Books, Nature, People

March Is Here, but So Is Poet Claire Hersom

35 Comments

Tra-la, tra la! March is officially here. Although we Mainers put a brave face on it and even go out for ice cream, we already feel the weight of this too-long month, rightly known as Maine’s fifth season—mud season. So far, there hasn’t been too much mud, but we know it is coming. Yes, we do.

Right now, March, in typical fashion, is whipping us back and forth. One day the weather will be mild with temperatures in the fifties, and the next day there will be a blizzard with over a foot of snow— the forecast for this Wednesday. Mainers take it in stride, but we do complain. A lot. In fact, complaining about March weather is one of our favorite pastimes.

Here is a shot of our backyard as it emerges from winter. Oh, the glory, and it’s just going to get worse. Clif will have to put planks on the walkway so that that he won’t sink into the mud as he hauls wood.

But enough of March! Instead, let us turn our attention to a very fine poet, Claire Hersom. I posted this picture of her a few days ago, but it is so cute—note the sly look on her face—that I thought I’d post it again.

I met Claire about fifteen years ago, when Clif and I published a literary magazine called Wolf Moon Journal. Via the Internet, Claire submitted some of her poems, and I was immediately taken with her use of language and her ability to get to the heart of things.  As if good poetry weren’t enough, I also learned that Claire lived less than a mile from me, but somehow, even in our small town, I had never met her. So funny!

Over the years, we featured many of her poems in Wolf Moon, and we became friends. As it so happened, she introduced her nephew, Mike Mulkeen, to our daughter, Shannon, and the two hit it off immediately. This August, they will have been married eight years.

Claire has published many books of poetry, and her most recent one, published in 2017 by Moon Pie Press, is Dreamscape.

What a lovely cover! As far as I’m concerned, you can never go wrong with blue, and it features snappy art work by her talented granddaughter, Eleanor Rose Folsom.

Claire has generously allowed me to use one of her poems in this post, and I chose “Dreamscape,” also the book’s title. Many, Many thanks, Claire!

Dreamscape 

It’s always in the early, dark morning
when a chill lingers from the night air
that we balance and
suspend in so many forms
at the brink of the precipice –
that first glimmer of day, of hope,
the new beginning hardly noticed
were it not for the argument of birds,
the bending, dew-filled pine,
the hollow stamp of deer outlined
in the grass under our windows.
Settled in last night beside you in dream,
they too waited, their warm fawn bodies
of stick-legs and too-big ears listening
for sounds; the same sounds as you,
eyes never too far from a flutter,
never completely at rest.

 

Food, People

Five for Friday: If It’s March, Then It’s Time for Ice Cream

31 Comments

Yesterday, March came in like the gentlest of lambs, with sunshine, blue skies, and warm temperatures. This was perfect weather for an outing we had planned with our friends Claire and Mary Jane. Fielder’s Choice, which serves delicious ice cream at great prices, opened for the season, and we wanted to be among the first to christen—with ice cream—the arrival of almost spring. As  you can see from the picture below, we weren’t the only ones there. Mainers are wild about ice cream, and we will head to an ice cream stand even if there is still snow on the ground.

And yesterday, there was still snow on the ground. Note the folded up picnic tables resting against the tree.

Since it was opening day, we all decided to go for broke and get sundaes and parfaits.

Here is Clif with his sundae.

Mary Jane with hers.

And last, but certainly not least, Claire with her parfait.

In the warm sun, we stood and ate our ice cream. (Warm for us, after a cold winter, is 50°F.) I had a hot fudge sundae with peanut butter ice cream. How good it tasted. I gulped down the ice cream the way someone dying of thirst would gulp down water. I felt a little foolish for being such a glutton, but then Mary Jane said, “I don’t know why I ate my sundae so fast.” Clif also finished his lickety-split.  Claire might have done the same, except she met an old friend she hadn’t seen in years, and while we gobbled our treats, Claire chatted with her friend.

After ice cream, there was tea around the dining room table at our house. We talked about family. We talked about movies. We talked about books.

And speaking of books…Claire, a very fine poet, has just had a book of her poetry published. We finished tea with Clif reading aloud one of the poems from her new book.

Monday’s piece for the blog will feature Claire, her new book, and a poem she has graciously allowed me to post.

In the meantime, even if the weather is bad—which it certainly is today on the East Coast—eat ice cream.

 

 

 

Art

Finding the Unexpected at Colby Museum of Art

26 Comments

On Saturday, Clif and I went to Waterville, to Colby College’s fabulous Museum of Art.

We wanted to see two specific exhibits: Herman Bas: The Paper Crown Prince and Other Works, and City of Ambition: Photography from the Collection.

We did see The Paper Crown Prince, a small exhibit that included a few dreamy, exquisite paintings that symbolically explore the coming of age of teenage boys.

Here is The Paper Crown Prince.

And here is Fitting In.

But we never made it to City of Ambition because I was unexpectedly waylaid by Game Time: The Sports Photography of Walter Iooss. I used the word “unexpectedly” for a good reason. Full Disclosure: There are few people who are as disinterested in sports as I am. For me, watching people pursue, hit, or kick a ball is akin to watching paint dry. Baseball is the worst—do the players even build up a sweat?—but basketball, hockey, and soccer are only marginally better.

I will admit that sports such as skating, skiing, and snowboarding hold my attention longer, say, for five or ten minutes. But to paraphrase Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice—of some pleasures, I believe, a little goes a long way.

So imagine my surprise when Walter Iooss’s sports photographs reached out and pulled me in.  Not literally, of course—I was not, after all, in the middle of one of my own fantasy novels. However, when I intended to just pass through the gallery with his photos, I found that I couldn’t. Every one of Iooss’s photographs told a bright, vivid story, whether it was of someone famous, such as the tennis player Billie Jean King, or of children playing stickball in Havana, Cuba.

Here are a few of the photographs, taken with my wee wonder of a camera, that unfortunately did not do them justice. I had to crop in close to give some idea of the intensity of the pictures, and my reproductions are nowhere near as sharp as the originals. Still, I hope they give some idea of the power of Iooss’s work.

Here is Billie Jean King, Wimbledon, 1979:

Note how petite, almost waifish, Billie Jean King looks. Yet also note the look of intense determination on her face. Here is a woman who wants to win the game, and she has worked long and hard to acquire the necessary skills. Whoever is playing against her had better watch out.

Consider this astonishing shot of the diver Julia Cruz, Ft. Lauderdale, FL, 1984.

There she is, in the gray wide open, and she is about to dive backward into water that is way below her. Cruz’s body is poised, muscular, ready. A leap of faith?

Finally, there is Havana Cuba, March 1969.

Iooss writes that the children’s “eyes [are] fixed on the pitch like it’s the only thing in this world. Nothing else matters. To me, that’s sports in one single frame.” Even the dog is sitting in stiff attention.

Yes. For the first time I understand how it is for people who love sports. It’s how I feel about art—in all its varieties—and nature.

Readers, if you live within driving distance of Waterville, Maine, go see this exhibit. Even if you don’t like sports. I expect that you will be illuminated, the way I was, by these terrific pictures.

Fortunately, Colby is close enough so that we can easily return to see City of Ambition. Also, there is no admission fee, which means we can stop in and  just look at one exhibit. We don’t feel as though we have to hurry through the museum, when we are past the viewing point, to get our money’s worth.

The Colby Museum of Art is such a gift to central Maine.

 

 

Animals - especially dogs, Food

Five for Friday: Slumbering Under Blue

35 Comments

Sometimes, when we’re leaving the house, we get an au revoir from the cats—Sherlock, the orange one, and his litter mate, Ms. Watson. The dog used to add to our farewell by barking, but now that he is blind, he no longer does this, and I miss it.

On Wednesday, the cats had to say au revoir to Clif and me as we left to meet our friend Mary Jane for an early supper at TJ’s Place in Monmouth, a town right next to us. None of us had been there before, and we decided it was time to check it out.

TJ’s Place is small—basic and clean—with a bar that dominates the entrance. Not surprisingly, along with beer, a variety of cocktails are served. In Yelp, in the comments section, TJ’s was described as having “a very hometown feel,” and that about sums it up.

Mary Jane ordered fish and chips. She said they were delicious, with such a generous serving that she couldn’t finish her meal.

Clif ordered a pizza, a little different from the average pie, that featured ranch dressing, chicken, and bacon. Clif liked the pizza so much that he ate the whole thing and later paid the price by having to take baking soda and water before going to bed. Clif did allow me to have a bite, and I will admit that the pizza was tasty and perfectly cooked. In a word, scrummy.

Clif, a discerning beer drinker, said that there were no beers of distinction at TJ’s, but the IPA he chose was “good enough.”

My order—a chicken sandwich—seemed to be the weakest link. The chicken was so thin that it looked as though someone in the kitchen had stomped on it. Also, the sandwich was served with iceberg lettuce, which I am not fond of. Somehow, this type of lettuce always gives me slight indigestion. (I know. Iceberg lettuce? How could it set heavy? And yet it does.)

The server was friendly and efficient, but she never asked us if we wanted dessert or another drink. Fortunately, we didn’t want either.

As we were leaving, a musician was setting up in a corner, and a notice indicated that TJ’s often has entertainment. The restaurant was filling up, and the place had a happy chatter.

Both Clif and I would go back to TJ’s, either for lunch or an early supper, for the pizza but definitely not for the chicken sandwich.

As we left, the sun was setting in a cloudy sky. Across the street from TJ’s is a business that stores boats for the winter. How bright they look in their blue shrink-wrap.

Both Winthrop and Monmouth are towns surrounded by lakes, so much so that this area of Maine is known as the lakes region. (How I love this!) Like the rest of us, the boats are waiting for spring, for when the ice goes out, for when the weather is warmer.

In the meantime, they slumber under blue.

 

 

 

Food, Nature, People

Snowy Sunday: Time for Soup and Good Conversation

44 Comments

Yesterday started out as a gray, snowy day. Overnight about four inches of snow fell, which meant Clif had to go out with Little Green to clear the driveway and paths.

Liam, dog of the north, checked out the backyard while Clif worked out front.

Just as Clif finished cleaning the driveway, the sun came out, turning a dull morning into a sparkling day. I have discovered that my bathroom “blind”—where I can open the window and take pictures of birds—also gives me a pleasing vantage point to take shots of the snow and the backyard. As the photos indicate, everything still looks like a winter wonderland, but that is normal for Maine in February.

Here’s a zoom look into the woods, where you can see the snow blowing off the trees.

A snowy day is also a good soup day, and the day before, I had made a white bean soup with chicken sausage, ground turkey, carrots, celery, peppers, and plenty of herbs and spices. That way, all I would need to do was heat the soup when our friend Alice Bolstridge came for lunch.

All right. I also made corn bread, salad, and apple crisp to go with the soup. But the main part of the meal was done and could simmer all morning as I put together the other parts of our lunch.

Alice, a very fine writer, lives in northern Maine, which means we don’t see her very often. But this year, to add some dash to winter, which is even longer up north than it is in central Maine, Alice decided to come to Augusta during the legislative session to acquaint herself with how our state government works. She has rented a room in a lovely old home and goes to various legislative committee meetings, which are open to the public. On occasion, she testifies. Alice even has a blog—Alice on Peace and Justice— where she describes the various sessions she has attended.

No surprise, then, that the afternoon zipped right by as we talked about politics, books, family, and a myriad of other things that cascaded from these subjects. When it was late afternoon, Alice said, “My goodness, I stayed a long time.”

“I’m so glad you did,” I replied.

“There’s no pleasure like good conversation,” Alice said.

“None at all,” I agreed.

Alice is absolutely right. Spring, summer, fall, or winter, there are few pleasures that can compete with having friends over—either for tea or for a meal—and then sit around the dining room table where we talk and eat. It’s a simple pleasure, a respite in a world that is often busy and rushed.

 

 

Food, Nature

Five for Friday: Chinese Food and Blue, Blue Skies

44 Comments

This week brought us Valentine’s Day. (To my way of thinking, a holiday devoted to chocolate should be celebrated by everyone, single folks as well as couples.)  Even though I was fortunate enough to receive a box of See’s chocolates as an early Valentine’s present, I figured, why not guild the lily and go out to lunch, too? When it comes to having fun, I am not a minimalist. So off to Lucky Gardens we went, for their tasty buffet.

The week was warm, warm, warm, even making it up to 50°F on Thursday. After the cold weather we have had this winter, the air felt positively tropical. Grabbing my wee wonder of a camera, I headed into town to see how things looked by Marancook Lake.

The sky was an impossible blue, so deep, so vivid that it almost looked as though it had been computer generated.

Even though it was warm, and there was open water by the shores, there were still plenty of ice-fishing shacks on the mostly frozen lake.

On the road by the lake, there’s a little bridge, plain and nowhere near as lovely as you would find, say, in Scotland. But if you cross the road, stand on the bridge, and look toward town, you will see a pleasing tableau, a classic New England scene.

If you look closer, you will even see some ducks—mallards, I think—swimming in the open water.

We are over half-way through February, and the days are getting longer. Dusk doesn’t come until 5:30 now, a real bonus to Clif and me as we have gotten to the age where we don’t like driving when it’s dark.

I am always sorry to leave beautiful, snowy February behind. Ahead of us lies the dreary month of March, and I’ll try not to whine too much when it comes.

In the meantime…here’s to the rest of February!

 

 

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