[Above photo: The lovely 141 foot gaff-rigged schooner, Columbia on the Portland waterfront. She was built by the owner of Eastern Boatyard in Panama City, FL. as a replica of a 1923 Gloucester-built fishing schooner. The original was the only American vessel to give serious competition to the Bluenose, a famed Nova Scotia schooner of similar purpose. They would race back to Halifax from the Grand Banks full of fish each season.]

30 October 2023

The lovely young couple across the street have led a block party for the past 3 years. It is geared, and rightly so, toward children, with face-painting and t-shirt printing. This year one highlight was the pie contest—wonderful entries, including a delicious cranberry-apple by my friend and neighbor, Gail. The winner was a lemon curd pie with a fabulously flaky crust, large slices of cooked lemon, and not too much sugar.  The husband of the couple, Jerome, volunteered to sit on a bench underneath an apparatus which dumped a bucket of water on him when a rubber ball was thrown and struck a target. No adults were allowed to try, but several of the 8-10yo children soaked him. Finally, his tender and understanding wife kissed him and announced that he’d retire this employment after one more soaking.

I met a couple of neighbors and with one of them talked (rather, I listened) for a good while. He runs an organic soil company but his love is sailing. He owned a Lyle Hess-designed 28’ Bristol Channel Cutter, the most glorious and capable of traditional sailboats and now has a cold-molded one-off gaff-rigged cutter. He showed me pictures of it under sail—what a dream! Among other voyages, he did an 8000 mile loop around the Atlantic, gunk-holing in Portugal. Much of it was solo sailing. It fulfilled a dream of mine. However, the reality is that halfway across the ocean I’d wonder “And why am I doing this?” and how I’d managed to shed companionship so completely. Still, a romantic fantasy. I mentioned that if he needed crew I was available. I suspect he has his regular crew.

Look online for the yacht, Columbia, pictured above. She has a terrific back-story and videos of her under sail are breathtaking. She’s for sale, a steal at under $12 million. The builder-owner is reportedly at work on a replica! As a high school student he’d determined to build her.

The shifts in our weather continue to amaze me. The recent high was 72 on the day of our block party; the next day the high was 46.  Today is cool and rainy. I must get bulbs in the ground for next spring soon, before the earth freezes.

My nephews and their mother, my sister-in-law, will move permanently to Portugal in 3 weeks. They have bought a place in the countryside, a 20 minute train ride east of Porto, on 2.68 acres with grapes, olives, fruit trees, an 1827 stone cottage, another stone cottage, and a newer, more modern home, all beautifully maintained. For a remarkably reasonable price. I admire their persistence, looking at many places throughout the country for over a year before buying. And waiting for the many layers of bureaucracy to approve their move and residency; it must have felt like pouring cold molasses or watching your lawn grow. I cannot wait to visit.

There are matsutake mushrooms in Maine. They are the treasured Japanese Pine Mushrooms. Poki’s parents would forage them in the Fall on the slopes of Mt. Ranier. We’d get a call in the evening from the United Airlines freight office at the San Francisco International Airport and know what awaited us. They are heavenly sauteed in butter with a little salt, although Ari likes to do them with butter, soya sauce, and a touch of mirin. Apparently, they are so valuable that Asian gangs, armed, have staked out productive territories in the Pacific Northwest. 20 years ago they sold for $34 a pound. Attempts at cultivating them have, so far, been unsuccessful.

Ari and I met at a lake, which-shall-remain-unnamed, launched our kayaks on a cloudy day, and paddled to a distant shore. Disembarking, we scoured the woods and harvested a good number of matsutake. Next September I plan to travel to various lakes, paddle to inaccessible second-growth hemlock forests, and identify more spots. They are easily distinguished from other mushrooms, looking for all the world like the penis of one’s dreams, if one dreamed of such things.

I am writing, both tales for my fiction course and memoir sketches for my writing group (The latter sounds grand but includes only two ladies beside myself. They are fun and interesting, write well, and I enjoy their company.). I’ve had some fun with the fiction course but it really isn’t my deal. I write to sort myself out and do that better with “fact”, at least what I perceive and recall to be fact. Memory is surprisingly fungible, I discover, let alone faulty as I gradually lose the names, or struggle for them, of people I have known.  My sister, being 11 years older than me, is further along that path and it gripes her mightily.

I saw a wonderful film—“The Origin of Evil” (L’Origine du mal)—at the Portland Museum of Art’s film series. I forced myself to go, based on the reviews, even though it was a glorious, warm day when I could have hiked or kayaked or whatever outdoors—BEFORE WINTER SETS IN.  I’ll say nothing of the plot but it is entertaining, full of surprises, and well-done.

I’m finishing Elizabeth Strout’s The Burgess Boys.  Can she write! Olive Kittridge is her most famous but I prefer this, digging as it does into the struggles some in Maine have with wanting it to remain white and unchanged, despite the inevitability, necessity, and benefits of newcomers from other lands.  Also, she examines the conflict between staying home vs. exiting for the bright lights of a metropolitan area, New York City in this case. She reminds me of my favorite, Alice Munro in her perceptiveness and character development.

I had a small dinner party with two couples, all of whom are published authors. I experienced untoward anxiety about the menu. I eagerly tried out the dish I selected to cook—-Caldo Verde, the national dish of Portugal—and found it less than appealing. Recalibrate. I settled on a slow-roasted piripiri chicken with tiny Yukon gold potatoes with aioli, an arugula-radicchio salad with a Cesar dressing, and a pear-apple-cherry crumble topped with ginger ice cream for dessert. It took a hell of a lot of work and time, but all emerged as planned. One of the guests said, “That is the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”  And I learned to make aioli and Cesar dressing along the way.   I think I need a small stable of recipes I can rotate so that each time it doesn’t feel like free-climbing El Capitan, never knowing the outcome!  I like cooking; my anxiety diminishes the pleasure, however.

The killing continues in Myanmar and Ukraine and, now, in the Middle East.  The most recent eruption—Hamas terrorists slaughtering and kidnapping unarmed Israeli women, children, the aged, etc. and, in turn, Israel’s reprisal, killing 5x (so far) as many Palestinian civilians in a desperate fury to destroy Hamas’ massive underground tunnel system in Gaza—is terrible beyond words. What soils it all even more, if possible, is the exploitation of it for political gain by many, often using disinformation. It was predictable that sometime the radical Palestinian factions would explode in violence, the populace being as suppressed and ill-treated as they have been. It doesn’t do to say “God promised this land to the Jews.” Even if it were so, a displaced people will fight back, because they likely think that their god promised the land to them. In such a complex situation involving two groups of people, both of whom have been persecuted and reviled, it behooves all of us to contain our emotions.

I was in Boston for a few days with a friend and wandered on my own to the Harvard Yard where I enjoyed a cappuccino at a group of small café tables and chairs on the patio in front of Memorial Chapel. Across the yard from me was gathered a large group of people at the base and on the steps of Widener Library. There were placards and intensely impassioned speakers, pleading the Palestinian cause.  And well they might, as the Palestinians, most would agree, have been treated shabbily by the Israeli government. However, Israel had just suffered a terrible terrorist attack by Hamas, a Palestinian (and Iranian) organization dedicated to the eradication of Israel. And so it goes, endlessly. I think one terrible tragedy is the missed opportunity of the Oslo Accords, for which we can blame—Yassir Arafat, perhaps?  But then Bibi forced a dramatic expansion of settlements in the West Bank. In such a sad and confused situation, it seems to me that, especially those of us not in battle, must hold our passions—Yeats’ “blood-dimmed tide”—, think about the innocent and vulnerable, and attempt to promote a measured response. Simply pummeling Hamas, with the concomitant civilian casualties, will only ensure that the conflict continues to erupt.

Our leaders, dependent on popular support to retain their power, rarely have the will to address the root causes of problems. Ironically, Joe Biden is effectively trying to shift things in a fairer direction in our country, diminishing our massive wealth and income disparities, but he remains remarkably unpopular for reasons unclear to me, even as the GOP continues to try to stymy his efforts.

[Above photo:  Super Blue Moon, dreamy in clouds.]

5 October 2023

There are so many ways to experience the water here.  One would be aboard the 1049ft-long 20 deck Norwegian Dancer which was in port as I took my daily walk down to, along, and up from the waterfront the other day.   A young woman jogger passing me said to her friends, “I don’t get it. Who’d want to be in a mall in the middle of the ocean?” Cruise ships apparently emit 4 times the amount of greenhouse gasses per person over a given distance travelled as do airplanes. And, outside of US territorial waters, they discharge tons of garbage and chemicals. Must have a strong lobby.

Then, there is the flock of little sailboats—Lazers, perhaps?—from Sail Maine, flitting about the harbor like terns, rounding buoys and giving experience to young sailors who may fall in love with wind over water and move to larger boats and longer distances as they can afford to.

I’ve had a number of fun experiences with my kayak, the one I got for $150 and have rehabbed. I built a seatback out of very lightweight closed-cell foam that works like a charm and can’t weigh more than 1 pound.

Lindsey and I practiced self- and 2-person rescues in front of his house on Webber Pond. The water was warm and the whole experience increased my confidence at surviving a capsize. I tried to roll, but, unfortunately, I reflexively blow the air out of my nose quickly.   Not yet being at the surface, I then gasp, struggle, exit the kayak, and have felt the terror of drowning. Ugh. I think I need to practice blowing very gradually to keep the water out of my nose.  In any case, it’s good to know I cannot depend, as yet, on a reliable roll to rescue myself.

I launched on the incoming tide at Clay Pits Road, midway up the Nonesuch River in the Scarborough Marsh. With tide and paddle, I moved swiftly up its very serpentine course, ducking under the Amtrak trestle, gliding beneath the Blackpoint Road bridge, and scooting around a couple of fallen trees that obstructed most of the waterway. The water was calm and the air warm. I travelled further upstream where there were no houses as the river would twist past the edge of the marsh. I saw gatherings of Common Egrets, a Great Blue Heron, a murder of Crows, a Cooper’s hawk, a Bald Eagle, and various ducks. The birdlife is better viewed earlier in the day—-and earlier in the summer.  After an hour or so, I turned and paddled back against the current until the latter lay slack. It began to ebb just as I approached my take-out spot.

I spoke with two fishermen along the way. Apparently, it is wonderful striper fishing from May through August, so I may try it next year.

Lindsey and I put in at the East End launch site down the hill from my house a week ago and paddled to Little Diamond Island, up one side of Great Diamond, and over to Cow Island. There we disembarked and hiked about. While there were some boats moored offshore with people enjoying the late summer day, the island was deserted and fun to explore. We launched again and completed circumnavigating Great Diamond, landing back in Portland just before sunset.

Finally, I paddled with Jon and Ari out to Ft. Gorges, in the middle of the harbor. We landed and entered the fort, whose guns were never fired. It is skillfully built of Maine granite, with keystone arches and keyhole gun ports.  We continued over to Little Diamond, then to Peaks Island and along its western shore. Rounding the southern end, we entered the pass between Peaks and Cushing islands and encountered swell from the open ocean. The outgoing tide met the incoming swell and, where they crossed a shoal, large breakers formed. We avoided them, as we avoided the busy boat traffic, including a ferry, when we crossed the harbor on our return.

All in all, I was impressed at how quickly and effortlessly my boat, at 17 ½ feet long, can travel. It is a very lightly built fiberglass boat, which makes it wonderful to lift onto a roof rack. As Jon noted, “It is really good until it isn’t.” So I bought a roll of Flextape, a strong, adherent, waterproof tape, to carry in case I hit a rock and the hull is punctured. These little precautions can mean a lot at sea.  I now feel comfortable kayaking around Casco Bay, watching the water and the weather.  I look about me and cannot believe that I live in such a lovely place. And it is beyond my ability to express the pleasure I feel being so close to the water and yet so safe and contained.

Just as I am not posting frequently to my blog, I am paying less attention to the nail-on-blackboard sounds emanating from our country’s political class.  There is so much that is pathetic, regressive, and mendacious about it all, driven by he-who-has-been-wronged. Impeached twice, indicted 4 times (or is it more?), convicted once (Sexual assault), having to pay reparations for his Trump University scandal and his “charitable trust” scandal, he continues to point his finger at others. It reminds me of Bobby Spoon in 5^th grade. He once farted loudly, then quickly pointed to the girl sitting at the desk in front of him. That level of dissimulation.

We need Democratic control of the White House and Congress so that we can begin to comprehensively address the astounding income inequality in this country. Trump’s only significant piece of legislation increased that inequality and the GOP in the House crushed Biden’s attempt to increase the tax rate on income over $400,000/ year, which would have been a good start. It seems the GOP pols aren’t really interested in lowering the national debt or assisting the working poor. Big surprise! Maybe in 2024 we can do it. The current mudwrestling in the GOP section of the House would be amusing if it weren’t so destructive. And most of the vocal minority have no legislation attached to their names.  Perhaps a street or post office naming. Some just want to break things, it appears.

I read a gripping non-fiction adventure story—-a shipwreck in the 1700’s off the southern coast of Chile, murder, mutiny, cannibalism—The Wager by David Grann. I had to vacate it for a week; their plight was so skillfully recreated that I couldn’t bear to continue.  Then I read The Bird Artist by Howard Norman, a beautifully written tale of the doings in a small community, Witless Bay, on the coast of Newfoundland. It also contained adultery, murder, suicide, and other desperate acts which enlivened it. It reminded me a little of Shipping News, so well did he capture the humor, irony, and tone of the place.

I think I’ll put my suet feeder out again and hope I attract just the downy woodpecker pair, not the starlings. I miss their company.

[Above photo: The Super Blue Moon in August flooding Casco Bay., taken on the Eastern Prom.]

11 September 2023

I will be writing this blog only on occasion, as much as a diary for myself as anything else. My writing will take another turn.

Summer is ending. The rosa rugosa lining the beaches on most islands in Maine, including ours, has long shed its petals and each bush is covered with a plenitude of bright rose hips, ¾-1” fruit, which if dried makes a nice hot infusion during the cold months. I’ll gather some on my next, and last, trip to the island in a week or so.  We Islanders tend to feel an affection for the plant, although it is not a native; rather, a fierce invasive.

The past 10 days at the island were glorious—warm to hot, bright sun, calm waters, mild breezes. I was there with my friend Lindsey for a bit.  We kayaked on successive days to two islands—-Butter and Pond—and hiked their trails. Then Ari came with two friends, a couple she knew in LA, and cooked up an incredible storm. We ate so well I don’t feel any desire to dine out for awhile. Among other items, the three of them caught 11 mackerel which, if promptly gutted, refrigerated, and grilled, are just the best, served with a fresh tomato puree.

Unfortunately, I tripped carrying a large LP gas cannister in the barn. It obscured my view and I didn’t see a slat nailed to the ramp. Wham! Beside my dignity, I munched my left hand. It now is nearly two weeks and the swelling and soreness persist so I am awaiting an xray report today. Yesterday I saw Urgent Care because my left foot had become so tender and swollen over 5 days that I could hardly walk on it. I didn’t hurt it with the fall and it turns out that after two doses of antibiotic over 18 hours it is almost painless. Without a cut, abrasion, or puncture, I can’t imagine how it got infected but I’m happy that was the issue. I was afraid I was getting gout. The ravages of age—and imagination!

Teaching the now-20+ Burmese psychiatrists about trauma yesterday, I decided to use the “Breakout Room” feature of Zoom. I read about it beforehand and it seemed simple enough. Ha! Nothing on a computer is “simple enough” for me!  We did eventually get it working but my pleasure was in the trying while all the students and I were laughing so hard we wept. They are accustomed to stuff not working—water, electricity, internet—half the time and it never flusters them. Plus, they are smart about this stuff and know they can get it right.

I’m a little apprehensive this week as I am starting two fiction courses—one is a workshop which lasts all year and meets monthly. The other is a Fall course that meets weekly. I am very insecure about my abilities writing fiction, although once I start I enjoy it and dialogue, for example, comes easily.

I heard a researcher from Columbia University talk about the past and coming migrations demanded by climate change. Especially hard hit are countries in the Sahel, the West to East band of Africa between the Sahara to the north and savannah to the south, Central America, and the India/Pakistan/Bangladesh region. Computer modeling suggests that for each .1 degree C. rise in the global average temperature, 140 million people will lose their ecological niche. That is, it will become uninhabitable for them. We can build walls and fences, which is predicted to lead to increased violence and instability, as well as a pretty poor assessment of ourselves. We can work like the devil to reduce our greenhouse gas emissions. And we can attempt to assimilate the newly displaced. Interestingly, Russia really wants workers and so much of the country which is currently frigid is likely to thaw, so it may be a win for them. For awhile. It is astounding that the average US citizen contributes more than twice the greenhouse gasses as the average European in a similar socioeconomic subgroup. And I think we add something like 5x what a person contributes in a developing country.  Seems like we need to change our ways.

I also heard a scholar from NYU talking about the “playbook for authoritarian leaders”. She recently published, “Strongmen: from Mussolini to the Present”. I ordered it. As she points out, it is a remarkably simple formula, looking at Mussolini, Hitler, Pinochet, Orban, Berlusconi, Putin, and, of course, our own entry into the race, DT.  Create chaos, pit people against one another, use the machinery of government to get revenge, create doubt, hopelessness, and disinformation, etc., all in an unrelenting search for personal power, money, and control. I ordered the book, although I’m not sure why. I think I understand her thesis.

It has been pretty alone for the past few days with my foot elevated. I did watch “Jaws” last night. You can see how it would drive shark biologists crazy, attributing to the shark the uniquely human quality of tenacious, rageful revenge.  Sharks are formidable creatures and I don’t want to dive with or pet one, but when they bite us it is generally a mistake. They like seals and sea lions, not neoprene-covered humans.  And they are physiological wonders, important in the balance of things in the sea.

[Above photo:  One of the windjammers out of Camden or Rockland. My friend, Neil, with whom I sailed for a number of years in California, took his wife on one of the week-long cruises and enjoyed it thoroughly.  What it must have been like to see Portland or Boston harbors filled with these ships!]

26 August 2023

I didn’t realize how neglectful of writing and posting this blog I’ve become. There are several reasons, none of much interest to others, I’d guess. It’s Maine summer, despite so much rain and cold, and like those desert frogs who emerge once a year from their tiny mud caves into the annual downpour in order to party and breed feverishly for 24 hours, we in Maine work summer for all it’s worth.  I’ve been back and forth to the Island on many trips, as well as enjoying my time in Portland. And I’ve been writing a lot—1500-2000 word episodes from my life. I have about 15 so far and plan to add the same again this year and put it together for publication. Ari has agreed to do a line drawing for each chapter. It likely won’t go anywhere but might be interesting to family and friends.

The last Island sortie was for about 2 weeks and included a 5 day visit from my medical school roommate and his wife—perennials—and a 5 day visit extending my sister’s brief stay there. Her daughter, Deirdre, with whom she lives in Bethesda, was able to stay only 7 days and Nan asked if she could stay with me for another 4 or 5. It was a remarkable time for me, as I obtained some of her personal family history that rather dramatically changed how I feel about her. While she didn’t complain about it, her tales of being sent off to France at 19yo with no French and no one to greet her said volumes about our parents, unfortunately. Uncle George, with whom she was to stay in Geneva—-How to get there from La Havre in 1948 at that age if you don’t speak the language, don’t know the currency, and are not worldly-wise is not clear to me—just happened to be in Italy for 6 weeks of holiday with his wife and kids. But she managed.  In our family, like in those I’d see when working, thinking multi-generationally is necessary to summon empathy for parents, grandparents, etc. when they behave badly.

Harold and Connie slip into the island naturally each year, swimming in water so cold I avoid it. We did have a little adventure, kayaking to Butter Island and hiking up the hill to see Tom Cabot’s engraved granite bench. We also saw in the distance fingers of cotton wool surrounding and obscuring nearby islands so we hustled down and set out. Of course, none of us had a GPS, a phone, a compass, or matches.  Connie had a watch, which helps to determine your location when dead reckoning in the fog.

Beach Island was faintly visible as we embarked from Butter, then invisible, then visible again. It was about 2 nautical miles between the islands which in fog is far enough that a bit of wind, current, and course deviation could put one on a track to miss your destination completely. It shook me, and as we pulled into our harbor I vowed to keep a kit in a dry bag containing some of the supplies required for survival if I should be caught out again. It was yet another reminder of how fickle the weather can be here—-clear one moment, thick fog the next. Also, of how impulsively thoughtless of consequences I can be.

I  had the chance to spend time with a great niece who I have always liked and admired. They continue to confirm my earlier impressions. And I had a number of good solo local kayak trips in fairly rough weather; my new boat is fast, very stable in the waves, and the moveable skeg allows for great tracking up, down, or across the wind.

On my next to last day, I took Tern, our 19foot Seaway, on a visit to North Haven Island. A friend’s son just bought a house in Pulpit Harbor and Lindsey wanted me to visit. It was a clear shot—about 30 minutes at 18 knots—in calm water. Pulling into Pulpit, I saw a number of lovely boats, large and small. I generally am only interested in the sailboats and I get why they often have been given feminine names. They can be so appealing to view, whether at rest or in motion.

One, in particular, intrigued me. It was, at most, 20 feet long, clearly a skillfully constructed home-build. “Periwinkle” was painted on her flank. She was rigged as a yawl with no jib. Both the mainsail and the mizzen were on rotating masts, so they could be easily reefed from the cockpit by one person. I later chanced upon the owner/builder and peppered him with questions. A very clever rig and an inexpensive boat to build and maintain. “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats”. [Water Rat to Mole in Wind In the Willows.

After meeting Lindsey’s son and his Swiss girlfriend, Alex, who were working remotely for the day, I took Lindsey, his brother Eric, and Alex’s parents visiting from Zermatt on a circumnavigation of the island. It is large and the shore is generally uninhabited. There are numerous ledges to avoid and the Fox Island Thorofare would be especially treacherous at night or in the fog. We stopped in the town of North Haven and had lunch, then continued around to Pulpit where I bid them adieu and returned to Beach. I reflected on how incredibly privileged I was to be able to do that and how much I enjoyed each of the day’s characters.

I read The Summer Book by Tove Jansson at Ari’s suggestion. Truly a plotless experience, it was intriguing and effective, outlining the relationship of a grandmother and her granddaughter on a small island in the Gulf of Finland. By having no plot, I was always engaged and each encounter was a surprise.

Along a similar line, I just saw the Italian film “Amanda” which I found fascinating. It had a very random quality as it followed a rather lost 25yo in her pursuit of friendship and meaning;. She was abrasive and outspoken but underneath quite fragile.  It was a first film for the director and I thought it was terrific in many ways. It presumes that the audience is intelligent and doesn’t need an abundance of clues to get what is transpiring, unlike many made-for-big-bucks American films whose unfolding is so predictable. 

I’m somewhat less intrigued these days by the news. The GOP politicians are generally frightened to stand up to the thug-in-chief of their party and most of them are willing to support him for president even if he is convicted on one or more of his numerous indictments. How crazy it is to be discussing this nonsense. Let the legal system do its duty with this weaponizer, presumed innocent until proven guilty, and his henchmen/henchwomen.  If he’s caught repeatedly on camera with his hand in the cookie jar, it is a stretch for me to presume his innocence, however.

[Above photo: Cleaned chanterelles, a bounty of island beauty.]

1 August 2023

The Island is a nursery for all manner of plants and beasts. The Ruby-Throated hummingbirds alternate turns at the feeder. Four of them use it, one at a time. If someone arrives before their turn, they are fiercely driven off. Two males and two females, trying to feed their hatchlings and put on some fat for the journey to Mexico. Their hearts can beat up to 1200 times per minute, although they generally run in the 600-700 BPM range. The occasional wasp tries to encroach on the sugary feeder but isn’t tolerated. 

The Merlin app from the Cornell Ornithology Lab is so handy for a lazy bird-watcher like me. Not only can it identify a Black-Billed cuckoo’s song, the song can be returned, with variations on a theme. Those birds  winter in S. America.  What couch potatoes we are!  The nesting pair of osprey likely have young ones; I can’t spot them but the adults raise an uproar when I approach a certain chanterelle patch on the SE end of the island.

And speaking of chanterelles! I’ve never seen such abundance.  Buckets and buckets. I’ve frozen three large ziplock bags half-full and have as many drying. Others have taken more than that. And many others are still in the ground, food for slugs and pill bugs.

My high bush blueberries have exploded with all the rain, growing more in one season than in the past 8 years. And all are filled with plump berries. Nothing beats walking around the Island and sampling the wild blueberries, however, which are superior in flavor. And the raspberries are not numerous but enough scattered around for everyone’s pleasure.

For some reason mosquitos are not as abundant as in years past. Although pleasant for the humans, the dearth may cause issues for the bats and others who depend on them.

I heard a very disturbing tale today from one of my Myanmar students who moved for safety reasons from her home in Mandalay to a rural village in a conflict area. She had felt protected by the ethnic militia until a week ago when the Tatmadaw settled into a camp nearby and blew up an adjacent village, using artillery and plane strikes. Yesterday they seized two young men in her village who were carrying medications for her clinic—she is functioning as a GP, rather than as a psychiatrist, since she is the only doc in the area. After torturing them, they killed and buried them in the jungle. The bodies were exhumed by their families and they’ll soon have proper funerals. Only carrying medications!!  The tales of rape, torture, murder, burning of villages, bombing a concert (killing 74), strafing an elementary school (killed 11 children), and other atrocities perpetrated by the military seem endless. 

A monk, whose monastery is supported by the Myanmar military and wealthy associated businessmen, has travelled to the US. He is visiting Burmese communities, trying to get them to stop sending money to the opposition. “The military has been trying to restore order.” There was no dis-order until the military coup. Merely a landslide of a popular vote in opposition to the military, which triggered the coup.

I asked my students today what they did with their rage at the military’s cruelty and greed. It makes me want to kill, then I fall into a slump and feel hopeless.  I teach my students and send the opposition money each month. They understood what I said and were generally silent. A stupid question, I guess.

My brother, Chas, was here for several days. We traded recipes and chewed the fat, reviewing past shared adventures and noting how fortunate we were to have enjoyed them.  We also talked about our mom, her shortcomings in the mothering department and her amazing qualities. Hearing his perspective helps me to let go of my bile, realize my own imperfections as a father, and see how much she actually did for us. She facilitated our adventures, among many other things. I feel guilty and ashamed not to have put this to rest 50 years ago, given all of my psychoanalysis. It is maddening, however, to realize how talented and bright she was and yet how she failed to experience any real interest in us and our minds. She was consumed by competitiveness with her three younger siblings for her own mother’s scant attention.  Her mother was a bright but thwarted beauty, having to drop out of college at 19 because she was pregnant. Generational transmission of deficient affection!  Emotional life, when you look closely at families, is so dratted complex, valence arrows shooting in every direction! I am realizing how sharp I can be and cringe to think of how I inflicted that on my kids when they were young.

“Mom, you did a ‘good enough’ job, as Donald Winnicott said”.

I loved Andy Borowitz’ title in the New Yorker last week: “Trump Has Almost Enough Indictments To Clinch the Nomination”.  Senator James Comer, trying to pin a bribe charge on President Biden, drew a blank when interrogating Hunter’s former business partner and fellow Burisma board member, Devon Archer.  He said that Hunter was “selling the illusion of access” to his father, the president and “never once spoke about any business dealings”.  Hunter is a sleazy guy, as is Archer, who was convicted of defrauding a Native American tribe.

Joe Biden isn’t.  Our return from a frightening COVID-inspired inflation is considerably quicker than that of the other wealthy nations who suffered the same, as is our job growth.  Now, if the GOP didn’t block increasing taxes on those who earn more than $400,000/year, we could lower the debt even faster than the $1.3 trillion it has come down since Biden got into office. Funding the IRS adequately to pursue the ultrawealthy tax cheats has a remarkable return of 10:1 or some such.  It’s a no brainer, unless you don’t think they should pay their fair share of taxes. I guess we know which party is in their pockets. 

It seems to me there is a lot to admire in the old guy’s performance, including strengthening all of our foreign alliances and restoring civility to the office, despite the remains of ketchup stains on the wall.   And what exactly is on this incriminating laptop?   I’d guess if there was much of anything, it would have been trotted out by now. Or a year ago.  It’s the same inuendo as in the “Biden Crime Family” suggestion. I think we know pretty well which is the crime family. It’s headed by the guy indicted multiple times by Trump-appointed judges. And Jared scored $2 billion over the Saudi Sovereign Fund director’s objection.

Reading this over it’s striking how reasonable are the hummingbirds, the osprey, and the blueberries and how messed up are the humans. Oh, that we were more instinct-bound. Most dogs are pretty darn good company. Rarely impeached or indicted. Even more unusual is a dog who serially stiffs his contractors, necessitating they file for bankruptcy.

[Above photo: This is the “Before” photo of my latest project, a Necky Chatham 17 foot kayak.  Not pretty, yet. ]

23 July 2023

Ah, Maine. Like a lovely woman, she takes off her bundled warmth and, with a mix of modesty and seduction, dons a fresh summer dress, revealing her beauty. As I took my walk along the Eastern Promenade, then down and along the water yesterday evening I was struck by all the pleasure, potential pleasure, and beauty I saw.

East End Beach had swimmers, waders, dogs at play with their owners cooperating, stand-up paddle boarders, and kayakers. Looking further into Casco Bay were the ferries to Peaks and Great Diamond islands, three gaff-rigged schooners showing tourists the Bay, a massive cruise ship docked on Commercial (sic) Street, and many sailboats darting about. Proximately, I walked by the marina where two huge motor yachts were berthed. One was 150’, the other about 110’—does the owner of the latter feel inferior and long for the larger craft? There were many smaller powerboats docked there, many sailboats at moorings offshore, and, in the distance, I could see beyond the corner of Macworth Island the many, many moored sailing craft in Falmouth harbor. It has the largest number of private boats moored on the coast of Maine.

On Sunday, I left Center Harbor in Brooklin for the Island. The Brooklin Boat Yard is at the very top of the list of wooden boat building shops in the United States. E.B. White’s son, Joel, founded it in 1960 and ran it for many years until he died of lung cancer. His son, Steve, now runs it. The harbor is filled with spectacularly beautiful, to my eyes, sailboats, mostly wooden. Nathaniel Greene Herreshoff, Sparkman and Stephens, and other towering legends of sailing yacht design are all represented. The Herreshoff boats, and there are many moored in the harbor, are fine, delicate-appearing craft with long bow and stern overhangs to increase the waterline length when heeled, thus increasing the theoretical hull speed.  His designs dominated America’s Cup racing for 3 decades. In addition to several of his delicious Rozinante ketches, there are also longer and leaner sloops. In fact, Steve owns one which he has painted in leopard-skin; in the famed annual wooden boat race on Eggemoggin Reach he and his crew are dressed in fake leopardskin. Just a thumb of the Maine nose to the Swells of Seal Harbor, Somes Sound, and the other fabulously rich enclaves on the coast.

It was wet and foggy on the Island; it certainly beats Texas and our well is full, but the rain gods have outdone themselves in Maine this year. Yet another benefit of all the wet is that the Island is bursting with Chanterelle mushrooms. We generally get a few each year, often more than a few. There are literally bushels awaiting picking. We had a glorious penne pasta with chanterelles in a cream sauce. The cream, from a local farm, was so thick it would hardly pour!  Summer bounty. And all the rain has spurred my highbush blueberry plants to grow fabulous foliage and prodigious numbers of blueberries. I continue to water them myself, in the hopes that my scent will deter the deer that nibbled them down earlier.

The Southern Maine Sea Kayak Network (“Smiskyn”) had its annual barbecue yesterday in a lovely park in Harpswell. Those members who came, about 30, were welcoming and filled with a wealth of valuable information about kayak equipment, places to put in and park for trips, and so forth. A former kayak guide for many years at LL Bean moved to nursing home care and donated all of his boats and gear to the organization. Some was given away, some was for sale at ridiculously low prices, and there were 5 kayaks for auction. For $30 I got wonderful stuff—a cockpit cover, a marine compass, two Kokotat life jackets (PFD’s), and a variety of other goods. Then I bought a kayak. “What?”, you ask.  “You already have two.” I can see that kayaking is one of those activities where it is difficult to walk past a bargain.  The craft is a 17 foot 35 pound Necky sea kayak, in need of love, buffing, hatch covers, and lubrication or replacement of the skeg apparatus. The consensus was it must be Kevlar, since it is so light.

OK, it cost $150 and if Kevlar, was probably $5000 new. It will take $200 and two or three afternoons for me to refurbish it but I then will have a terrific sea kayak I can keep in Portland. I’ll leave my new P&H on the Island. The wooden one I built many years ago can be for Islander use. With luck, I can even score a place on the racks at the East End Beach, a 10 minute walk from my home, so I can launch easily. The hull condition—excellent—and the lightness of it all persuaded me. I love projects, anyway, and bringing an old soul back to life—It could be me!—will give me pleasure.

The craziness continues. Perhaps the most remarkable was Marjorie Taylor Greene’s accurate recounting of Joe Biden’s vision and accomplishments, which he or his handlers deftly turned to his advantage.  Everything she mentioned, with scorn, seemed very positive to me and I’d guess to most Americans. Investments in education, rural poverty, urban problems, Medicare and Medicaid, among others, are generally very popular, as were FDR and Lyndon Johnson’s programs for the poor.   Using government to actually assist the working people of our country appears antithetical to her world vision.   In her warped view, what he has done is despicable.  It is always interesting, but often difficult to discover, what attack dogs actually want, beyond attacking.  If people could overcome their rigid party loyalty and dispassionately consider his accomplishments over the past 2 ½ years, most would find them remarkable and positive. 

Another dark comedy has been Sen. Tommy Tuberville’s writhing and wriggling and revelation of his ignorance around his inability to own his racial biases. Basically, he is convinced that White Supremacists are not racist. “I just call them Americans.” Along the lines of “Some of my best friends are ______________ [Black, Asian, Gay, Native American, Jewish).”  He’s a product of his times and environment.   How deeply imbedded in southern culture are those benighted beliefs. Two steps forward and one step back is still moving forward, however!

[Above photo: Awaiting the ferry on Little Diamond Island.]

16 July 2023

Summer is ½ over! How can time pass so rapidly? How can I be almost 83yo?

My sister-in-law helped me to realize that there may be a backstory to the Supreme Court decision to which I alluded last week. The woman who brought suit may not, in fact, have been lying about the man, posing as gay, who requested by email to have her create his website. It may have been a Right Winger’s attempt to challenge equality as imbedded in the Constitution and of which she was unaware. Or, she may have been quietly complicit. My point is that the Court should not have accepted the case, since there was no actual case—-no one had actually challenged her right to refuse services to a gay man based on his sexual object choice and her beliefs that homosexuality was “wrong”.  Scant, incomplete, or dys-information certainly complicates our decisions and compromises our understanding.

The Hokusai exhibit was all I could have desired. It was surprising to me that he did the drawings/paintings, another man cut the woodblocks, and yet a third made the multiple impressions needed for a polychrome print.  I suppose the latter two would be catagorized as “craftsmen”. The prints were spectacular and the details unimaginable to me as the result of a woodblock carving. His work evolved, both in skill and subject type, the latter apparently in response to what was popular [and would sell]. The groups of subjects includes scenes of Nature, Nature with man-made structures (bridges, for example), village and farm scenes, people strolling about on a holiday, beautiful women (often courtesans), and, at the last, warriors in battle. Side by side were prints, often of identical or similar scenes, made by his competitors (Hiroshige being the most prominent) and students. Finally, there were works by 20^th century Western artists who were influenced by him. It was beautifully curated.

Wednesday I drove to Burnt Meadow Pond and met my friend, Lindsey, and 4 other kayakers. Turner and Cheri, the proprietors of Kayak Ways, put us in tuiliks, and then into modern versions of Greenland kayaks. A tuilik is the hood-parka-spray cover that Greenlanders use to stay dry and warm. Originally they were made of seal skin. Currently they are made of neoprene and are buoyant, so no flotation device is needed.  The kayaks (qajac), Rebel brand, are long, narrow, low in the water, and as light as a feather, being Kevlar-carbon fiber composites. And tippy!

Rolling is remarkable, especially since the pond was warm.  If one pays attention to the mechanics and is reasonably flexible, there is almost no effort involved. Certainly, there is no need for a paddle. It was pretty magical until I got into my own kayak at the very end to try rolling in it. Two issues: 1) I didn’t have nose plugs, which were attached to the tuiliks.  2) In my kayak (qajac) I used my own spray cover and neglected to don a lifejacket or other floaty attachment.  I rolled over, blowing air rather briskly out of my nostrils, and, upon arriving at the other side, would be out of air and desperately wanting to inhale.  However, since I had no flotation and am a “sinker”, I repeatedly found myself 6 inches below the surface.  I did this several times before realizing what the problems were.  It wasn’t a pretty end to the class. I can roll, however, which I guess is the important part.

Of course, in limbering up to roll over the past month or two, I have tweaked an old injury in my left lower back which isn’t fun. I acquired the injury trying to uproot a 3 foot tall spruce tree in the meadow, imagining I was stronger and fitter than I was. I think I just tweaked it with the same fallacious assumptions. Pushing past my limit, like a dummy.

My brother, Chas, suggested we visit the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland together, which we did yesterday. I am embarrassed to admit that although I have been coming to Maine since I was 2yo, I’ve been so parochial as to have never explored the mainland. Linda helped familiarize me with some of the hills on Mt. Desert Island, but I’d never been to this amazing treasure.  Chas treated me to both the museum fee and to lunch later at the Rockland Café. It was a good time and he knows considerable about both Andrew Wyeth and about the uses of light in painting, since he is a painter. It was much more interesting for me as a result.  And the seafood chowder and apple pie at the café were superb. 

Especially interesting to me was to learn about Wyeth’s many year fascination with the Olsen house and its inhabitants, including his friendship and admiration of Alvaro, the son and brother.  He cared for his parents to their death and then cared for his disabled sister, Christina of the famous “Christina’s World”, working many  jobs constantly as a bachelor farmer to support them all.  One room paired Wyeth’s paintings of Rockland with those of the same subject but created earlier by Edward Hopper.  As much as I admire Hopper’s work, and the MOMA show last year confirmed that, I find Wyeth’s painting richer, less polished, and more engaging.  It is foolish, I suppose, to compare different styles, but the juxtaposition of their paintings triggered me to do so.

It is a cool and rainy day with some wind. I’ll go to the Island tomorrow for a short stay.  Because of all the grey and fog and rain, summer hardly seems to have begun. It is beautifully lush everywhere in compensation. Soon it should turn hot and dry, allowing people’s gardens to flourish; tomatoes leaves will develop mold in this weather, should it continue.

I’ve begun a book by Anne Applebaum, Red Famine, which is timely although it came out in 2017, before the invasion. She talks about the many legitimate reasons to consider Ukraine as a separate country—-its language, culture, previous choked-off independence movements—and the reasons that it has had to struggle so hard to realize its independence from Poland, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Russian Tsars, Stalin, and, now, Putin.  All have tried to conquer and incorporate it or parts of it; many have tried to eradicate its language and culture. Ukraine has soil that is deep, dark, and rich, sited as it is in the basin of the Dnieper River, and it has access to the Black Sea. I always thought that the 3.5 million Ukrainians who starved to death in the 1930’s under Stalin had done so because of the bureaucratic “error and failure” of the collectivization of farming. Documents make it clear that their deaths were intentional, just one of many attempts to crush Ukraine so it could be more easily “Russified”.

I think our leaders made an error and should have brought Ukraine into NATO promptly, with stringent demands to clean up any corruption, and, thus, to call Putin’s bluff. He is simply one more in a long string of cruel, hungry, and ambitious Russian bullies, empire-builders.  Russia is already the world’s largest country with 11% of the total landmass, for heaven’s sake. How much lawn do they want to mow?  Allowing NATO membership would chasten China, as well. What do we imagine is Putin’s end-game? Would it not be better to stop the carnage now?  He would have to back down, as it seems he will anyway.  He is out-gunned and realizes it, in spite of his nuclear arsenal.  He is also facing home-grown rebellion.

[Above photo: From the ferry to Peaks Island: A lovely schooner on the Portland waterfront.]

9 July 2023

The continuing revelations about Clarence Thomas and his relationships with, and pleasures received from, the rich and famous continue to flash across the screen. It is completely understandable that being born Black in a dirt-floor shack in a swamp gathering of former slaves in the South could easily engender a limitless hunger for money and power. But to leverage his position as a Justice of the Supreme Court to pursue the same ends is disgusting, favoritism being just one source of the revulsion.  It is unbelievable to me that in the case of the woman who refused to develop websites for LGBTQ persons, when it was discovered that she lied about the case and that the gay man to whom she referred turned out to be straight, married for 15 years, and never sought her services, the court didn’t nullify its judgment. Talk about legislating from the bench. There was no case, no injured party seeking redress. Something is rotten in [Washington, DC], methinks.  Clarence’s modus operandi, formerly shrouded, is increasingly clear. What a travesty, Anita. I’m sure Joe deeply regrets his central role in the very rushed appointment.

Lindsey and I met at the Dolphin Marina at the tip of the Harpswell Peninsula yesterday at 8AM. It was moist and foggy and we wanted to sit inside the restaurant to look at charts and see if the fog would lift. The management was reluctant to allow it as the restaurant was closed and the service people would be cleaning in a few minutes. I felt irritated with them; it seemed pretty unfriendly. But in retrospect, I get their point. They were at work, anticipating a long and busy weekend day while we were at play and our presence would be just one more thing about which they had to think.

Although I love fog and its eerie softening of reality, it poses dangers. We stuck to the shoreline, paddling well away from the lobster boats whose diesels and gurneys we could hear growling in the channel. Fairly soon, the fog lifted somewhat and we paddled to, and around, Whalebone Island. The coast of Maine is so beautiful! It was dead-low tide so the rockweed clinging to the granite was exposed, then the upended slate, followed by low green meadow or brush, and backed at the top with dark Spruce trees. There were two nesting pair of osprey, one at each end of the island. They fretted as we approached their nests, from which we could hear loud and demanding “Peeps!”. One nest was atop a navigation beacon tower, the other in a dead tree. We also surprised two Great Blue Heron.  The island is part of the Maine Coast Heritage Trust and there are three campgrounds on it, only one of which was occupied.

My kayak is terrific. Its paddler, however, needs to keep doing planks, stretches, and sit-ups as he was in misery part of the way. I don’t know what happened to my hip flexors in the past few years but a month’s work has strengthened them some and I’ll continue to torture myself with exercise.  Once I have the fundamentals of a roll down and practice it repeatedly so it is dependable, I can begin to undertake increasingly challenging trips with others. It is often true that the more discomfort/danger one is willing to accept, the more interesting and amazing places one can see. I don’t want to die in a kayak mishap, so I’m not going to take great risks. However, there are so many lovely islands to visit and on which to camp along this coast.

I went to a party on the 4^th—she is a child psychiatrist, he is a retired IT man with a gift for design and build. He bought a tear-down three blocks from me and built a beautiful modern 3 level home with a roof deck garden, a backyard, and  a basement workshop. A number of their friends came from Waterville; her ex was a physics professor there. One couple, a psychologist and a social worker, volunteered to teach some classes in social work and psychology at a university in Haiti 10 years ago. Now they run, mostly for free, an entire BA curriculum in Social Welfare as a department within the university. We had lots to talk about and shared the thrills of teaching eager students in a developing country.

I have been sluggish to start the process of getting a business license in Thailand. If I were 70yo, I’d be on it. I am aware of the passage of time and my lessened vitality. Do I really want to do regular workshops in SE Asia?  While I enjoy my current work with students online and cannot imagine breaking our regular connection during this hideous time in their lives, whatever I do there is something less I’ll do here.  I do love my experiences there—shorts and flip flops, casual eating out, always new discoveries, and the feeling of doing something vital to help others—, yet I want to form close relationships here and being gone makes that tougher.  It’s a nice dilemma, though!

I leave today to see the Hokusai exhibit in Boston tomorrow morning.  Next weekend I’ll visit the island with Ari and Jon. He has volunteered to give us a rolling clinic, so my skills will improve. And I get my hearing aids this Tuesday. This certainly has turned into a “Dear Diary”.

The economic facts of the Biden Administration are astounding in terms of job growth, containment of inflation without, so far, a recession, and the engagement of hundred of billions of $ of private investment in infrastructure and manufacturing.  DT continues to lie every other sentence, still claiming that he won in 2020, despite having no solid evidence to support the conclusion and a vast amount disproving it.  He’s on a short tether and it is getting shorter; sentiment has turned, except with his Base, and he is increasingly desperate. His legal troubles are within nipping distance.  Bret Baier’s Fox News interview with the Donald deftly demonstrates the latter’s style of evasion when asked a difficult question.  What a terrible distraction and waste of time his entire narcissistic enterprise, from 2016 until now, has been! Maybe the experience will end up strengthening Democracy and alerting us to a large and unhappy segment of the population. Nevertheless, I feel for his children.

[Above photo: Red sails on a fully-fledged schooner passing Round Beach. Sorry for the quality—not enough pixels for enlarging an image on my phone.]

2 July 2023

I’ve just returned from 11 days on the Island.  One of the difficulties of living on an island is having a regular source of fresh fruits and vegetables. Apples last a long time and dried fruit—figs, raisins, plums, mango—can, nutritionally at least, supplement the bounty of fresh summer fruit. Some vegetables can come frozen and be kept in that compartment of the refrigerator. But the leafy greens, for salads, stir-fry, or simply steamed with added vinegar, lemon juice, or a vinaigrette, don’t freeze well.

Lo and behold, the Island yields a vast treasure of greens. Dandelions [pick only the young greens] grow all over my yard. Triangle Orache is found on the beach, just above the tide line. It is substantial and crunchy raw, with a pleasant flavor, and is nice cooked. Wild Radish is peppery and prominent in the same area, as is Sea Rocket. Finally, there is yet another green whose name escapes me which grows heartily near the beach. Undoubtedly there are more to be found but from eating this selection of greens, all of which except the dandelions are plentiful throughout the summer, one can be happy.  [If happiness were so simple!]  The greens would do well sauteed with garlic and chanterelles, which will appear in a month.   On to hone my mackerel-fishing technique.

Each year I look forward to the progress of my three high-bush blueberry plants, now 8 years old and not very high. The “Berkeley” produces almost no berries. Hm. The “Siena” and the “Blue Jay” are sterling, cranking out a lot of large, tasty berries. However, many of the leaves formerly on the first two have vanished. I searched for a parasite, knowing these plants are very hardy. After a call to the nursery, I realize that the deer, whose tracks our caretaker has seen this year, has been nibbling them down. A cannister of deer repellent granules at Mainescape cost $37.99. Being a Scot, I have peed in a circle around each plant, howling like a coyote as I did it, and if worse comes to worse, I’ll simply buy blueberries in the store.  I’m encouraging our caretaker, who is interested in taking a deer with his bow. We don’t want deer ticks and Lyme Disease. Maybe it will just get the vibes it isn’t wanted and head to a different island, the best solution.

Regulars, a brother and sister with their families and my cousin, Amanda, with hers were on the island last week. It was rainy or foggy most days but it didn’t dampen their spirits. Michael, a RISD graduate, looked more content sailing the Blue Onion than any yachtsman I know. It’s always “The fuel scrubber isn’t working.” or “The through-hull fitting for the head is leaking.” or “The stuffing box requires tightening.”  Since Blue Onion is a Sunfish, with a single sail, the problems it poses are minimal, as is the general upkeep. The teens, and including friends there were 7, sang and played music together on guitars and fiddles in the Barn and swam in the frigid Bay. On a near-sunny day I towed most of them with Stella, our diesel-powered lobster boat, on our home-made aquaplane.  Although we never exceeded 12 mph, from the shrieks and howls you’d have thought I was driving a Chris Craft at 40mph.

Beside the regular photos, two of the girls, lovely in their bikinis, posed backs-to-the-camera, each with a hand gently resting on one of the other’s buttocks. Amid much excited and nervous squealing.

The last night of their vacation contained a communal supper and the traditional Talent Show. Many budding singer-song writers, laughter and poignancy. I loved how everyone felt safe enough to stumble through their part. They each threw themselves into it, which was especially touching in the teen-age girls, whose longing was palpable.

Ari and I had a good walk at a spectacular beach on the mainland nearby. It is coastal and forested land with stunning, sweeping beaches and rocks. She is very disciplined about her book, has finished the text, and has about 30 more illustrations to do for it. I am very excited for her!

The friends I mentioned in my last posting who were setting out to kayak the length of coastal Maine are a night or two away from Lubec at the northern tip. No undue incidents or near-disasters. Pretty wet and foggy weather for most of it.  But journey’s end is near.

I am on a program of stretching and doing situps each morning and doing modest weight lifting before bed. I also kayaked several days, despite the weather. I am taking a kayak (qajac) rolling course at Burnt Meadow Pond in western Maine in 10 days and I want to be maximally limber—not likely.  However, the stretching works and I move much better than previously.  I hope it is a shallow pond so the water has warmed a bit.

Today is gray and wet, consonant with the previous week.  As I look out my window I can see 3 older women, one walking a black lab on a leash. They are happily strolling and chatting in the drizzle. As in Seattle, people are hearty here and don’t let inclement weather interfere with their pleasures. Everything in my garden is doing fabulously, which is a treat. The borage is blossoming for the bees and the hydrangeas are bursting with color.  The three lily bulbs I planted in October—actually, I’m not sure how many I planted but three are coming up—are ready to bloom. My herb garden is hugely successful and I must eat more as they are crowding each other, especially the mint.  Everything is lush and lovely here in Portland, as on the Island. I treated myself to a croissant and a cardamom bun from Belleville, a bakery up the street, this morning; I’d been daydreaming about croissants on the Island.

I conferred with Polly and she has gotten us tickets to see the Hokusai (“36 Views of Fuji” and others) exhibit at the MFA in Boston next week. He was an early 19^th century Japanese woodblock print maker and when at last his art left Japan, which was fiercely proprietary about all matters cultural, it had a significant influence on Western art. The curator of the exhibit has assembled 100 of his prints. The show ends July 16^th or so. I’m excited.

I cannot say I am excited by our Supreme Court. It has demonstrated a total lack of respect for the Constitution and for Precedent, let alone honesty and open disclosure. I see little to lose in expanding it so as to nullify the voices of the Christian Right. Thomas is beyond the Pale, Roberts is weak-kneed, and all are schemers pushing their personal, religious, right-wing agendas. Let’s just all go back 70 years when Blacks, Gays, and Women knew their place, accepting it without protest and corporations could extract and pollute without regulations.

[Above photo: The cemetery and fallen tree: fallen parents, brother, uncle and aunt, in-law husbands. Ages at death: 42yo, 43yo, 55yo, 60yo, 78yo, 84yo, 88yo, and 90yo.  Mean age at death: 67 yo, considerably under the average life expectancy. The 4 men who died early, all fathers, lowered it. ]

23 June 2023

The fog covers, softens, and obscures everything on the Island. It isn’t cold, just cool and moist. I fall asleep when the sun sets and awaken about 4:30AM, rising at 5. It feels good to be synchronized with Nature.

My daughter showed me Merlin, the amazing bird app from the Cornell Ornithology Department. The morning air is filled with birdsong and, when I aim my phone, the application can distinguish whose call it is. The woods are filled with a variety of songsters, just as the sky supports a juvenile eagle soaring for 10 minutes over our meadow and shoreline. A nesting pair of osprey, fishing in the harbor, disappear when the eagle’s menacing shadow moves past. After s/he heads off the Island to more propitious hunting grounds, the osprey re-appear, bobbing and hovering as they scout for fish. I suspect they have, or are expecting, chicks. It is interesting to me how one, male or female I don’t know, always follows the other on their quest. I wrote a text to my daughter that the hummingbirds hadn’t yet appeared this year. Within 10 minutes of filling and hanging the feeder, one was hovering next to it.

The air is fresh, the pink and white rosa rugosa are in bloom, and the meadow is lush with 18’ grass. Winter storms took their toll, snapping off a number of large spruce 3 feet above the ground. Generally, because they lack a tap root and the soil tends to be a thin layer above the granite, winter storms topple them intact with their roots. Perhaps the soil wasn’t soaked when the gusts came through. The huge old spruce marking my ancestors’ gravestones in the meadow went. I’ll take a chain saw to it and haul the branches away to decompose in the woods. Maybe I’ll plant lilacs or high bush blueberries in its place.

The meadow is surrounded by white (or “paper”) birch. I have clumps of them at the NW and SE corners of my house. The bark is incredibly strong and rot-resistant. The wood, if a felled tree is left over the winter, rots rapidly but if dried after being cut is hard, strong, and durable.  It amazes me how fungi and bacteria in a moist environment can turn it to mush so quickly. A log on the ground that appears intact has no substance, save its pristine bark covering, like a sausage.  Dry birchbark is as good as cedar shavings for starting a fire.

We hooked up the float and hoisted the gangway. It entailed a bit of tugging and hauling. While at it an immense school of minnows milled about the float, staying shoal to avoid the larger fish. We’ve seen dolphin, so I’m sure the mackerel are in the Bay. The fish population seems to be reviving from the pulp mill pollution of past years, although the Atlantic salmon run up the Penobscot River has not increased as rapidly as hoped and the mussels seem permanently vanished.

My cabin looks good. Two of the 6 skylights leak, which I can address easily, I hope. The front door seems to have rot, although the paint is excellent and intact. I think I can replace the damaged part and save the door. I am puzzled why it has gone; we cover all the doors with sheets of plywood to protect them when we close the island at the end of summer. Perhaps snow traps between the two surfaces and does its damage. The elements are hard on structures in Maine.

It is strange to be as alone as I am here. The caretaker, Michael, is here but he elects to be solitary. We’ll talk once per day, usually.  Anadine, my distant cousin, arrives today for 2 weeks. She used to spend the entire summer here but her husband, who is older and needing care, no longer comes so she feels a need to split her time. I’ll prepare supper tonight for her and Michael. One of her daughters, with family, will arrive Sunday. I’m eager to see them.

I’ve just finished J. M. Coetzee’s Waiting For The Barbarians. It was a good read, compelling and intimate. He slyly suggests that the “civilized” fit the definition of “barbarian” better than the indigenous people the former feared and attacked. A significant focus was more personal, addressing the protagonist’s need as an “old man” for sensual and sexual gratification with younger women, ignoring the power differential. 

An awareness of the latter represents a step upwards.  How strange that men, through their needs and greater muscle mass/wealth/etc., have ill-treated women, both now and then! A companion is just that, not a subject.  It’s no wonder many men squeal loudly as women assert their equality, accustomed as the former are to the alpha position.  Alternately, it is such a gift when someone wants to do something for you, rather than being forced to or responding out of duty.

Upward and onward with the House censuring Adam Schiff. His address in response was wonderful; direct, declarative, and lucid.  Many members of the GOP are strikingly timid, cowering in fear of DT and humiliating themselves before the ignorant and hate-filled fanatics of his base.  Shiff is Presidential material. Now a ticket of Schiff/Whitmer, or Whitmer/Schiff, that would catch my attention.  They would create a sea change, as well as a landslide.

DT is lending his imprimatur to the Sultan of Oman. He was in the White House primarily to network for his businesses, clearly. As were so many of my graduating class at Harvard who went into banking or investing.  How naïve I was, imagining that upon graduation they were all determined to change the world for the better.

I feel for President Biden. Hunter is such a troubled flake. Also, we clearly want to have India on our side. But Modi appears to be another cruel, racist/religionist tyrant. What a balancing act, to have to befriend (sort of) someone whose actions you despise.  I suppose Joe is trying to hold out an olive branch to India and Modi just happens to be their current leader. It is called “Diplomacy” and happens all the time.  We cannot reject an entire population of a country just because we dislike their leader.

A friend and an acquaintance spent the night with me in Portland before starting their journey up the Island Trail from Kittery to Lubec, the length of Maine. Both are younger, accomplished kayakers, and up for the paddle. I was envious but know that I couldn’t possibly do that trip at their speed—if I could do it at all! They may stop here to dry out if the weather is as wet as is promised.