the lost key

~ FOR MEGAN AND JAMES


in the clearing beside the hall called mercury
amidst the ancient industry of living things,
the buzz and song and whir of insects
and birds, stands a craggy crowd
live oaks and post oaks with sun scorched
wind hardened bodies marked

with many rings, lines in endless circles
rough brown arms and elbows and living hats
of vivid green tip toward earth and eavesdrop
glad, bright and shining in the celebration's glade
where the old fragments we are certain and you are lodged
now reach them and the company gathered below them

now find their way new again, the way of remembrance for,
remembrance of, remembrance toward, forward, beyond 
remembrance because this day when the key is lost is the day
we witness two beings offering words engraved
round and round eternity, the day come, the day gone again
the trees motionless in the blossoming hush of evening
the stars a rising flourish in the southern sky
unlock delight in the vow stay there forever.

let pandora play

~  my fat belly girl ~

dust bunnies have been multiplying around here at an alarming rate—but then it's spring, after all, and with spring comes much newness bursting forth hither and thither—and those bunnies are, at this very moment—there goes another fat one now!—hopping under couches and chairs and tables and beds making themselves oh-so-comfy-cozy. eruptions of clutter—books, notebooks, remote controls, magazines, cups, one hairbrush, receipts, shopping bags, nail clippers, scotch tape, mail, one fork, scissors, visine, camera, lotion—have also solidified on every available flat surface and are in dire need of an immediate excavation.

there's a party with friends and family happening on saturday for alexandra and kevin and baby-to-be at our address (but please don't call it a shower or it's off with your heads! BECAUSE it's not a shower BECAUSE it's a regular party—albeit a party with stylish details thanks to christina—BECAUSE this is not going to be a hen thing BECAUSE the men will be present BECAUSE, did you know, they play a major role in the bringing forth of new life? BECAUSE the women can't manage such a simple thing alone—witness the old worn-out-but-true saying it takes two to tango—BECAUSE we need the men to be here BECAUSE, lord help us all, we refuse to sit around expostulating on the best name brands in diapers and breast pumps and nipple creams and BECAUSE un-milk related beverages are good we will be drinking beer and wine and mimosas, well everyone except alex. nuf said...) and things need to be put shipshape in a hurry.

which brings me to this: many situations require music.

and this: for me to be in absolute tiptop form for cleaning the house, for me to get in the groove, so to speak, and to prepare for physical labor (no pun intended), it is imperative that music, a certain kind of music—music to make you move—be on the airwaves.

today pandora will get to play to her heart's content, unleashing her melodies throughout the house, except she will be encouraged to lean toward flamenco jazz latino—latin groove move your body jazz—and a little gipsy kings, carlos montoya, the buena vista social club, armando peraza and mark towns to help get this household in order.

bunnies watch out.

~ the weather is gorgeous and it's supposed to stay that way for days. i intend to get out of this house very soon and enjoy the sun and at the same time tackle the garden and the lawn. i'd so much rather be mucking around outdoors anyway, although i have a feeling that i'll be dipping into the bottle of advil by the end of the day.

red

the calendar says it's almost march, it feels like it's almost april, but i'm stuck in some kind of time warp trying to figure out when february appeared and how, all of a sudden, it's almost gone. the thermometer reads 40, there isn't a storm in sight, and a vigorous sun shoots out long white rays like magic tentacles reaching down and turning the sloppy snow and dirty puddles into blinding shards of crystal which stab my eyes.

i walk up the driveway and, yet again, see that flash of red, and say to myself for the hundredth time in seven days christmas was two months ago, lady—where have you been?—you've simply got to take the wreaths off the lamp posts TODAY. 

i hate to take the wreaths down—didn't i just put them up? they look so pretty with their bright red bows and long, fluttering ribbon. they remind me of family, family snugly together, at home for the holidays.

okay, okay. i'll do it. i lift the still strongly scented and intact balsam wreaths off the posts and slip the giant green bracelets over my arms. when i get to the garage i put them on the floor, pick up one at a time, and unwind each ribbon's wire where it attaches to the wreath. but first i bring the wreath up to my face, stick my nose in the glorious woodland needles, and inhale—deeply, slowly, noisily, extravagantly—just like the dogs inhale, their noses wildly snuffling, searching the dirt with an urgent need to pick up a scent.

that's when it happens, but i don't know it's happening until after. my brain fires a series of millisecond pulses—an electric red spark: snap, snap, snap—and i smell cinnamon and brown sugar and christmas tree and wood fire; i see christmas all over again. i hear laughter, glassware clinking, the shelling of pistachio nuts, the crack, hiss of piney sparks, a pack of dogs yipping in excitement over so many people to lick and lick.

then, as quickly as i am offered this glimpse into christmas past, the memory picture falls away and is gone. i continue to untwist the slightly rusty wire and pull off the creased ribbon and think soon it will be spring.

just reach into the hat....

on the evening of christmas day we have a tradition: our family always gets together with my husband's mother and his sister's family for a meal and more (the and more part is the lively part—i'll get to it in a second). the tradition started way back when all our children were infants, and even though our families have grown to include the husbands, wives and children of the original children, several of whom live far away, we still manage to gather for dinner at one of our houses.

hopefully the tradition will continue on in some fashion in the scattered pieces of the clan in the years to come—but who knows. at the very least, perhaps a few old stories from christmases past might always be recounted at christmastime. for example: remember the year grandma got the silky black thong in the yankee swap? and all the young women were trying to trade like crazy (translation: kill) to get it? and a certain young lady got them and brought them with her on her honeymoon the following summer?

oh yeah, that's the and more part of our tradition—the yankee swap, every year like clockwork.

and don't anyone try to change that tradition, don't even attempt to voice an opinion indicating that maybe since the family is growing and spreading out over so many states maybe we ought to consider discontinuing the yankee swap. if you dare suggest such a thing, i give you fair warning: some members of the family will bite your head off and make you feel so ashamed for suggesting a change in tradition that you will just wanna crawl in a hole and die. i won't mention their names on the internet—*cough*christina, *cough*alex, *cough*hannah—but these people know who they are and what they are—yankee swap junkies.

in addition to stuffing our faces with food and drink, we always play our official christmas game and that game oftentimes leads to other (unofficial) games. (that's a subject for another post.)

you know the game of yankee swap: everyone brings an inexpensive, wrapped gift (under $25). we all pick a number out of a hat (we often have almost 20 people) and go in order to take turns to choose a present of our choice, either a wrapped gift from under the tree or one of the gifts that someone has already opened. (that's right, you heard me correctly—we steal people's gifts on christmas.) the highest numbers are obviously the best (more choices), the lowest numbers, the worst.

sounds like a nice game, huh? well, you've obviously never taken part in our swap (anyone is welcome. you're invited; come on over—just bring a wrapped goodie with you.)

you see, our swap is a highly competitive version of yankee swap—a cutthroat, killer yankee swap. all in the wonderful spirit of christmas, right?

every year there are always the gifts that turn out to be rare and sought after. real economics is involved here (and you thought this was just a game for dummies)—you know, high demand, low supply kind of stuff. people will practically tear you apart from limb to limb to get these gifts.

i've already mentioned the lusty black thong. another year there was also a lovely string of highly desired F*R*A*G*I*L*E hanging leg lamps for the christmas tree (rent a christmas story). and once a chubby orange goldfish in a stunning bowl (the fish died a few days later), a bunch of tickets for a car wash, a board game called the simpsons (oh.that.andrew), a set of screwdrivers, and small, battery operated helicopters (those were seriously fun).

aren't all of these things worth fighting over on christmas day?

it's exhausting.

but we are sure to have a fun time and a wonderful christmas, even with all the bruises, scratches, and torn clothing.

on that note, merry christmas everyone!

winterberry

outdoors these red berries, which cling tenaciously to their branches long into winter, are little spots of festive cheer, shiny ornamental clusters in an otherwise dull gray and brown landscape.

moose, deer, rabbits, other small mammals, and birds eat winterberry. also known as fever bush, the plant was used for its medicinal properties by native americans. the berries are (supposedly) slightly toxic to humans, but if they're harvested after the first frost their toxicity is reduced (supposedly).

i placed some of the winterberry stems i got in a vase. i also made a centerpiece for the dining table with short and long needled pine and winterberry. jeez louise, i really hope no one is poisoned by my holiday decorations—everyone will just have to be on the lookout for any stray berries which may have fallen onto their plates!

a christmas tree surprise

every family has their own holiday and christmas traditions, and searching for and selecting that "perfect" tree is certainly an important aspect of getting ready for celebrating the season.

ed and i pick out our christmas tree together (when our kids were little they helped, too), but we don't have a tradition as far as where we get the tree. in past years we've purchased trees from the freeport rotary club or our local plant nursery, or we have found trees on our land or ed's mother's land in harpswell.

the bought trees are always tree farm lush and perfectly formed with dense fingers of needles and a thick coat of branches. the wild trees are more of the charlie brown variety—thin, scraggly, lots of space between the branches (ornaments actually hang better and are more visible on these evergreens), sometimes a gaping hole on the spot where a branch should have grown but couldn't because the tree didn't get enough light or nutrients or something.

personally i have a fondness for imperfect, unwanted wild christmas trees, but we often end up buying  a tree because it's easier—we can be awfully lazy—if we don't feel like going all the way up to harpswell and searching for one, cutting it down and dragging it out of the woods; or if we don't have any trees that are the right size in our woods in freeport.

one year i sent ed out alone to get a tree (i believe that was the first and only time he's gone by himself). i don't remember why i didn't go—i was either sick or busy doing something else. he promptly came home with a fine 10 foot tree he purchased from a church fund raiser.

as we put up the tree together—me making sure it was straight in the stand and ed tightening it securely—i looked up and noticed something on a branch in the interior of the tree. when i leaned in closer i discovered a lovely, well-shaped, 5 inch bird's nest. ed had unknowingly bought a christmas tree with a real bird's nest hidden in it! i kept the nest in the tree and put in a little stone bird. since then, when i see abandoned bird's nests or ones which have fallen on the ground, i save them and place the nests in the christmas tree, a small bird nestled in each.

i've never in my life, either before that day or after, found another christmas tree that carried the marvelous surprise of a beautiful nest tucked in its branches.

i wonder, have you?

the visit

buy some flowers or a bottle of wine to bring to the lady of the house and we're off.....

here we go visiting again. 'tis the season for visiting. visiting is something we do all year but during the holidays a lot more visiting seems to take place with dinners, parties and just plain casual dropping by—real old-time mainers refer to this as a door-yard-call—to say a quick hello.

not so long ago—before the invention of electricity —people didn't have many relatively inexpensive leisure activities to participate in during their spare time, so preparations for afternoon or evening visits were elaborate and taken very seriously. people left calling cards, made detailed plans, filled up their social calendars. the visit was a significant event in daily life.

i got thinking about what was once the fine art of visiting and how important it is to spend time with people. in the 21st century we don't concern ourselves too much about that. (why would anyone categorize visiting a fine art?) perhaps we don't think too much about anything we do anymore because we have so much going on, so many distractions and demands on our spare time—health clubs, shopping centers, computers, cell phones, ipods, radio, t.v.—that no one gives serious thought to any of it. we simply do what we want to do.

nevertheless, in a world with so many choices, visiting should, perhaps, be elevated in status to a fine art once again. and what about the conversation, that back and forth, give and take? it ought to be a fine art, too. often people find it difficult to focus on their friends and the conversation going on around them because they're distracted by talking on their cell phone, fiddling with apps, playing games or texting. the gadget gets the undivided attention, not the human beings, and conversation suffers.

you could argue that getting together on skype or any video chat is good enough to count as visiting time. i would agree—to some degree it does—especially when there's no other way to get together. yet there's really no substitute for being in the presence of actual, three-dimensional people, surrounding yourself with family and friends.

taking the time to call on people and to talk to them, to be immersed in the company of people we are fond of, at the holidays and beyond, is to participate in a kind of social art—a rather civilized art—the truly fine art of the visit.

after the feast

after the feast, that day of thankfulness for life and loved ones, i looked back at thursday's hours and was reminded of short days and long nights, of endings and beginnings, of the cycle of seasons and the rapidity of decades.

was it really so long ago—important dates: 1621 for the religious observance, later in the 17th century for the yearly september feasts offering thanks for successful harvests, 1941 for the designation of the official thanksgiving holiday, the last thursday in november—or something like that...google it if you need more facts—when the pilgrims ate their thanksgiving feast of fish, deer, foul, squash, berries and nuts on long tables outdoors in a plimoth clearing, and invited about 90 wampanoag indian friends to be their guests (i've been told the wampanoags brought the venison)?

can you see them in a grassy field, english folks of both sexes adorned with fresh, white collars, the men wearing tall black hats, the women in black or white caps, and their native guests in buckskin, beads and feathers?

was it really so long ago when i was a little girl? back then it was mostly family around my parent's thanksgiving table, but occasionally friends would gather with us, too. this year at our house, in addition to family, we had a friend and business associate from china as our thanksgiving guest.

my mother was an excellent cook; the cooking would begin on tuesday and everything was made from scratch. what i remember most were her desserts—pies and cakes—and her mashed potatoes and gravy. i see her stirring and measuring and adjusting flavors, adding a pinch of this or that. when mum started to become ill, her memory fading, her fingers stiffening, i asked her to show me how she made her gravy so that we would always be able to have gravy the way memi (what my children call their grandmother) made it. she laughed and told me there was no recipe, or more precisely, there was no exact recipe, only the ever-so-slightly-changing variation of a recipe that came out of her head each thanksgiving.

she stood patiently beside me and recited her gravy process, and as we hovered over a saucepan together, mum stirring with a wooden spoon, me scribbling notes with a pen, we came up with a wonderful version (perhaps it's the one from thanksgiving 1973?) of her gravy. it was on the table last thursday.

this year before dinner was ready i suggested that maybe one day we should use picnic tables in the yard and eat outside like the pilgrims at that first thanksgiving feast. (had we done so this thanksgiving we would have been setting up our tables in a muffled winter wonderland surrounded by heavy snow which weighed the pine branches down, and hauling platters of food as we trudged through 8 inches of the white stuff which had surprised us the day before.) not one person enthusiastically embraced the idea; alas, no pilgrim types in this group.

every year we prepare for days and the food is gobbled up in a flash.

time burns down and disappears like the candle tapers on the table.

and speaking of burning down, the day ended with a bit of excitement. i opened the chimney flue and lit a fire in the living room fireplace after we finished our meal—well, that is, i thought i had opened the flue. (just let me add i have been lighting fires in the fireplace for 30 years and this is the first time i have had flue issues.) the fire was burning nicely but after 5 minutes the room began to smell like woodsmoke, we could see some smoke above in the loft, and our eyes started to sting. i could have sworn the flue was fully open, but obviously it was only partially open.

i reached into the fireplace with a poker and pulled the lever forward. the smokey wisps stopped sneaking out of the firebox and were sucked up the chimney. we had to vacate the room, open the windows, and sit in the family room. no damage occurred but it still smells a bit like a smokehouse—though not at all unpleasant—as if hams ought to be hanging and curing from the beams.

i promptly had some grey goose to calm my nerves.

i'm glad to report the rest of the evening passed without incident.

dining with dinosaurs

i never before imagined that i would experience such a thing—eating with dinosaurs, or, to be more specific, under dinosaurs—the kind of thing that is a unique, interesting, once in a lifetime occurrence.

a few weeks ago in atlanta, georgia, at a fabulous wedding reception for our dear friends' son and his lovely bride (9.10.11 was a very popular date for weddings this year) at the impressive fernbank museum of natural history, i enjoyed dining with behemoths for the first, and most likely only, time. oh what a night.

the dancing never stopped because the music never stopped. three (!) great bands played during the evening and, except for a break to announce the entrance of the the bride and groom and their wedding attendants and immediate families, there was hardly a pause in the music. the bands took turns playing and the music flowed seamlessly until one in the morning. everyone, myself most certainly included, had such an impossibly fun time.

a theme at the reception seemed to be hats, with crazy hats in the photo booth prop box and an even crazier variety of hats—including huge sombreros—whipping wedding guests into a booze inspired frenzy while trying to snag a hat as they were distributed at intervals later in the evening. we danced so much that my muscles were a little more than a tad tired the next day, and my right foot with the surgical pins in it had mild tingles and aches, too, but, man-oh-man, it was worth it.

i sat down every now and again to rest my tootsies, and when i did i took a moment to look around and ponder—how i managed even a little pondering with all the excitement and loud, loud music i don't really know—but anyhow, that's me and ponder i did.

as i looked up at the tail end of the gigantic beast above our table, i wondered as i pondered and pondered as i wondered about the remnants of this leviathan. then it struck me—not the beast, a thought. i thought holy crap (that too) i'm glad these are just old, dead bones! there's no oozy blood, no pea-sized brain, no mass of thick hide, no powerful muscles, no smelly teeth, no sharp claws, no hot breath attached to this monster.

but my mind works in weird ways and, out of nowhere, in flits this: ok, think of it—she was once a mother, a real mutha, with many offspring, and like her mother and all the dinosaur mothers before that, she, the large, strong, buxom, muscular lady high over my head, once cared for and nurtured and hovered over her frisky, young dinosaur brood.

whoa. i suddenly felt the need to gulp down a few big mouthfuls of my g & t. then i got up and happily, happily, danced the night away.

raise your glass

here's to (in no particular order):

the nearest and the dearest!
2011!
my family!
enjoying the ride!
laughing 'til you cry!
dancing 'til dawn!
olives!
no judgements!
no questions asked!
peace on earth!
best friends forever!
cold dog noses!
my faithful blog readers!
those who are there on a moment's notice!
those who have your back!
sunday morning (and new year's day!) and lazing around with pajamas on!
seizing and squeezing the most out of each day!
taking time to smell the roses!

happy new year and happy weekend to all....see you next year!

merry and bright

this is my christmas "post" card: on this christmas eve a little wish is drifting out from me in the maine woods to you and yours, helped along by the song white christmas.

i'm dreaming of a white christmas
just like the ones i used to know
may your days (and your dreams!) be merry and bright
and may all your christmases be white.

wishing you merry and bright and happy
days and dreams and christmas!

portland at night

lights and colors are everywhere! we were zooming around in downtown portland on our way home from having dinner in a restaurant, and as ed went zipping along i pulled out my camera thinking that when he stopped at a traffic light i would take a snap. i love all the holiday lights that seem to be growing on every tree, bush, building and pole. stop he did, but i was busy doing something else at that exact moment so i ended up taking this shot not at a standstill, but as the car started to move again at congress and high street. the christmas trees are great triangles of light. i think the red was holiday related, too. various mundane, non-holiday-related signs and lights make up the rest of the blue and purple colors.

getting ready

cooking, cleaning, decorating, wrapping presents (just a few of those since we have a family tradition of keeping christmastime more meaningful and relaxed, and less commercial, by keeping it simple) and stuffing stockings.....oh and doing a little artsy-fartsy ornament project thing (i'll do a post about that when i get a chance after the holidays) that's what's been happening around here. i am now ready. i think. the kids will be home soon. i love it when everyone is under one roof. are you ready for christmas yet?

a little scandinavian folklore

http://sweetwhisperdreams.blogspot.com/2010/11/maine-coast-fairy-brunch.html

a tomte spotted in our maine woods. hand-made figure crafted in sweden by rolf berg.

this tiny, 4 inch tall gnome, is called a tomte in swedish and a nisse in norwegian and danish. he is a mythical character in scandinavian folklore; gnomes are related to fairies. my of-norwegian-descent friend got me thinking about the tomte/nisse when she commented on my fairy brunch post.. she knows her norwegian folklore.

this is what i know about him. if anyone wants to add more, please do. the tomte is small and magical and has a long white or gray beard. he usually dresses in a gray clothing and always wears a brightly colored (often red) knitted hat. a house and farm tomte is a solitary fellow who is in charge of protecting a farmer's house and barn. he is very good at his job. if you have a tomte around, you must not EVER forget to leave something for him to eat (he is a vegetarian) to thank him for his protection. at christmas, the tomte especially likes a bowl of oatmeal. if you fail to take care of him (extremely unwise), he will leave your farm unguarded. even worse, he might tip things over or break things, OR even tie your cows tails together! ghastly!

so, if you have a tomte/nisse in residence, please feed him, and DO NOT FORGET the oatmeal at christmas!

wishing you all a splendid weekend!

winter holiday inspiration

the mailbox has been full of holiday catalogues over the last couple weeks, signaling the season of celebrations ahead. some catalogues offer the same-ho-hum-old-things, but others offer truly unique and fun items. my winter inspiration note board includes hand-made stockings for the fireplace, vintage furniture, one-of-a-kind still life bags, ski motif pillows, playfully painted dishes and lots of animals to liven up the space.

two catalogues stand out - the november and december anthropologie and the winter gifts garnet hill. anthropologie had some fun in the november issue by featuring cute and whimsical photos of animals with its gift ideas. also, the artist original still life bags are lush. the december anthropologie used a backdrop of woodland scenes. my favorites were one with a huge moss covered boulder and another with a tiny cabin with a moss covered roof....absolutely green and delightful!

as always, garnet hill's clothing is classic. the beautiful sweaters stand out; they create a feast for the eyes, and are truly practical for our maine winters. and, of course, something a frugal new englander really notices is the fact that just looking at all the pretties doesn't cost a penny....

welcome christmastime

i remember this: at christmastime in the early 60's, when i was very little, we had wonderful cardboard christmas houses that my mother would decorate with around the livingroom. she would put a few of them under the tree, and when the only illumination in the room came from the christmas tree, the small village of houses glowed merrily in the soft, dim, welcoming light of those big, old-fashioned, colored bulbs. i would lie on my stomach under the tree, head resting on my outstretched arm, and gaze into the lit up village for a long time. i would imagine the people who lived in the christmas houses, and what they might be doing inside. were they snug in there? (it was stormy outside because several of the houses had snow on their roof and chimney.) were they playing games and drinking hot chocolate? were they busy enjoying their own winter celebration?

i don't know what happened to those houses from the 1960's. these are some of my own 1990's collection of cardboard christmas houses. the brown gingerbread house welcomes you with its tiny sign. welcome, christmastime.....

a charlie brown christmas tree

growing straight and strong and mostly nicely shaped right smack against our deck, was a 7 foot pine tree. since it was growing in such an awkward location, most people would probably have cut the tree down and burned it up ages ago. not me. i have been keeping my eye on the tree for several years, and i have had big plans for it all along. now that it was blocking the stairs, the time had come. this christmas, the charlie brown tree is going to be our christmas tree.

the tree is no beauty. far from it! it is a runt compared to some of our past christmas trees (we have had 14 footers a few times). its branches are not lush and full and even, and it has a small bare spot on one side. but somehow the thought of simply getting rid of the little tree makes me sad....

i guess it comes down to this: most people spend a lot of time in search of the PERFECT christmas tree; i, however, find joy in an IMPERFECT one, one that most people would ignore or ridicule. i am delighted this scraggly tree decided to sprout and grow under the big ma and pa pines right beside the house. we cut the scrawny mite down on sunday. soon it will not seem so small anymore; it will stand proud and tall in the livingroom with the magestic designation of c. b. christmas tree 2010. once it is decorated, the small wild tree will be as beautiful as any pampered farm-raised christmas tree. actually, make that more beautiful, since our little tree has been loved since it was 6 inches tall.....

bells on her toes

these are jingling in my mind this thursday....bells....music....christmas....a nursery rhyme....

with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
she shall have music wherever she goes....

i have always liked that sentiment. i think it would be fun to wear bells on my toes, but here in maine, that's only gonna happen when my flip-flops get dug out of the closet in the summer. tell me, where do you buy toe bells? and to have music wherever i go.....fantastic. music brings joy; it lifts the spirit; it sends sweet sounds soaring to our ears. music is a good thing. classical, rock, oldies, blues, jazz.....and have you ever heard those maine bell ringers? 'tis the season for holiday music played non-stop on the radio. most people get sick and tired of it. i'm weird, i don't. tra-la-la-la-la....have a marvelously melodious day!

the st. croix river taketh....

.....and giveth back. before i tell you what that's all about, i just want to say that since it's the beginning of december, holiday party time is here again - as if you didn't know this fact already and needed me to inform you. anyway, party time made me think of wine and beer and martinis and so on. my husband and i do not drink much, and, for me, parties do not mean time to get wasted (sorry for being so boring). parties mean getting together with friends and family, yakking non-stop (i excel at that) and laughing uproariously, without the help of a lot of alcohol. ok, so now you have heard my holiday party philosophy.

what does all this have to do with rivers? you will soon see - booze is the common thread here. bear with me. the river in this story is the mighty st. croix in northern maine. james and five buddies canoed the st. croix river this summer. only one canoe dumped during the entire trip, and, not to worry, the two guys in it were fine, albeit soaked to their bones. all their gear floated downstream, and everything was recovered, with one VERY IMPORTANT exception: the extra special, extra large, "the lumberjack!" cast-iron frypan (from l.l.bean) had (naturally) sunk with alarming speed straight to the bottom of the st. croix.

trevor, who had conveniently brought a mask (where did he think he was going, the reefs off the florida keys?), was ready for his first dive in seconds. he had a vested interest in all this -he was the keeper/pan master of "the lumberjack!" frypan, which was an absolutely necessary item on a camping trip where the main food group was meat.

into the river trevor plunged. (well, it was really only 3 or 4 feet of water in this section of the river, but doesn't "plunging" sound so much more dramatic, folks?) each time he surfaced, his hands remained empty. no frypan. tragedy. (how were they going to cook all that bloody meat?) down he went again. trevor's arm suddenly flew into the air. he had found, not the frypan but (drumroll, please) a snorkel! that would certainly aid in the search! unfortunately, things were not going well. after lord knows how many more attempts at locating the pan that the river had obviously claimed for itself, james shouted to trevor over the river's din: hey, man, give up the search!

trevor decided he'd try one final time. down he went, and when he came back up this [hopefully] last time, he was determined not to ascend empty-handed. with renewed vigor, trevor fought the current, and with mask and snorkel in place, stuck his face in the water and looked down into a shallow rocky area of rapids where the canoe had tipped. what was that down there? he reached into the mighty st. croix river; then trevor's arm shot triumphantly up in the air. the river had decided to make a trade: one extra large (the lumberjack!) frypan for......a full, unopened, unscathed bottle of vodka! oh happy day! as trevor turned to his buddies to savor the moment, the snorkel suddenly slipped out of his hand and was never found again. the st. croix, to the very end, was master of the maine wilderness and had the last word: an even trade, one bottle of vodka for one (the lumberjack!) fry pan....

thanksgiving in maine

happy thanksgiving! here are 3 non-traditional maine thanksgivings i have heard about over the years: 40 guests, which required 3 ovens (2 of the ovens belonged to the host family, 1 oven they borrowed from a neighbor who was out of town); a meal which consisted of entirely maine game meat (wild turkey, deer, moose); a thanksgiving meal held outdoors (brrrrr) on 2 pinic tables put together to form 1 long table (actually, now that i think of it, that's probably as traditional as you can get, since the pilgrims, on that first thanksgiving, ate outdoors).

anyway, at our home in maine, we have 1 oven, 1 (23.83 pound) domestic vermont turkey, and an indoor table. how boring. the stuffed turkey is about to go in the oven, the apple tart and goodies are baked, the pumpkin-carrot-potato soup is simmering, and the silver is polished and gleaming. the table just needs to be set, potatoes require peeling, and then we are well on our way to making this feast a reality. naturally, there are always all the last minute preparations still to be done: uncorking wine, making gravy, lighting a fire in the fireplace, and so on.

i love AFTER thanksgiving almost as much as turkey day itself. homemade thanksgiving sandwiches (bits of turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy....all piled on crusty bread, which we first discovered at the mom and pop store down the road);  home-made turkey soup; and leftover pie...for breakfast! sometimes i think all this food tastes better the next day....

but back to today. i am giving thanks for what i see right here in front of me: a husband, a son, a daughter, a mum, a dad, a turkey, 2 dogs, tons of food, a roof over our heads, and ALSO for the family and friends who are not right here in front of me....you get the idea. this is a day for good food, good conversation and, quite simply, togetherness. let's get to it.....