Cricket and I went to the coast for a mini vacation this week. I was careful to pick weekdays, not the weekend, when there would be less traffic. I picked Freeport because of Wolfe’s Neck State Park, which is open year-around and allows dogs.
Wolfe’s Neck State Park
My family and I went to Wolfe’s Neck last year and I fell in love with the place. Given the pandemic and everything going on, I was looking forward to some time away in an outdoor setting.
Walking trails lead throughout the parking with a variety of terrain and lengths of trails. One of the trails is wheelchair accessible, which I love. It follows along a ridge to the overlook where you can watch the ospreys nesting on the island.
Our first day there I intended to buy a season pass to get into all the Maine State Parks. The website said I could buy one online and have it mailed to ne, which obviously wouldn’t work out since I was already a hundred miles away from my mailbox. Or I could buy one at the park.
I decided to get one at the park. We arrived and I found a park ranger emptying the self-service payment container. As it turns out, while the park is open year round, it’s self service for part of the year.
I had pretty good timing, however. The ranger was there when we got there. He was very helpful and went off to get me a season pass from the office since the park station wasn’t open and didn’t have any passes. We waited in the parking lot for him and he brought a whole bunch of goodies along with the pass, including a Maine State Park Passport and Geocache record. I’d never really heard of geocaching so the passport was a good excuse to get into it.
It was a rainy sort of day but we went for a long walk on the trails. I made the mistake of letting Cricket take the lead and she went off at a jog for two miles. She wore me out!
We didn’t see too many people all three days we were there. The first day, we met a family with small children. Cricket wanted to keep them and they wanted to say hello. Their grownup was very sweet and told them to wave hello to the dog.
A couple hours south they’re well into spring. Things are green and soft and warm, and it makes me happy.
Wilbur’s of Maine Chocolate Factory
I accidentally scared the living daylights out of two of my brothers so I had to buy chocolate to make amends. That called for a visit to Wilbur’s of Maine to get homemade chocolates for the boys and a few for me.
Island Treasure Toys
I didn’t pack any kind of art supplies and realized it was a terrible idea, so I hopped over to Island Treasure Toys and got watercolor paints and paper. Honestly it’s the first time I’ve had real watercolor paper, and it is AWESOME. The rest of the shop was a lot of fun to explore and I will probably have to do some birthday shopping there for my nephew.
Two Brothers Books
My mum and I found Two Brothers Books in Freeport and have been checking them out regularly on our Portland trips over the last couple years. We usually find something good hidden away in the shelves, and I just had to stop in and take a peek while I was in the area.
It was a great trip. We had lots of time to relax and rest, and we got to explore and check out different places and reconnect with favorite places.
I borrowed my youngest brother and we went off wandering. We did have a specific goal in mind and we didn’t make it that far, but we had a good time anyway.
Shiloh Pond is the brand-new conservation land in Kingfield, and we went up to get some photos for work. It’s not necessarily ‘open’, but there’s an easement on the road, so we could get in.
By “get in”, I mean, we could trudge in. The last section of road is dirt and in early April in Maine, that means mud. I don’t want to destroy the road so I parked at the end of the pavement and we walked in halfway before the boy decided he was tired and didn’t want to brave the rest of the walk on the snowy, muddy road.
“Leave no trace” is a phrase I’ve been taught my whole life, and I try to follow that rule. I tread softly.
We packed in a snack; the brother had cheerios and I had a cookie and milk from my favorite little shop in town. We stopped and snacked before we headed back out. As we started back out an eagle glided overhead, wings spread wide to catch the breeze.
Several turkeys had been through before us, and a chipmunk rustled the leaves, and dog prints led in towards the pond ahead of us and back out again.
I’m so excited that this little pond will be part of this community. I’m going to enjoy visits up there and wandering around the pond. Cricket loves it up there. Last summer she found bear droppings and it was the very stinky highlight of her week.
It was fairly warm, but the wind was rough. That was one of the bigger reasons we didn’t go all the way in, but we will another time. There will be plenty of opportunities later on.
Being outside was such an important thing of my growing up and I’m so excited that the kids in this community will have the chance to go get lost and be wild and adventurous. I think it’s really important for a healthy and balanced appreciation and interaction with nature, and this is going to be good for the whole community.
I can’t wait to see where they go from here.
Had to stop in and get a Fatty from Rolling Fatties on Main Street. Next weekend is their last weekend before they close for the spring, so I had to get one more Fatty in before the break.
Fatties are burritos, made with local ingredients as much as possible. The basic Fatty has oat groats and black beans wrapped in a fresh tortilla with salsa and creme. I usually add lettuce and chicken or beef to round out the meal. You can get the Fatty in a bowl if you prefer and the options for customization are almost endless.
If you’re feeling super adventurous, go with the Freedom Fatty, which is just whatever the cook fancies. I haven’t tried that one yet because I’m still working through the rest of the menu, but one of these days I’m going to have to check it out and see what’s what.
Rolling Fatties is run by Polly and Rob MacDonald, and I love their enthusiasm and energy in taking care of their community.
Check them out on Facebook, Intsagram, and online at RollingFatties.com
For our snack, I had a cookie and chocolate milk that Kate gave me when I delivered some stuff for her. Kate and her husband Brian run the Maine Beer Shed and they carry local groceries and produce from local farms, including baked goodies from Nicole up at Bigelow Fields.
Once I started the cookie, I realized that just one was simply not acceptable. These cookies are INCREDIBLE and I had to go buy more for later this week.
It’s getting to be evening time and the girls are herding me off to bed, so I’d best sign off for tonight.
As it turns out, I’m not necessarily super good at talking. I have a tendency to transpose my words and put them in the wrong order which sometimes means that I very seriously and earnestly say things like, “Here in Maine, the hills grow on the trees, and that really limits the visibility.”
I’m sure it’s very bad for visibility if the hills are on top of the trees.
I dozed off no less than three times while finishing this post and when
Reader Notes: a book review + quite a lot of rambling
When You Find My Body by D. Dauphinee, 5 out of 5 stars
This afternoon, huddled under the blankets as the temperature in my house slowly crept upwards following a power outage, I finished reading Dauphinee’s book.
When You Find My Body is the story of Gerry Largay and her disappearance on the Appalachian Trail in Maine, right in the heart of my communities. Published in 2019, this book weaves a story that I have heard about since the beginning, but with more information and details. It helps me complete the picture.
About the book itself: the storytelling and the narrative voice is engaging and compelling. Dauphinee understands something about humanity that can be hard to capture sometimes, and he shows it on the pages of this book: the community need for survival.
He paints a beautiful but unapologetic picture of the place I call home. While the story he tells is full of grief and sorrow, frustration and even anger, hope, courage, and compassion shine through. I definitely recommend this book and will be picking up a copy for my own shelves.
That’s my thoughts on the book itself. My reaction to the story, on the other hand, is kind of complicated. I think that’s one of the reasons it has taken me so long to read it. I picked it up before Christmas and am only now putting it down.
I grew up in a little village tucked at the foot of Mt. Abram – Mt. Abraham, I suppose, to people who aren’t locals. I live near most of Maine’s tallest mountains. My hometown is also 23 minutes to Sugarloaf Ski Mountain and one hour, 8 minutes to Saddleback Mountain. (This is assuming favorable weather conditions and no delays and I tend to give myself 30 minutes and one hour and 30 minutes, respectively, because I often have poor conditions and/or delays.)
I did not grow up skiing. Or snowboarding. In the winter we amused ourselves by hurtling down an icy dirt road, bouncing off the frozen plow bank as we turned a ninety-degree corner, and continuing on down the road until it leveled out and the plastic torpedo sleds scraped to a halt, often a few hundred feet past the bottom of the hill. (It is worth noting that in 20+ years and 14+ kids, there were only two broken bones associated with these winter activities.)
In the summer, we played outside. The woods were ours, and nothing could get in our way. We built forts and shelters, made campfires, foraged for nuts and berries and greens, swam in the pond and the river, caught sunfish and frogs, wandered through the small woods in the pasture, and scrambled up and down hills, cliffs, and shallow ravines.
My uncle took my older brother and I on a number of hiking trips when I was a pre-teen. With him, we learned to follow a trail, to pack basic survival items and a little more food and water than we needed, and to pace ourselves and not overexert. On one hike we ended up unavoidably delayed due to injury and ended up hiking in the dark down to the logging road, where my dad and our friends met us and drove us out. That time we learned the importance of flashlights, extra batteries, and a good communication system.
The most important lesson, however, was one I learned from reading, well before we began hiking. I don’t remember when I first met Donn in the pages of Lost On A Mountain In Maine, but I do remember the most important time I met him in person.
It was September 17, 2011, outside the Cole Transportation Museum in Bangor. I say it was the most important time because I actually met him multiple times in my life, but this one was different. I was fourteen, my life was complicated and messy, and I was scared stiff about meeting him. We had eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the suburban on the way to Bangor and I was regretting that as my nerves twisted up my insides. It was, as I would later realize, an anxiety attack.
Donn was incredibly sweet. He graciously signed the entire stack of books my mother handed him and talked with me the whole time. I don’t remember if my mother or I told him that I was a writer, but it came up, and we chatted about that. He mentioned something along the lines of, maybe someday he would see my name in print.
I think, all told, we talked for ten minutes. I remember feeling embarrassed that we were holding up the line, but I also remember that he made me feel calmer. Less scared.
The most important lesson I learned from his book was twofold: if you’re lost, stay where you are; if you have to move, follow the water. It will always take you home.
As a pre-teen, hiking Maine’s high peaks with my uncle and brother, those words stuck with me. Donn was my age, and my best friend’s age, when he got lost. For a while I heard that rule in a kid’s voice.
After I met Donn that day when I was 14, however, I always heard it in his voice: comfortable and warm and soothing. And I wish I could have told him that.
Reading through When You Find My Body over the last few months, I found myself comparing notes with everything I have learned. And the thing that hit me was, would it have helped if Gerry had Donn’s voice in the back of her mind, reminding her to stay put when she first realized she was lost? Or later, when she finally settled down and made her final camp near a small stream, if she’d known to follow the water?
I don’t know. I’ve never really been lost before, so I can’t fully imagine what it must feel like. I know that the human mind doesn’t always behave rationally and that panic can make it impossible to do something unfamiliar.
One of our first trips up Mt. Abram last fall when neither my dog or I were familiar with the trail, we had a moment when I thought we’d gone off the marked trail onto a deer path. I couldn’t find the next blaze and the trail was faint, narrow, and covered in leaves. Something deep in the pit of my stomach started to bubble up into panic for a second, making me want to run and find safety, and then I remembered the rule: if you’re lost, stay put. I took a breath, looked behind me and found the trail and blazes leading back the way we’d come, and realized we weren’t lost. A few more steps led us within sight of the next blaze ahead of us. The whole thing lasted for maybe fifteen seconds.
My biggest takeaway from When You Find My Body wasn’t the tragedy of the story or the pain of losing someone and not knowing what happened or the courage and dedication of those search teams. I got all of that, certainly. But the biggest thing I was left with was much more simple and maybe a bit silly:
Maybe it’s a good thing that I hear Donn in my head when I’m hiking.
Beyind that, reading Gerry’s story has highlighted areas I may be lacking in and encouraged me to learn more. But she also has encouraged me to be brave and to reach for the stars and to fight for my dreams. “Inchworm” has inspired me to keep trying, even if I’m slow and it feels impossible. And she has encouraged me to keep faith close to my heart.
One final note:
I was able to spend a day with the Maine Search and Rescue Dogs group and the Maine Mounted Search and Rescue group last fall. I volunteered to be a subject for their training searches, and it was an incredible experience. I learned so much in those few hours and I would love to do it again.
But the thing that stuck with me the most from that day was one of the gentlemen who, when he learned where I was from, got a sad, sort of distant look in his eyes. “Oh, I’ve been there,” he said. “We were looking for Gerry.”
I am far away. Far from the rage and the turmoil, far from the shrieks and screams and smoke. No one here is threatening. No one here is fighting. Not tonight.
The little bubble of my world is calm. Still. Peaceful.
The stars are silent. Orion is gone. Every night I look back over my shoulder and there he glitters in the night sky like a watchful, wakeful guardian. He is veiled tonight.
I feel as though I am holding my breath.
“Perhaps the Christ Child had walked between the lines and while he walked, peace had stayed the guns.” (Kate Seredy, The Singing Tree.)
The words circle in my mind and I hold them lightly, feeling the pulse of the words against my fingers.
Peace seems forever far away.
I am far from the city, but the fight is here in my chest. Fear is a heavy master and one I know far too well but tonight, I am more weary than afraid.
I am tired of living in this fight for my whole life. Half the time I don’t even know what is being fought for, but my whole life is marked with battle after battle while I am told there is no war.
There is more than this present chaos.
I believe that someday, at the far distant end, there is a garden, filled with great good things. There is peace and gentleness and love in abundance. There is the embrace of those I love that eases the ache of losing them. There is grace, and compassion, and beauty. There is everything great and good and more than I have ever dreamed. There is life and wholeness and healing. Healing, and no war and no battles and no destruction to try to undo me. There is rest.
This is not that end. I have a work to do first. I must sow the seeds. Water them. Nurture them. I may not see them come to fruition but I must plant them and care for them as long as I am able.
When it seems like everything is falling apart, I remember that it is okay to grieve. It is okay to mourn. It is okay to be lost and hurt and afraid. But I am here to do great and good things. I am here to make a change. Maybe that change begins here, tonight, in the quiet. Maybe that change begins in me.
I am here to live the best way I can and trust that in the end, I will be somewhere safe with someone good.
I am not a bible scholar, an epidemiologist, or a scientist. I’m simply a writer who has been immersed in biblical history and literature for most of my life, and who has done a lot of reading and writing about COVID for work.
For me, a fascinating study during the COVID-19 pandemic has been the Old Testament laws for cleanliness and hygiene, which I studied at least four different times when I was younger. Some of them seem a bit extreme but many of them are common sense measures we see in use today. Things like washing yourself, isolation and cleansing after exposure to dead bodies and certain kinds of illnesses, and washing or discarding contaminated garments and items are all found in the Old Testament.
Moving through history to the Black Plague, we learn that one of the reasons the Jews were blamed for the plague was because they were less affected by it than others, due to the rules for health and hygiene that they followed. If you’re not affected by it, you’re obviously the cause of it, right? There were other issues going on as well, I’m sure, such as people being prejudiced walnuts, but that was one contributing factor for why they were blamed.
This is something I’ve been musing on during the pandemic.
There’s a popular question I hear in church communities. “What would Jesus do?”
I’ve always struggled with this question because it is often asked in situations where we don’t have the information to be able to say, and we can run the risk of shaping Jesus into our own image and expectations. But it is a good question to make oneself think.
So, I asked it in this situation.
I imagine Jesus would wash his hands and stay home if he was sick, and would probably wear a mask if he had one. Jesus would love people regardless of their beliefs, their social standing, and their health issues. Jesus would feed those in need and comfort the hurting and take care of the people around him.
I imagine that during COVID, you would see Jesus volunteering at homeless shelters and soup kitchens. You would see him picking up groceries for shut-ins and talking with them from a safe distance. You would see him organizing online book clubs and movie nights and helping remote students with their classes. You would see him calling his neighbors and family, just to check in. You would see him out taking long walks, and it would seem like the day got a little bit better just for seeing him. You would see him writing letters to folks in nursing homes and others in isolation.
I imagine that you would see his eyes, bright and alive and holy, smiling over a mask or face covering, as he thanks the grocery store clerk and tells her that he hopes she has a good day. You would meet him on the road, helping a stranger change a flat tire. You would see him spending his weekend building a wheelchair ramp for someone in the community who’s disabled.
I imagine you would see him as a member on the volunteer fire department, first on the scene for an elderly woman who fell down the stairs. You would hear the tenderness in his voice as he helped her, and she might say that the pain eased when he came. You would see him working in a blizzard, helping lost and stranded people find their way home again.
I imagine that you would see him raging against companies who place profits over human lives. You would see him fight against a system that causes harm when it should bring help and relief. You would see him challenge the oppressors and stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves. You would see him do whatever it took to make sure that the elderly, the infirm, and the weak are not excluded or forgotten.
I imagine you would see him bring light, and hope, and healing into the sick rooms and hospitals. You would see him hold the hands of the lost and hurt and grieving. You would hear his footsteps between the beeping of monitors and the noise of ventilators. You would see him rejoice with each recovery and mourn with each death.
I imagine that you would see the kindness and compassion in his face, in his hands, in the way he lives his life. You would witness a joy so strong that sometimes it hurts. You would see a man who loves fearlessly and relentlessly. Though he would not risk the health of others, you would see him risk his own health for those in need.
I asked myself, what would Jesus do?
And I asked, what must I do?
A special thanks to my family members who encouraged me to share this. This writing is as much for myself as for anyone else. I understand that everyone has different beliefs and am not suggesting that I have all the answers or that I am an expert in biblical history and literature, Jewish culture, epidemiology, or other subjects; I am, at the end of the day, just a writer.
I don’t understand what the plan is, God. I don’t understand how this brokenness is supposed to help.
I don’t understand.
I look around and I see, played out on a global stage, the divides and shattered pieces and hurt that I’ve battled in my own heart and mind and soul.
There is so much hurt.
I was – finally – beginning to heal from my own. I was beginning to reach out again, to connect, to touch people after being afraid of them for so long.
And now I’m asked to draw back again. To contain myself within the walls of my own existence. I may speak, but my voice is not very strong yet. My body is the strongest part of me and I am asked to be still. To fold my hands in my lap. To step away from outstretched arms, to keep from stretching out my own.
I’m so tired, God.
I’m not afraid.
I’m tired of the fighting. The screaming. The fear and hurt and anger and pride. As hard as I try, the voices still creep into my brain and for a time break the quiet.
It’s finally quiet now, inside my mind, more often than not. Even now.
I’ve learned that in order to heal the hurts inside myself I first had to admit they were there. I cannot mend a broken plate if I insist that it is not broken.
Is that part of the plan, God?
Is that part of the hurt?
I’ve learned that I cannot exist without connection, yet for so long now we have made connection a lower priority – work has become the highest priority.
When work ceases, what will the hands do then? Will the hands learn new languages, or maybe rediscover old languages they know but have forgotten to speak? Will they remember how to connect with another?
Recipe adapted from Better Homes and Gardens Scottish Shortbread recipe
1 cup cold butter, cut into pieces 1 and 1/4 cup whole wheat pastry flour 1 and 1/4 cup unbleached white flour 6 tablespoons granulated sugar 3 Earl Grey tea bags
Empty tea bags; if tea is coarse, lightly grind. Combine dry ingredients; cut butter into mixture until it resembles fine crumbs, then knead until smooth. Roll out to 1/4 inch and cut out, bake at 300 degrees Fahrenheit for about 30 minutes until golden brown on the bottom.
Hint: use a coarse cheese grater to cut the butter into small pieces to make it easier to cut into the dough.
I wanted the cookies to look like tea bags, so I cut them into rectangles with a knife and cut the corners off, then used a straw to punch the holes in the top. I thought I would put strings through the holes and add tags.
I also dipped a couple in melted chocolate, but I think it would be better with a lemon glaze. A chai shortbread would be better with the chocolate. Looked cute though!
I packed a handful into the empty tea box and it was super cute! I shared with the neighbors and they loved them. I’ll definitely be making these again!
A couple weeks ago I had a really hard day that resulted in me getting home too mentally exhausted to get out of my truck. I texted my bestie and she prescribed a chocolate bar, some yogurt, and a movie, to give me a place to start as I worked through what was going on in my head, and from there we came up with the idea for this mental health first aid kit.
One thing that my therapist and I have been working on is practical tools to get me through the rough spots. This kit is another tool for my toolbox.
When I have a really hard day, it’s often hard for me to do basic self care things. While the frequency of my bad days is reduced, they still happen. I talked it over with my bestie and we isolated the areas in which I struggle most on those days, and designed this kit to offer me the support I need, ready when I need it.
My kit has a bottle of water, a box of mac and cheese, a chocolate bar, a packet of electrolyte drink mix, a packet of tissues, one of my favorite movies, and a checklist to evaluate what I need to do for myself.
For me, communication is both the best way to get through an episode, but also the hardest thing to do. Texting someone to say “hey, I’m having a hard day, can you send me cute cat pictures?” can be hard, but often that casual connection is the best thing to help me work through what’s going on in my head. Another thing that helps is just chatting with someone face to face; due to the pandemic, that can be hard, but it’s so important.
Other things to check are if I’ve had enough to eat, enough to drink, if I’ve spent any time outside, and if I’ve taken any time for just myself. Evaluating these things gives me an idea what I can do to help myself.
I do well with a step-by-step list of what to do, so I included a step by step guideline in my kit. Having a detailed plan makes it possible for me to get up off the couch and do step one.
The last card in my kit is a list of things in my environment to look at. The goal is to pick just one and do that to improve my immediate environment. Just one isn’t too overwhelming and I can usually do it in five or ten while my meal cooks.
This is not professional or medical advice; this is just something I’ve set up to make it easier to get through the bad days, and I thought others might benefit from it and be inspired to create their own kits. I fully expect to create a kit for each of my kids if/when I acquire younglings, because this is something that I would have LOVED to have as a kid. Other ideas could be just some snack food, a good book, a puzzle or game, a coloring book, outdoor toys… there’s tons of possibilities.
My main goal was to assemble this kit in one place so it’s ready when I need it. The days that I need something like this, I’m usually not capable of collecting things from all over the house. Think of it as a mental health first aid kit and make sure it’s stocked and ready to grab when you need it.
This book was too short. I need more about Haven and Kate and Drew, and more about Peter and his church windows. This was a sweet, summery read with a classic Maine vibe. I pulled it out a couple times today because I was about three quarters of the way through and I wanted to know how it ended. I can’t WAIT for the second in this series!
This novel is similar in writing and storytelling to Karen Kingsbury and Lindsay Harrell.
Fun fact: Evelyn has been a family friend for years and years, and was partly responsible for my poetry writing!
I liked this one, but it lacked a little of the finesse and emotional impact of John’s later books. It’s not necessarily one I’m going to go re-read, but it’s one I’ll keep on my shelf and hand to my teenagers if I ever get around to that stage of my life.
Colin sort of annoyed me, but at the same time I liked him. I am not good at math, my dyslexic brain has trouble with reading the numbers right so while I can grasp a lot of the theory, I tend to read 6 instead of 9 and so the math doesn’t work out right — I solved the problem correctly, I just didn’t solve the correct problem. But anyway for all that I still did high school math team from age 12 to age 17 (I opted not to graduate early because I liked math team so much) so I like math, I just struggle with doing the correct problems. Which is a little bit like Colin. I think he struggles to do the correct problems, and that is most of the issue. But he seems to work it out in the end.
Lindsey is wild and I love her. And Hassan is MAGNIFICENT..