Movies, Snow-Gauge Clif

It’s M-e-l-t-i-n-g…

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Fans of The Wizard of Oz—the movie rather than the book—will understand the title’s reference.  But rather than the Wicked Witch of the West, it’s snow that’s melting.

Before we get to Snow-Gauge Clif, let’s take a look at the patio in the backyard. Time was when we hoped for the patio to be clear by April 22, Earth Day and my younger daughter’s birthday. Barring a nor’easter (more about that latter), the snow will be long gone by April 22.

And what has the temperature been? For this time of year in Maine,  pretty darned warm. No wonder the snow is melting away.

Here is Snow-Gauge Clif in the backyard. Snow measurement: 1 inch. Last week, it was 7 inches. There’s quite a bit of sun in the backyard and that, combined with the warmer temps, takes care of the snow.

In the front yard, not so much. The measurement is pretty much the same as it was last week: 12 inches. But rain is in the forecast for the next few days, and I expect it will whittle the snow away.

One thing I am grateful for is that our new driveway is not in the least bit  muddy. I had wondered if it would be, but when my brother  saw it several months ago, he told me that he thought it would be fine come spring.  And so it is.

The backyard, on the other hand, is mostly mud. Here is a print of one of Snow-Gauge Clif’s Sloggers. The mud is so thick it’s almost a-pull-off-your-Slogger kind of event when we walk in the backyard. Hope it dries up soon.

I’m tempted to state that Snow-Gauge Clif’s job is almost done for the year, but when I looked back at my blog for March/April 2024, I saw that we had a nor’easter last April that left us with a foot of snow. The storm knocked out our power and brought us smack-dab back to winter. Here is a picture from last April.

Therefore, as the old saying goes, it’s best not to count our chickens before they’ve hatched. We might get another doozy of a storm in April. Then again, we might not.

Only Mother Nature knows for sure.

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Watching

The movie Black Bag

Directed by Steven Soderbergh

Staring, very elegantly, Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender, who surely are one of the coolest spy couples ever.

This movie, clocking in at a brisk 90 minutes, is a delight from beginning to end. Intelligence officers Kathryn (Cate Blanchett) and George (Michael Fassbender) are a married couple. When the movie begins, George receives intelligence that there is someone in the agency who is leaking top-secret information, and one of the suspects is his wife, Kathryn. George then proceeds to unravel the mystery of who is leaking the information, and a cat and mouse game ensues. This movie is a sheer delight. Every piece fits beautifully to come together as a satisfying whole. If you like spy-thriller movies, don’t miss Black Bag.

 

 

Politics Friday

For Czeslawa: Introducing Politics Friday

Gallery 86 Comments

Ever since Trump was elected, I have been floundering with this blog as I debate whether or not I should write about politics. I did not conceive of Notes from the Hinterland as a blog to be centered on politics. Instead, I wanted it to be focused on rural life as well as what I listened to, read, and watched. I was afraid that writing about politics after so many years of blogging—over ten  years, I think—would be jarring. From reading the comments, I know that many of you follow Notes from the Hinterland for its calming effects as I record the changing of the seasons and the goings-on in central Maine. Because of this, when I returned to blogging after an extended break, I decided it would be business as usual with my blog.

Except it’s not business as usual in this country. Far from it. Even readers who don’t live in the United States understand the chaos and down-right cruelty of the Trump administration. Good friends of the United States, such as Canada, have been insulted and threatened with tariffs. In Maine, this hits particularly hard as the state has a 611-mile border with Canada. Many Mainers are of Canadian descent. Indeed, all of my immediate ancestors, going back five generations, come from Canada—Québec on my mother’s side, Prince Edward Island on my father’s. In northern Maine, there are families that span both sides of the border.

In the face of all this chaos, I have been going back and forth. Should I write about politics and thus change the vibe of this blog? Or stick with what I have been doing?

But then yesterday, in Timothy Snyder’s Substack—Thinking About…—I read an essay by Laurie Winer. In “What to Expect When You’re Expecting Catastrophe”, she writes:

The debate about whether or not we should bring Hitler or Nazism or fascism into a contemporary political debate is obsolete. Now it is crucial that we take seriously the warnings gathered for us by survivors and writers. When you look at a photo of a Jew about to be arrested or shot and he or she is staring straight into the camera, remember that it is you they are looking at.

That paragraph certainly caught my attention. Coincidentally, I just took out a book, The Rest is Memory, from the library. This novel, by Lily Tuck, imagines the life of a real Polish girl named Czeslawa Kwoka who in 1942 was transported to Auschwitz and photographed. Fourteen years old on arrival, she was dead three months later.

Here is Czeslawa’s picture featured on the book’s jacket.

Polish photographer Wilhelm Brasse, who was also a prisoner at Auschwitz, took this photo.

Yes, it does seem as though she is looking at me. The fact that Czeslawa was Catholic rather than Jewish matters not at all. She was killed in a murderous rampage that stretched across Europe and took millions of lives of people deemed inferior—Jews, Catholics, Romas, gays, the elderly, and handicapped folks.

Winer’s words coupled with Czeslawa’s picture tipped the scales. Even though I am the tiniest of fish in a vast ocean, I can read, and I can write. In these times, not to write seems wrong somehow. so write I will—on my blog, on Facebook, to politicians.

Going forward, my blog will have two posts each week. On Mondays, I’ll write about the seasons and the Maine hinterland. On Fridays, it will be politics. Those who prefer not to read about politics can skip Friday’s post.

This decision feels right. Politics Friday is dedicated to Czeslawa, who never had a chance to grow up, whose sad, wan face stares out at us—at me—from across the years. A message and a warning.

To Czeslawa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Food, Snow-Gauge Clif, Winter

No Escape

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Dreary March has come to central Maine. We are in a no-man’s land between winter and spring, a time of dirty snow, fog, and gray skies.

On the other hand, northern Maine, the land of my ancestors, is still in winter’s firm grip. Last weekend, they got a foot of snow, and the drifting was so bad some roads had to be closed. Ah, winter! However, in a few weeks, March will come for them, too. In Maine there is no escape.

Behold the end of our driveway and across the road, both of which scream March.

Dirty snow or not, Snow-Gauge Clif must do his job.

In the front yard, the snow measured 17 inches, only 1 inch down from last week. The front yard is very shaded, and the snow melts slowly.

On the other hand, the sunnier backyard measured 7 inches, 5 inches down from last week.  More sun, quicker melt.

To cheer myself up from the March blahs, last Wednesday I headed to the little town of Wayne—population 1,189 and named after Revolutionary War General Anthony Wayne—to A Small Town Bakery. On Wednesdays, a group of women meets to discuss matters big and small, and it’s so nice to get together with like-minded folks. Plus, I seem to be addicted to the bakery’s blueberry muffins. (Sorry, no picture! Next time.)

The bakery has a funky, mismatched, comfortable look that reminds me of bakeries in the 1970s. It’s a look that I’m fond of and brings back memories of my teenage years.

And I absolute love these chickens.

If my house didn’t already have an—ahem—abundance of ornaments, those chickens would be coming home with me. I can almost hear them clucking to each other.

But fear not. I didn’t come home empty handed. I brought back a loaf of the bakery’s utterly delicious anadama bread, a New England specialty. I could have a slice right now. Toasted, of course.

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Last week also brought something not quite as pleasant as bread and blueberry muffins. I had my annual sinus infection that for some odd reason usually arrives in March. It’s as though my body is mourning the end of winter and the beginning of purgatory. The infection begins gradually with the aching of teeth and then progresses to a painful throbbing that comes and goes in waves. No fun, but as it always goes away by itself in a week or so, I don’t bother with antibiotics. Don’t want to overuse them.

I mention this because I inadvertently found a method to relieve the pain, and I thought I would share it here with those who might not know about this method. (Took me sixty-seven years to figure it out.)

One night, when the wave of pain was bad enough so that I could not fall asleep, I decided to to do some deep breathing to focus on something else. To my astonishment, the pain went away. When the pain came back five or so minutes later, I did some more deep breathing. Again, the pain went away.  I did this off and on until I finally fell asleep.

The next day, I thought, what the heck. Is deep breathing really a solution to the pain brought on by sinus infections? To Google I went, and sure enough, it is. Also, headaches, too, which fortunately I seldom have.

So there you have it. An easy and natural remedy for sinus infection pain. Obviously, some infections must be treated by antibiotics, and it’s up to individuals to decide if treatment is necessary. But for me, who has a history of sinus infections and know that they go away on their own, the deep breathing method is a godsend. I only wish I had known about it sooner.

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Listening

What better way to say a sad farewell to winter than with Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song”? (Remember, I’m a child of the 70s and a huge Led Zeppelin fan.)

I come from the lands of the ice and snow…where the harsh winds blow.

 

 

Food, Movies, Snow-Gauge Clif

A Weekend of Drinks, Food, and Movies, and the Return of Snow-Gauge Clif

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For some reason, last weekend turned out to be a flurry of having friends over and eating out.

Our merriment started on Friday afternoon when we invited our friends Dawna and Jim over for wine and appetizers.

We tried to solve the problems of the world as we sat around the dining room table, sipped wine, and nibbled on appetizers, but of course we didn’t have much luck.

As we talked, our jade plant glowed in the sun. Clearly, Jade was on our side. She, too, wonders what the heck is going on in this country.

On Saturday morning, we headed to Waterville to the Maine Film Center for the Nigerian movie Mami Wata, the final movie in the wintertime film series Cinema Explorations.

This wonderful movie is set in a remote African village where the water deity Mami Wata is revered even though she is mostly absent. When a stranger is washed up on the shores, the power balance shifts, leading to conflict and death. This fable of a movie was filmed in an impressionistic way, which adds to the power of the story. What a fine way to end the film series!

To celebrate the successful film series, our friend Joel, who coordinates Cinema Explorations, joined us for brunch at one of my favorite restaurants, Front and Main.

I had some delicious ployes, Acadian buckwheat pancakes popular in northern Maine. Front and Main makes ployes a little thicker than is traditional. but my, my, they were tasty.

Then, on Sunday, to kick off the Academy Awards ceremony, we went to Tj’s Place in Winthrop for drinks, snacks, and pizza.

I had a pomegranate martini, and it was excellent.

Clif ordered onion rings, which he said were properly cooked and delicious. (Dee and I aren’t fans of onion rings.)

We also had pizza.

Afterwards, full of food and drink, we headed home to await the start of the Academy Awards ceremony. Two of our favorite movies—Flow (go Latvia!) and I‘m Still Here (go, Brazil!)—garnered awards. Best picture of the year went to Anora, a film about an exotic dancer. It was not our favorite movie of the year. We all felt that it lacked nuance and focused too much on the explicit sex. Granted, the subject lends itself to this treatment, but didn’t Anora have any other qualities or interests that didn’t involve sex? Say, model trains or mahjong? It seems not. Ah, well…we were apparently in a minority about this movie.

Still, all in all, it was a good night for independent films, small movies with relatively small budgets, and we are always in for those kind of movies.

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And Now the Moment You’ve All Been Waiting for…the Return of Snow-Gauge Clif

Longtime readers of this blog always look forward to the first Monday in March, which brings the return of Snow-Gauge Clif (aka my husband, Clif). Each Monday, Snow-Gauge Clif will grab his trusty red yardstick to head outside and measure the depth of the snow. He’ll continue to do so until all the snow is melted, usually sometime in April.

Here he is, on March 3, this first Monday in March, in the front yard.

Snow measurement: 18 inches

And here he is in the backyard, which gets more sun than the front yard.

Measurement: 12 inches

Will the snow be gone by the beginning of April, or will it be gone by the end? We never know the answer to this nail-biting question. Each year is different. So stay tuned for the Monday adventures of Snow-Gauge Clif.

Art, Books, Winter

Some Thoughts on Shadows

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In Maine, we have moved from deep winter to late winter and will soon be approaching the purgatory that is mid-March. But we still have a few weeks to go until purgatory, and in the meantime winter reigns, that time of shadows on the snow. How I love to see the shadows in our backyard.

The way the slats from the fence register on the snow,

the way the blue shadows stripe the yard,

and the way the dark shadows fill the woods.

Such a beautiful season, and even though staying warm is expensive, I never wish for winter to hurry into spring. Each year, I  welcome winter with a glad heart and am always renewed by this still, cold season that encourages a person to turn inward.

While we don’t want to turn inward indefinitely—we need spring and the exuberant return to life—winter, for me at least, is a necessary time to examine personal shadows and try to come to terms with them.

If this sounds very Jungian, well, it is. Years ago, I blasted through the books of the late, great Canadian writer Robertson Davies, who was a great admirer of Carl Jung, author and psychiatrist, among other things. If I remember correctly, Davies maintained that Jung, with his emphasis on the unconscious, was the patron saint of artists, all of whom, one way or another, dig deep into the unconsciousness to produce art. The deeper the dive, the greater the art. (By art, I mean art in general, which includes literature, dance, music, theater, and, yes, movies.)

Therefore, as I am surrounded by the shadows of winter, I settle in to read and think and write.

Spring will come soon enough.

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Listening

Bob Dylan: “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall

Bob Dylan, a musician who has been much in the news because of the bio pic A Complete Unknown, certainly dug deep to write his songs. “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” beautifully illustrates this.

Food, Music, Winter

A Weekend of Weather Extremes

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Last weekend was a weekend of extremes. On Saturday, the weather was sunny and clear, which meant we could head to Waterville for a movie (A Light Never Goes Out, a sweet film about loss) and then afterwards a trip to Buen Apetito for lunch with our friend Joel.

We were lucky enough get a seat on the glassed-in porch, and I was struck by how the sunlight hit Joel’s pomegranate margarita.

Clif and I ordered our favorite, potato flautases. We had read online that the menu at Buen Apetito would be changing soon, and we asked our server about potato flautuses. Would they still be there?

“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured us. “They are staying on the menu. Besides, they’re my favorite, too, and I would fight to keep them on.”

Nodding, we smiled and left her a very good tip.

Sunday was a stormy day. The original forecast was for a foot-and-a-half of snow, and that, my friends, is a lot of snow even for a Mainer. Fortunately, we only got about six or seven inches, well within our comfort zone for cleaning the driveway and paths.

Here are some snowy-day scenes.

Pushing through the snow to open the door.

A shovel, ready and waiting.

The view from the front deck.

Our little red Fit under the trees.

Clif with Sno-Joe, our electric snow-thrower.

Dee and I cleaned the cars and shoveled the walkways, and I’m pleased to report that even with creaky knees, I did just fine. Somehow, I remain unfazed by the prospect of shoveling snow. I suppose it’s because I’ve done so much of it.

Afterwards, we had soggy hats and gloves. In our dining room, we have a handy place to dry some of them. (The overflow goes on racks down cellar.)

Long-time readers friends will be happy to learn that there is plenty of snow for snow-gauge Clif to measure come March.  In January, we weren’t so sure, but February has put that fear to rest.

Onward to the next storm!

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Listening

Northern Attitude: Noah Kahan with Hozier

Right about now, this song seems pretty appropriate. Noah Kahan is from Vermont, which, like Maine, knows a thing or two about winter and long dark days.

Celebrate, Movies, People, Winter

Flow: Pancakes, Pizza, Beer, and a Movie

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In Maine, January was a dry month with little snow, but February has been quite a different matter, with a flurry of storms every few days. It certainly looks like winter at our home by the edge of the woods.

This weekend, in between snowstorms, our daughter Shannon and her husband Mike came for a visit to celebrate his birthday.

We are big believers in celebrating, and the whole of Saturday was mapped out for Mike’s birthday.

It started with a pancake breakfast. I know this is bragging, but Clif’s pancakes are the best in central Maine. So light and fluffy and delicious. The veggie sausage patties and home fries weren’t too bad either.

After a leisurely breakfast and lots of time spent talking—no, we didn’t solve the world’s problems, but we certainly tried—we headed into Augusta to Cushnoc Brewing Co. for pizza.

We started out with snacks.

Then we moved on to pizza.

What to do afterwards? Why, onward to Absolem  Cider Company, which is right here in little Winthrop, Maine (population 6,000), about three miles from where we live. We still can’t believe such a terrific place is so close to us.

To get to the old barn with its tasting room, there is a pathway lined with lights and snowy picnic tables, and it felt like a magical winter scene in the still, cold night.

Inside, the barn was dark and cozy, filled with folks drinking beer, cider, wine, and cocktails as they listened to Maine musician Kevin Leary. In a clear voice, he sang covers of Neil Young and other musicians.

Mike and Clif each ordered  a special beer called Mott the Lesser, a Russian Imperial Stout brewed by Tributary Brewing. It is the most remarkable beer I have ever tasted, with strong notes of coffee and caramel. I can only conclude there was alchemy in the brewing process.

We left after the music was done and headed back home, where there were presents and an interested dog. We had cake, of course, but I forgot to take a picture of it.

As we Mainers would say, it was a finest kind day, with one event just flowing into the other.

Happy Birthday, Mike!

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Watching

And speaking of flow…there is a wonderful animated movie from Latvia, Belgium, and France called Flow. It’s won a Golden Globe and is one of my favorite movies of the  year.  The story revolves around five animals in a world without people and thus has no human dialogue. But there are plenty of animal and nature sounds. Into this world, which looks post-apocalyptic with remains of human civilization, comes a horrific flood.

The main character, a black cat, bands together with a dog, a lemur, a capybara, and a secretarybird to survive the flood. There are scenes both terrifying and humorous as the animals cope with the ever-rising water that forces them out of their homes. The very last image, following a rescue, is as precise and moving as the ending line of a haiku.

If Flow comes to a theater near you, don’t hesitate to see it. And if it does not—Flow is, after all an indie film made for a few million dollars—do watch this beautiful, moving film when it is available through a streaming service.

 

 

Food for Thought, News, Television

I’m Back. Sort of.

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What a difference a presidential election makes. Before November, I was full of enthusiasm for my blog, especially for my Thankful Thursday posts, where I wrote about the good things in my life.

Now, I have little enthusiasm and energy for my blog. I am just so sad, and the hose of sewerage coming from the first two weeks—has it only been two weeks?— of Trump’s presidency doesn’t help. In the face of such malevolence, writing about life on the edge of the woods seems trivial, my thankful posts naive.

And yet I have missed the blogging community. I’ve intermittently kept track of blogging friends’ posts, but it’s not the same as reading and posting regularly. So here I am. This piece is a tentative first step in returning to something approaching a normal blogging schedule.

Despite my heavy heart, I have still been reading novels, listening to podcasts, and watching television series and movies.

For reasons that shouldn’t be too hard to figure out, I have become obsessed with World War II. (No, I am not comparing Trump with Hitler. Bad as Trump as, he doesn’t reach the horrible evil of Hitler.)

A French television series I have become particularly engrossed with is Un Village Français (A French Village.) Covering the years from 1940 to 1945 (and beyond), the series centers on Villeneuve, a fictional French village, and how the various inhabitants cope with the German occupation of France. Some villagers just try and live their lives, no easy thing to do when the Germans are occupying your community. Others collaborate. Some join the resistance, an uneasy coalition of Communists, Socialists, and Gaullists, among others.

There is a huge cast in A French Village, with the focus on a group of main characters, all of whom are vivid. Because this a French production, there are affairs aplenty, but they never sink the show or get in the way of the central issue: who resists and who collaborates? Warning: main characters do get killed. Don’t get too attached.

As I watched the show I asked myself, what would I do? Would I resist, or would I keep my head down? I think of Marie, one of the main characters in the show and a hero of the Resistance. In one scene, she is biking madly down the road on some important Resistance business. Her expression is resolute, and the camera focuses briefly on her shapely legs. (Back then women biked in skirts.) I hope I would be like Marie, but in all honesty, I can’t say for sure that I would.

The series is not without its flaws. There are plot contrivances and jumps that don’t always make sense. Nevertheless, A French Village is a monumental achievement and very much worth seeing.

How to watch it? Here’s the rub. Some of the seasons—but not all—can be viewed on Amazon. The missing seasons are important, and I don’t recommend watching it this way. For those who get Kanopy, a library streaming service, all seven seasons are available. Our library system also has the seven seasons available on DVD. Yours might, too. Finally, the series can be watched via the streaming service MHz Choice, which costs 7.99 a month.

And for those who like podcasts, The Bulwark offers an excellent French Village series with Sarah Longwell and Benjamin Wittes.

Vive la France! They made it through hard times. I’m hoping that we can, too.

 

 

News

Au Revoir…

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As the title of this post suggests, I am taking an extended break. For how long, I don’t know. I’m going to be honest—this election has really knocked the stuffing out of me—and I need time to regroup, to refocus. Somehow, writing about our happy little lives on the edge of the woods no longer holds interest for me. In time, I hope this will change, but I’m not sure that it will, and as this is a lifestyle blog rather than a political blog, taking a long break seems prudent. From time to time, I will be checking in with blogging friends’ posts to see how things are going with them.

There really isn’t much more to say. Our country is headed in a dangerous direction, toward chaos, vengeance, and authoritarianism. Most of Trump’s Cabinet picks seem to come straight out of Gotham City—the fabled hometown of Batman—with Trump being the biggest Joker of them all.

Before leaving, I do have a quotation and a song to share. First the quotation, from Jan Struther’s book Mrs. Miniver, published in England in 1939, a very bad time for the world.

“However long the horror continued, one must not get to the stage of refusing to think about it. To shrink from direct pain was bad enough, but to shrink from vicarious pain was the ultimate cowardice. And whereas to conceal direct pain was a virtue, to conceal vicarious pain was a sin. Only by feeling it to the utmost, and expressing it, could the rest of the world help to heal the injury which had caused it.”

I can’t help thinking about how disappointed and horrified all the Americans who fought in World War II would be to see where our country is going. They fought for this, for a convicted felon and a bully to lead the country?

During the next four years, however painful they might be, I will not be looking away. I’ve joined a local women’s advocacy group and will be doing my small bit to resist.

Finally, here’s the Tears for Fears song, “Mad World,” covered by Gary Jules. It perfectly captures how sad and perplexed I feel.

Farewell for now.

 

 

 

 

 

Food for Thought

A Not Very Thankful Thursday

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Fair Warning: This post will not feature a gentle, upbeat piece about nature and life at our house by the edge of the woods. Instead, it is a lament about the choice too many voters made on Tuesday. If this isn’t your thing or doesn’t match your politics, feel free to skip it.

On Tuesday, the votes were cast, and I am still reeling over the results. I was convinced Harris would win. Silly me in my blue bubble with like-minded friends.

However, a week ago, I did see an ominous sign that should have warned me of what was to come on Tuesday. When Clif and I went to Lowe’s to pick up a few things for the house, we parked behind a huge pick-up truck with the most vulgar, obscene array of anti-Harris/Biden bumper stickers that I have ever had the misfortune to see. I just sat there and gaped, reflecting on how I would never, never have similar bumper stickers about Trump on my car. Never.

Hostility and anger radiated from that truck, and I thought about how I wouldn’t want to meet the driver, a man, in a dark alley. In fact, I would probably cross the street to avoid him.

I am betting, that Trump,  a fulcrum of crude resentments, was the candidate of choice for that driver. Naturally, I did not ask him.

And on Tuesday, all across the country, even in blue zones, voters chose a man whose daily diet consists of anger and resentment, who has an enemy list, who has threatened “to toss reporters in jail and strip major television networks of their broadcast licenses as retribution for coverage he didn’t like.”

Does Trump mean this? Who knows? I guess we will find out.

I am heartbroken that so many voters—almost 73 million across the country—went for this man who is such a threat to the United States. Will he drag this country down? Is this it for democracy?

Again, we will find out.

I am taking a couple of weeks off from blogging. I need time to recover and regroup. And to figure out how to resist in my own creaky-kneed way.

I’ll end with grandfather of grunge, the great Neil Young. Let’s keep Rockin’ in the Free World.

 

 

 

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