, to have a place
and a breeze
blowing against your face.
And when it got too loud to hear the birds,
to hunker down, hold on the the sway of the world?
Sometimes at night, I think I hear you
endlessly calling to the universe.
I see you illumed in the night’s shadows
rambling across the meadows
climbing the old stone walls
searching for a way back.
In the front row, Susan Gagnon is third from the left, and Claire Hersom is fourth from the left.
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Notes From the Hinterland 