Howling With The Wolves

We were hunting for wolves and found moose.

Rick and I saw an article in the local newspaper one moring about the Wolf Inquiry Project. They were looking for volunteers to go out into the woods and howl and record any responses you might get. They are trying to determine if there are wolves in Maine. Apparently they are well established to our west and north in Canada but no concrete evidence of their existence in Maine.
We thought it sounded interesting so we went to the Audobon building up in Holden one Saturday in June to learn more about wolves and learn how to use the high tech recording equipment, and signed up to go out for a couple of days which we did earlier this week.
We decided to go to western Maine, up around Stratton and Eustis. We have some familiarity with that region and the WIP folks wanted it surveyed, so it seemed like a good choice. We arrived in Carrabassett Valley Monday around noon, dropped the truck camper off at my friend Cindy's office on the Sugarloaf Access Road, and took the Honda Element and headed up the Caribou Pond Road. This was probably the roughest road we were on during our whole survey. The idea was to scout the roads, and then go back during the night sometime between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. After traversing some really rough pot holes and some pretty decrepit bridges, we were unsure whether we wanted to wander that route at night. We returned and picked up the truck and headed out to the Bigelow Preserve to set up camp before tackling our next scouting route.
Things had changed slightly at the Bigelow campsites since I was there last summer on a solo trip. One branch of the road into the campsites had been closed off and loggers were using it as a logging site within feet of the other arm of the access road. There were a group of campers in the big campsite and what appeared to be a fairly permanent tent (all tarped over and tucked in tight) at the smaller site right next to the water and 3 or 4 young men hanging out down at the third shorefront campsite. No one ever came to the tented/tarped site but we couldn't very well pull up and park the truck in their space even if they weren't there. Though there's a 14 day limit on camping at these sites and a policy of not allowing people to leave their tents up unless they're using them, it's tough to enforce so we set up in a little spot in the woods where we couldn't see the water and wondered whether our neighbors, with flames painted on their cars, were going to be tenable.
We left the camper, not set up, and headed out to scout the Old Dead River Road within the Bigelow Preserve It has a few hiking trails but no houses or tent sites. We drove out about 4 miles and found no major obstacles. The road was rough but felt like a highway compared to the Caribou Pond Road. At the end was a gate that prevented us from going further, but there was plenty of room to turn around. On our way back we saw our first moose of the trip. She was trotting down the road when we came upon her but by the time I got my camera out, she had headed off the road and completely disappeared into the camouflage of the woods.
We decided that the Dead River Road was a definite to survey later and headed out to find the King and Bartlett Road, which according to the Maine Atlas (every true Mainer's Bible), veered off from the Flagstaff Road just a couple hundred feet in. We found the Flagstaff Road easily and though it didn't really follow the route indicated on the Atlas, we continued down it, going through some good size puddles and pot holes till just before it dead ended at Flagstaff Lake. There we came across a puddle too deep to cross. The road had only gone about a mile or two before dead ending so we went back to the beginning and tried a branch off to another road we'd seen. Our Garmen called it by names different than the Atlas (Scott Road/Grand View Road/ and eventually there were signs indicating Trails End Pub was up ahead) and we continued on, going over some of the roughest terrain we'd seen yet. A couple of times I egged Rick on to go through puddles or over pot holes that were pretty sketchy, but when we came upon a puddle that was a good 20 feet across he went out in his waterproof sandals and walked into the puddle to see how deep it was. It came up almost to his knees, which wasn't too bad, but then discovered that just beneath the surface was a boulder sitting in the middle of the puddle that was also almost up to his knees. There was not enough room to go to either side of it, and it'd definitely take out the undercarriage of the Element, so we decided we'd better try to turn around – not an easy feat on a path that was only slightly wider than the width of the Element. However, an 8 point turn later,and we were back on the path headed out.
We decided to stop by Cindy's house in Stratton to try and get the scoop of why the Flagstaff Road was so different than indicated on the Atlas. After some discussion, we realized there's more than one Flagstaff Road in Eustis and we weren't on the one shown on the Atlas. In fact, the “road” we were on (indicated by a single dotted line on the Atlas) was really just a snowmobile trail. Cindy was quite surprised to learn we'd gotten as far as we had on it. But by this time it was almost dark so our scouting had to end and we were left with just the Old Dead River Road and maybe the Caribou Pond Road to survey that night.
We went back and set up the camper, had some dinner and a beer, and killed some time till it was late enough to start the survey. At 9:30 we got out the recording equipment, a Fostex digital recorder and a Sennheiser boom mic with a windscreen cover and headed out for our first stop. I'm.sure we looked quite the sight, standing out there in the drizzling rain in the middle of nowhere at 12 o'clock at night, the heavy shoulder bag filled with the recorder, headlamps strapped to our foreheads, big headphones, and the mike, howling like fools. It's definitely something you want to do far enough out where no one is likely to come across you.
Unfortunately, after two hours of howling and waiting for responses, we'd heard nothing but some bullfrogs. And the weather was too sketchy to try some of the other more remote sites we'd scouted earlier, so we called it a night.
We awoke at 4:00 the next morning to loggers working right next to our campsite. Chainsaws, trucks, and a log loader and it was still dark, and still drizzling.
We made coffee from coffee bags, had some Kashi and decided we'd check out Cathedral Pines campground on our way to our next scouting trip. It is a beautifully well maintained campground right in Eustis, with clean bathrooms, showers, quiet, spacious sites with electricity and water. Definitely not for those who prefer a more rustic setting but the cathedral pines are truly magnificent and reminded me how much I'd like to see a similar stand of redwoods when we're in CA next week.

Unfortunately there were no sites open on the water but I think we'll go back up in September with some of the band members and try to get a waterfront site. We told the lady we'd be back later to bring the camper in and set up.
We headed north on Route 27 again and drove past the real King and Bartlett Road and stopped down beyond Serampus Falls at a short pull off looking up toward Sisk Mountain. It's a beautiful location in a big dale with great views of both Sisk and part of Kibby I think. We couldn't see any construction on the side of the mountain we were viewing so if it's Kibby then they must be putting the windmills in on the other side. We certainly saw a lot of evidence of construction on the Gold Brook Road which we decided to pass by, though it had been our initial destination in this area before we realized it was the site of the huge windmill project up here.
The area looked like it would be rife with coyote, if not wolves so we put it at the top of our list for later that evening and then drove back to King and Bartlett Road. The weather was becoming a bit less drizzly and we'd stopped at Serampus Falls on our way north. We also made a stop at the DOT maintenance building where we watched and photographed our second moose of the trip, having spotted him in the bog on our way by.

Moosie #2 - didn't like his picture taken much and wandered slowly off into the woods. But notice the beginner antlers and the beard.

King and Bartlett Road is a nice wide, well maintained dirt road that went on for just over 4 miles before dead ending at a gate and station near Jim Pond. With very sparse traffic, and no houses, it seemed like a good place to survey. We took a side trip down a road labeled as Farm Hill Road. About a mile in there was an older but good sized camper trailer, and about a half mile beyond that the road started getting too sketchy so we turned around. We figured we'd wait till later to decide whether we wanted to make the trek down this road late at night.

Photo: looking down Farm Hill Road.

On our way out, we passed a big four wheel drive truck with a couple guys in it headed down the road. I wonder if they got further than we did or if they turned around also.
Our next destination was a dirt road off Route 16, headed to Rangely. On our way there we pulled into the sandpit where moose are often seen and sure enough we got to watch and photograph our third moose of the trip.

Moosie #3 - He's definitely a happy moose. He also has the furry little beginner antlers and what I think they call a beard hanging down from his neck. Not sure what that's all about.

We drove down the dirt road (I can't remember the name of it now) for several miles but never were more than a minute or two between houses or camps. It seemed too populated with humans to be a likely location for wolves so we crossed it off our list and headed back to the camper to spend some time at our nicely groomed campsite. We started to eat at the picnic table but it was drizzling and occasionally raining again so we ate a sandwich and had a beer and took naps to refresh ourselves for later. Rick had told the woman at the office when we checked in that we'd be leaving for a few hours and coming in very late so she was sure to give us passes to the gate that locked at 11 pm. We headed over to the Stratton Plaza for dinner at about 6:30 and had fun playing the Megatouch games while waiting for our pizza. Cindy stopped by and Mary was working at The Plaza so we had a chance for a short visit before heading back out.
We started out at the valley looking at Sisk Mountain, to no avail. We then drove to King and Bartlett Road and followed the same routine as the night before: drive a mile in; stop and take latitude, longitude, and temperature readings, howl quietly for nearby canids, listen for two minutes, howl louder, listen for two minutes, howl loudly again, and listen for two more minutes. The recorder always has a ten second loop going so if we heard anything, we could hit the record button and we'd be able to capture everything we'd heard ten seconds prior to hitting the button. Unfortunately, we had no opportunity to hit the record button. There were sounds of gurgling brooks one wouldn't have heard without the boom mic and though it had cleared and we could see the stars, we could also hear the sound of the rain drops falling off all the leaves in the woods as a gentle wind blew. At times the wind would gust a bit and the rain drops would fall suddenly, and a twig might break, but through the boom mic it would sound more like some creature thundering through the woods. Spooky cool.
So we returned to the camper later that night (sighting moose #4 on the way home) with some data of where canids were NOT found on a certain night, but with no recordings of howls to be analyzed at the university (Tufts I think it is) who's working with the WIP folks on the project. Just because we didn't find wolves there on that particular night doesn't mean they're not around that area. Perhaps we, or another volunteer, will survey that area again later this summer and maybe at that time we'll find different results.

Here's two more of my favorite photos of moosie #3.

Popham Beach Vacation - Post 2 - July 11th

The week at Popham was the best weather we've had all summer, with only two days of rain out of seven. We spent time at the beach playing Bocce (Rick and I are the official champions having beat the Bernier boys and even skunked them one game), swimming, frisbee, playing with Babbs and Shay Shay, and a little kayaking. My sea kayak is not really a surf kayak. Rick and I watched someone in a great surf kayak later in the week that looked like a blast for use along the shore. But I paddled out to one of the islands and Richard gave it a try later, flipping it as he was getting in but climbing right back in and paddling out a few hundred feet and back. It was pretty rough seas for one's first time in a kayak.
The NitPickers played every night but one, with various campers stopping by to listen for a while and we'd head to bed fairly early and rise fairly early each morning. Friday night the band was asked to go up on the deck and play to the whole campground.
The two days it rained were spent reading some good books within view of the ocean and listening to the sound of the waves as well as a trip into Brunswick to do a little shopping and dinner at an Irish Pub in downtown Bath.
Overall it was a lovely week with mostly great weather and we went ahead and reserved the cottage for the same week next year.

Popham Beach Cottage vacation

We arrived Saturday afternoon to a blue sky, beautiful sunshine and Annie's margaritas. We quickly brought our things into the cottage and headed out to enjoy the beautiful day. We were able to grab a few rays of sun before the first rainstorm hit. A heavy downpour for about a half hour – just long enough to put our cottage in order – and then back out to more sunshine.



Here's a pic of the cottage. We were located just off the dunes, well within sight and earshot of the surf.

Enjoying my margarita.

It had been so long since we'd seen clear skies I had no idea we were in for a full moon till it rose in all its glory Saturday night, shimmering over the breaking waves.

Sunday morning I rose shortly after the sun and took a solo walk on the deserted beach.

I love walking along and being the first footprints of the day

It was still chilly - maybe around 55 degrees - so I dressed warm. By the time I arrived back at the cottage around eight, it had warmed up considerably and we were ready for shorts.

I love all the interesting markings and shapes you find on the beach early in the morning.

Whatever event of nature that created this marking seemed to be questioning . . . or is it asking, lend me your ear?

Morning at Camp

I wake to the sound of the loons calling from somewhere out in the fog drenched stream, the chatter of the red squirrels, the call of the crows, and the whistle of an osprey soaring overhead. I feel the tight muscles in my lower back grouching for lack of movement and delight in the feel of the soft sheets against my skin. I'm guessing it's about 5:00 and when I turn to glance at the clock, see I'm “dead on balls accurate.” Though I had been feeling a little lonely and out of sorts last night, not being able to get into Deb's “best book she's ever read” and feeling too uninspired to drum or write or even listen to music, I'm now once again reveling in the freedom allowed by solitude and complete lack of a schedule, to get up or not, depending solely on my own desires. No worry about the deafening sound of the coffee grinder, but to my own ears, or that my puttering about at this early hour will disturb my partner's sleep. No questions of “whatchya writing” as I tap away on my keyboard, or “whatchya doin” as I'm sitting there doing absolutely nothing but being present with the emerging morning. I can blather away about nothing (as evidenced here) with no expectation of some great revelation to be enjoyed later by a reader who is not the writer. Or sit and watch the various shades of white turn gradually into rippling water and summer trees. There's no newspaper delivery out here so no news to be consumed, no puzzles to puzzle over, no tv blaring stock prices or predictions. Knowing that all of those things that I've come to love are just a 45 minute drive away allows me to luxuriate in their absence. If I didn't have a sweet man at home, would I feel as peaceful in my solitude? If I didn't have my connection to the world through newspapers and tv available to me at any time, would I feel so content in my ignorance of local and world events? If I didn't have my seven room house on the lake with all the accoutrements of modern day living, would I so readily celebrate the simplicity of my one room camp on the marsh? I think not.

Yet another rainy day in June

I have a book lent to me by my co-worker, Deb. She says it may be the best book she's ever read, which is an amazing endorsement for a book. It's overcast and drizzly today, and what is the best thing in the world to do on a day like this, but to sit next to the fireplace with a cup of tea and a good book. So even though the rain has been relentless since my vacation started, here I am, enjoying this drizzly day alone at camp, having savored this book for this very moment, sitting by the fireplace with my freshly brewed cup of tea (in my favorite recently finished perfect tea cup), and about to start this wonderful book. I'm really excited.

Another Rainy Day in June

Woke up to a dark stormy morning which turned into yet another day of steady rain. NitPickers got cancelled out of their outdoor gig at The Village Inn Tavern. Rick treated us to homemade pizza and this sourdough bread which has been smelling delicious baking for the last hour.

You'll see it setting on a tray I just got out of the kiln yesterday. It actually started out to be a wall placque but when it turned up at the edges during the firing process, we decided it would make a lovely tray. I used it to take cookies to Dale and Maria's last night too.

My first actual vacation day will be tomorrow - Monday. The first of five weeks off. It's supposed to rain, like it has for the last several weeks. I think I saw that we had six days of sun so far in June. And it's the 28th already. You can probably tell from my post that I'm not feeling very inspired today. Been reading mediocre books and repeatedly falling asleep while watching episodes of Fringe.

Hammock Swing

I really like these hammock swings my son brought back from Nicaragua several years ago. He went there on mission trips with his junior and senior high school class from Chop Point. Chop Point is a kids camp in the summer and they run a school the rest of the year with about 100 students from kindergarten through twelth grade. There were six students in Jared's graduating class. No room to disappear between the cracks, something Jared liked to do. They have a sister camp in a small village in Nicaragua that serves the kids who live at the local dump. Great eye opener for the kids, on both sides I guess, and a chance to make a meaningful contribution.

We discovered Chop Point by accident during a very special trip down the Kennebec River. My late husband and I always loved boating on the river. We spent a lot of time kayaking it, and spent time on my brother's 30 ft cabin cruiser, sometimes sleeping on deck, waking up to the stillness of the morning, with just the other early risers like heron, eagles, fish, sometimes seals.

After Dan died, the boys and I decided we should scatter some of his ashes in the river. So Bill brought his boat to Gardiner and we headed downriver. We stopped to scatter them at Merrymeeting Bay - where the Kennebec and Androscoggin Rivers converge to run to the sea. Afterwards as we were talking, we noticed the school/camp onshore. Jared had been having difficulty at the public school (when your father's dieing it's difficult to concentrate on school work but the school just didn't get it) and we'd been considering other options. So it seemed kind of serrendipitious that we saw the school at that time, and sure enough when we looked into it, it was exactly what Jared needed. It was a Christian school and that kind of turned us off at first, but it wasn't rabid Christian and the people there were very intelligent and caring. Christianity had been important to Dan so maybe he sent us there to find it.

So anyway, Jared brought these hammock swings - made by the locals I believe - back from his first trip to Nicaragua. They're much better than a full hammock because they hold your head up, making it easy to read, write, drink, or just veg. And you give it a little kick once in a while to keep yourself swinging. Nice place to spend a sunny afternoon.

Thanks, Baby!

Sent to me by my Sweetie today to brighten my (very messy) office, and my day!

The Loon Series

I went out for a paddle on Saturday to see what was new on the stream and found these loons building their nest. With my 12x camera I was able to stay back far enough so as not to bother them, and watch for a while. They would stick their heads underwater and pull up some weeds, and pile them on the small mound sticking up out of the marsh. I love that they're nesting so close to camp that we can hear them clearly throughout the night. In fact, Rick was able to observe them at their nest, using binoculars, standing at the shoreline. There were a lot of power boats out yesterday afternoon and I hope they're staying far enough away. In the past we almost never saw power boats on the Cobb but yesterday there must have been five different boats speeding up and down the stream.

We had a nice weekend at camp. I spent Wednesday night solo, worked on Thursday, and Rick joined me for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. Had the MEJP crowd out for a get together Friday night. Chris and Bobbie put their canoe in and I tagged along in my kayak for a short paddle. Lots of good food and conversation and lots of fun with Ana and Ben’s two year old daughter, Ilsa.

Rick and I went into Hallowell and Wine afterwards for a poetry reading. I was inspired to learn that anyone can in fact write poetry and it doesn’t even have to be very good to get up and read it in front of people. hmmmm

Did some kayaking on the stream Saturday. The damsel flies were hatching in the thousands. They would fly all around me while paddling through the reeds and lilly pads, some lighting in my hair and hitching a ride.

A flying squirrel and a friendly raccoon visited us while we were sitting at the campfire Saturday night. I saw the biggest turtle I’d ever seen out there on Sunday. There was a little turtle – maybe 10 – 12 inches – sitting on the log by the shore and this big turtle sticks his head up beside him. His head was as big as the whole of the other turtle! The little guy looked so silly, sitting there on his belly with his head and all four legs outstretched, trying to absorb every little smidgen of sunshine possible. He took off rather quickly when that big head popped up next to him. The shell on the big guy was probably two and a half or 3 feet across. I got a photo of him but I don’t think it does him justice.

Subtle sunset

After two hours spent glazing pots Thursday night I met Eddie and Betty for dinner at Hattie's, a brief stop at The Higher Grounds, and home early. The rain on Friday kept me inside most of the day cleaning house and finishing the book I started last Friday. It was a fun read, though nothing very momentous or insightful. Just a nice story. Firefly Lane by Kristin Hannah.

Saturday we got up EARLY - like 5 a.m. - and headed up to Holden, Maine - next to Bangor - to attend a workshop on Howling with the Wolves. Actually, there was no howling involved, much to my disappointment. However, we did learn about the history of wolves and coyote and learn how to use the equipment to record any howls we might hear. Rick and I are scheduled to head out into the North Maine Woods July 13th and 14th, to howl and hopefully hear and record some wolf/coyote responses.

Sunday we slept late, did all our newspaper puzzles, had a quick lunch at The Depot, stopped at the Gardiner house to water flowers and do a little surprise maintenance, and then a brief stop at camp. The handyman got our hot water heater fixed (note to self: always fill the hot water tank with water BEFORE plugging it in). Not a big deal going without hot water at camp but it certainly makes it easier to wash dishes and it's nice to be able to take a shower. In fact, now maybe we can stay there during the week, even while I'm still working.

My vacation starts June 25th and goes through August 3rd! I really do love my job, but I'm counting the days till vacation starts. It will be a fun filled vacation this year, starting with a week at a cottage overlooking the ocean at Popham Beach, then our trip to the North Maine Woods to howl with the wolves, a 3 day long bluegrass festival, a few days to hang at the lakehouse or camp, and then an eight day trip to California. We'll fly into San Francisco, spend 3 days there, drive down the coast to LA, stopping in Monterey or the Big Sur area for the night, and then spending a few days with Rick's son Jason around LA or Huntington Beach. I've never been to the west coast, so I'm really looking foward to seeing the sights, as well as getting the chance to visit with Jason. I'm also hoping to connect with my friend Penney whom I haven't seen in 30 years. I recently found her on FaceBook and discovered she's living near San Francisco.

May 25, 2009

I’m glad to report that all is well on The Cobb, after leaving work early on Thursday. The loons are looney, the squirrels are squirrely, the ospreys are osome (spelled awesome), and the turtles are sh(w)ell.

After a quick lunch and Sam Summer at The Depot, it felt good to escape from the ninety degree heat of town and just 15 minutes away melt onto my shady porch bed with windows open, and enjoy the steady breeze and the sounds of the marsh. Twenty minutes was all I could give it though cause I really wanted to get out on the stream, paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle, float, explore, soak up the sun and feel that Vitamin D pulsing through the body. We’d only been out 15 minutes before we were approached by an old CocoaCola canoe with a silent little electric motor containing none other than Eddie and Betty who’d come all the way down from Mary’s place near Collins Mill Dam.

Later we heard splashing and looked over to watch a pair of loons flapping their wings and doing mating dances with each other. And then they let out one of those long haunting loon calls that went on for so long, it even made me amorous.

Friday was spent on a longer paddle, down to the dam and back, gorgeous sunny day with all the usual suspects along the stream. Saturday I picked up seedlings at Harvey’s and filled my log planters, so it’s looking very colorful out here. Plus it looks like the heavy rain we got last night created a new bloom. Everything is so lush and green today. It was a hell of a downpour about 3 am with rolling thunder and impressive lightening witnessed from my porch bed.

I made a little hobbit house out of clay while listening to soft music with the peepers and assorted unidentified critters hooting, screeching, and whistling in the marsh. I seldom see turtles right here in our cove but this weekend there have been three of them hanging out here, both on the fallen limb in the water and the big rock 30 feet away.

A mommy and her six baby ducklings just took a paddle around the cove. They do love the duckweed; I can see why they call it that, instead of green slime . . . or something equally descriptive.
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Camp Spiders - ewww

When I got to camp Thursday night there was a big ass spider sitting peacefully on the wall of my kitchen, next to the trash can. I’ve been phobic about spiders since I can remember. My mother was phobic, my grandmother, my sister, my cousins, my aunts. You sense a family trend here? A family’s conditioning, passed down and across generations. I suppose there are spiders that can poison you, but generally here in Maine, they are pretty innocuous. A non phobic person would just kind of ignore them and shoo them away if they got in the way. But a phobic person – or at least a person with phobia around spiders (I know the word but that word just brings up all these other images about stupid movies, it doesn’t apply to me, a rational and compassionate human being.) has to seek out and destroy the little monster.

I was bringing stuff in from the car and the only weapon I had within reach was a bottle of Stoli vodka. So I tried to squish him with the bottom of the bottle. Instead I just trapped him in the concave bottom, and with no other weapons at hand I eventually had to remove the bottle and he escaped and scurried behind the hutch.

This was no tiny spider. I’ve come to ignore or easily dispose of those. This guy was so big, his legs protruded out from under the edges of the stoli bottle.

I won’t describe the rest of my futile efforts to banish the spider. Yes futile. He’s still over there – someplace. He probably came and crawled all over me last night while I slept, or maybe he’s been huddled over there behind the hutch ever since he escaped the stoli crush.

I’ve tried to think of him like the cute little chameleons you see everywhere in Thailand. You just sort of say oh, aren’t they cute, with just a friendly warning to keep out of your personal space. And they’re pretty compliant.

The fact that I know how irrational it is to be phobic about spiders does help some; especially when I’m sitting here thinking about it. But at the very sight of a big spider like that I go into fight or flight mode – adrenaline rush and all. Conditioning. Grrr.

I believe if I could envision him and hold him in my mind, in all his hairy glory, for long enough, I think I would be able to decondition myself. I tried looking at pictures of spiders, but I couldn’t get over the aversion. They still creeped me out. Perhaps if I did it every day for a couple of minutes and studied them, trying to change my reaction from fear to curiosity.

I never did see him again all weekend though every time I walked by the trash can I scrutinized the area carefully. I’m hoping he found an escape route and he’s back out in the wild where he will remain. Camp is definitely not creepy crawly proof. There are a few small gaps in the floors and beside windows big enough to allow little crawly things to get in. So I sprayed the gaps I could find with a spider repellant which will, hopefully, discourage any more from coming to explore.

I didn’t let him ruin my first long weekend at camp. Friday morning I awoke to a pair of herons fishing next to shore.

I also got a photo of this little beauty - a red breasted grosbeak who was happy to pose for some pictures.

I enjoyed a couple hours of kayaking on Friday and a short paddle on Saturday. It rained pretty hard Saturday night and into Sunday morning.

I’m back home in Belgrade Lakes now, watching the sun start to set, sparkling off Long Pond, yet still missing the beauty and simplicity of my little one room camp at the marsh on Cobbossee Stream.

Meditation

My response to "What is meditation?" on the Krishnamurti Network today.

I’ve never had any formal training in meditation but I’ve read a little bit about it and have downloaded some short “meditation starters” so to speak – guides that help you to begin to clear your mind. That’s what I practiced meditation for originally – to clear my mind. A problem would have a hold on me and I couldn’t let go; thoughts about it would keep going round and round, endlessly, in my mind and no conclusions would present themselves, just round and round with the thoughts and me just completely unable to make the thoughts stop. Especially at night when trying to get to sleep; I would suffer hours of insomnia.

This is when I find my form of meditation to be healing. Being able to wipe the slate clean so to speak, get ALL thoughts out of my mind, especially this one that has a hold on me and won’t let me go. If I can achieve total shutdown for just a few moments even, then everything becomes clear. I’ve managed to break my mind out of that thought loop and often can see the answer clearly, or at least see that it isn’t the problem that I had imagined. When I meditate in this way, I do have a goal in mind so maybe this is something else, not really meditation. As I said, I’ve never had any formal meditation teacher or training but being a fairly pragmatic person, I’ve found this practice – whatever it may be called – helpful on many occasions.

There’s another type of “meditation” I like to practice, especially in my current location – my rather primitive camp on a marsh/stream here in Maine. Sitting comfortably by the stream, I’ll just close my eyes and try to become completely present, listening to the multitude of sounds emanating from my surroundings: the pair of loons sitting out front that continually give a short hoot back and forth to each other with the occasional long melancholy howl, the dozen or so bird calls that I don’t try to identify but just hear, the bullfrogs talking back and forth to each other, the red squirrels chattering away, and even the faint sound of a distant plane overhead. Sitting here with my eyes shut this morning and meditating (if that’s what it is) and absorbing the sounds and smells of the marsh, when I opened my eyes, there sat before me about 20 feet away, a little muskrat. I often see him as dusk swimming busily around the marsh doing his work, but I’ve never seen him in the morning, nor that close to me. But it didn’t surprise me to see him there when I opened my eyes. I was so in tune with the marsh that it seemed completely natural that he would be there. We sat there looking at each other for a moment, I smiled in the pure delight of the moment and I guess he decided his break was over and turned and slipped back into the water and glided off. That’s kind of what meditation is to me, the practice of connecting with the moment. The result sometimes is greater clarity and great creativity. After meditating, I grabbed my djembe and starting a light rhythmic drumming, feeling one with the marsh and wanting to offer a contribution. The drumming didn’t scare any of the critters away; in fact I felt it actually drew them toward me. The little red squirrels chattered at me, the osprey whistled overhead and the loons whooped their lovely calls. There was a downy woodpecker, 3 goldfinch, and a nuthatch, all sharing the same birdfeeder.

The moment reminds me of my Facebook update I wrote last week: “I delight in the complex beauty of the marsh as I bend to light a stick of incense in my altar to the universe.”

Was that moment meditation as well? Or is none of this meditation?

Spring is here

Today is May 1st – May Day! Means different things to different people but I remember when I was young it was a big deal to hang May Baskets on people. We’d have a basket and decorate it with flowers and fill it with goodies, put it on someone’s doorstep, ring the doorbell and run away. We’d hide where we could see the person come to the door, see their confusion first that no one was there, and then see them smile and delight at the pretty little basket filled with goodies. I don’t think people hang May Baskets anymore.

I haven’t written much lately. Now that spring is here I’ve been going to camp and cleaning up winter’s ravages, and spending some time out in my kayak. Last weekend Rick and I were paddling around the stream and were serenaded by a symphony of bullfrogs and loons. At dusk our little muskrat, Edmund (named after Maine’s former Senator Edmund Muskie) can be seen busily swimming back and forth tending to his duties. There were over a hundred ducks on the stream one day a couple weeks ago and from the splashing sounds coming from deep within the marsh it sounds like a couple of them may have decided to nest in there. Cobby, our beautiful black and white kittie with double front paws, returned to visit last weekend. I still haven’t figured out who he belongs to but he seems well cared for.

Kerri and Gilli spent the night at camp early this week and Betty stayed there last night after our Hallowell outing. I’m hoping Rick and I will get out there tomorrow night as it looks like it will be a good kayaking day on Sunday. We knocked one of the kayaks off the car as we were unloading them last weekend and broke my side view mirror off. $265 for just the mirror! When I put in a claim for insurance they were able to find a used mirror and negotiate the price for painting and installing it down to just $180, so it saved me $70 and cost them nothing as the cost is under my deductible. Fine, I don’t mind saving some money.

The drama continues with our shared beach lot here in Belgrade Lakes. The douchbag who owns the lot has finished clear cutting all the trees and brush and brought in some heavy equipment last weekend and graded the whole thing, took our our access road, and installed a lawn. Now the runoff that used to be absorbed by the vegetation will flow directly into the lake, taking all the pesticides from his lawn with it. The good ole boys from DEP and Code Enforcement just give him an attaboy. Groan.

Today we’re off to buy a riding lawnmower. We were paying $50 a whack to have the lawn done last year and figure we can pay for the mower within two years. John Deer, 18 hp. Zoom Zoom.

Ice out

My co-worker, Chris R, and I drove up to Indian Island today - north of Bangor - to do a presentation to a group of Penobscots. Wonderful group, very interested and interesting, with great comments and questions. I hope they will stay in touch and come to the Legislature sometime to address some of our common ground issues. Afterwards we stopped by to visit Rose, an fascinating 70 year old woman who runs a food bank on the island.

When I got home I noticed the last of the ice on Long Pond had gone out. It had been sunny and in the 50s and the sun was glimmering off the lake. Finally, it feels like spring!!!

It's supposed to be in the mid 60s on Friday so Rick and I are planning to kayak.

Work, Mud, and Pottery.

I had a busy week at work training our new volunteer and preparing for public hearings on some . . . bills. I was trying to think of the right adjective for the bills we're working on; one that doesn't sound spiteful or defensive, or make me sound like a socialist or a bleeding heart. But maybe I am those things, or at least some of them, or maybe I truly feel that we're all connected and what's good for one person is good for everyone.

We all come from different places and we all have different needs and different abilities. But I think there's a special niche for each of us, some have a wider range than others, but if you find that niche, you'll be your most productive and beneficial to yourself and your family, community, world. So I like to think that the bills we're working on help people to find their niche. Often they've gotten off to a tough start or found themselves where they never expected to be; in either case, you don't just throw them to the wolves. We need to judge ourselves on how we treat our most vulnerable members of society.

So, a long week and another one coming up starting tomorrow. But the sun is shining for the first time all weekend and Rick and I played in our mud pit of a driveway, creating trenches in an attempt to drain off as much water as possible. I think we were mildly successful. Maybe after a few days of sun we'll be able to drive in again.

I brought home a new batch of pottery this week. I'm fairly pleased with the cups and I really like the footed plate in the center as well as the rectangular sushi plates.

We just started using a new glaze calledceladon froth that I really like. Check it out on the casserole dish (oops - very poor fitting cover) and pedestal dish below.

Dan

Dan with our first son, Justin.

Today is the seventh anniversary of my late husband's death. It may sound odd, but I always look back on it thinking, "it was a good death," as far as deaths go. It was back in 2002, just a few months after 9/11 when so many families sent their loved ones off to work, never to see them again.

I remember thinking how lucky we were to have time to do all the things we needed to do, say all the things we needed to say.

He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor back in 1992. The doctors gave him 18 months, tops, to live, had he taken the standard chemotherapy the oncologist recommended. Instead, after surgery Dan decided to try some clinical trials out of Tufts University and sure enough, two years later, the tumor was unnoticeable on a CAT scan. The doctors were amazed and were sure the original diagnosis must have been incorrect because they'd never known anyone to survive that long. We didn't really care, we were just grateful that he felt good, was able to do the things he enjoyed, as well as continue his career as an electrical engineer.

We put it behind us and moved on with the business of living our lives and bringing up our three sons. It was always there in the background that the tumor could return but it had little negative impact on our daily lives. The boys went from 3, 5, and 8, to 13, 15, and 18, before it did return; so they were given the gift of growing up with, and getting to know their Dad. I'm sure they would have had very little memory of him had we lost him as the doctors originally predicted, back in the early 90s.

But come early September 2001, the tumor returned. I thought he was having a stroke one morning and called an ambulance. He went into a coma as I discussed our options with his doctors, and decided to try some chemo. The doctors said the tumor was too deep to do surgery this time.

The chemo worked, though we anticipated that it would only be effective very short term. This time they predicted less than six months.

Dan never completely came back at that point. He came home and was able to enjoy is day to day existence, though his cognitive abilities were substantially diminished. He enjoyed being in the house with the boys running around, lots of visitors - friends, family, and church members. He had a wonderful Hospice volunteer who'd take him shopping or out for coffee or lunch. You had to be kind of careful because he might stoll off on his own or get it into his mind that he was going to drive. But never in a cantankerous way; he was always good natured and easy going about it.

A few weeks before his death we had a hospital bed delivered and he spent the last couple of weeks in it, with great home care through hospice. The night he died his brother Peter and Peter's wife, Laurie, were there with me. We knew it was time and we had some old home movies of the kids playing on the tv while I held his hand and Laurie and Peter and I talked. The boys came in occasionally, and each spent a few minutes alone with him. Dan's church group had been over earlier in the evening with their guitars and tambourines and had sang and played music for him. He was unconscious but I swear I saw him tapping his foot at one point.

I think it was about two a.m. that he finally let go. His hospice nurse had been there until about 10 and she came right back when I called and made the phone call to the funeral home we had prearranged.

The family - his seven siblings and spouses, and his Mom and Dad - gathered with us the next day to support each other and to remember the fun times.

It seemed his death came too early - at just 53 years old. But it was in peaceful and loving surroundings. I think that's the best any of us can hope for when our time comes.

My Weekend

I haven’t written in my journal much lately. I feel speechless without my camera. But this is supposed to be a journal, not a blog, so let’s see, what have I been up to lately?

I started training a new volunteer at work last week. She’s going to start paralegal studies this summer and wanted to volunteer to get a flavor of the work we do. We seldom accept volunteers because they often take more time than they save, but this woman was willing to do whatever kind of work we needed help with, so I agreed to put in the time to train her. She’s very sharp and picks up on things the first time around. I took her to the Statehouse with me on Thursday to participate in a workshop I was facilitating on a mock public hearing for Girls Day at the Statehouse. I love GDATSH. 105 seventh and eighth grade girls from all over the state converge to meet the governor and learn about the legislative process. It’s organized by our good friends at the Maine Women’s Lobby.

We held our public hearing on LD 84 – An Act to Ensure Fair Pay – which is before the real legislature this year. The bill would allow employees to talk with each other about their wages. Some employers actually bar this activity currently, but how are women to know if they get equal pay if they don’t know what anyone else is earning?

The girls had a great time strategizing about who you would want to have testify, and what their message would be. I gave my other volunteer the pro side and took the bad guy role for my group – those against the legislation.

It was a fun exercise and the girls came up with some good strategies and actually convinced the “legislators” – another group of girls – to amend the bill before passing it, to allow employees to ask their employer for the wage information in order to lessen any possible tension among co-workers.

Thursday night I went to pottery and then met Rick at Hallowell and Wine to listen to our friend Mark Miller play. Rick usually practices with his band Thursday but they weren’t practicing this week so I convinced him to come in to listen to Mark with me, thinking the place would be packed and he could save me a seat. Well the place was pretty empty. Mark is a kick ass guitar player when he wants to be. He was pretty mediocre Thursday night I must say. Quite disappointing. When he finished at 9:00 I decided to go find what the pottery girls were up to and Rick headed home, preferring to avoid that much estrogen. Probably a wise move on his part. The girls were in rare form. After the music ended at The Cup we headed over to The Higher Grounds where Jonah, Alfred, Thib, and Lefty were playing. A good combo. We found a few other women and an occasional brave male and danced until closing time at about midnight.

Friday was spent pretty laid back and then Rick and I headed to The Depot in Gardiner for a beer with some friends, to Joyce’s for dinner, The Wharf for the last half hour of the early show, and then to The Higher Grounds for music by Stevie Jones, and a shaker of espresso martinis.

Saturday morning I went into the studio for a couple of hours and was really pleased with some pieces I worked on. I came home early so we could go to our local town meeting. That was kind of an interesting experience. We didn’t stay very long because they decided they needed to do a paper vote on whether to authorize a monetary expenditure to investigate the need for a new town office complex. Many of the townspeople thought the tentative design the building committee had come up with was way too extravagant so there was a lot of opposition to it. They didn’t get the point that the money authorized then was to continue investigation – not proceed with the building. Anyway, it was going to take 2 hours to do the paper vote and count before they could continue with the next article, so Rick and I voted and left. As did many others I suspect.

Sunday we went up to The Solon Hotel in Solon, Maine for a benefit concert for a person who is fighting cancer. There was a great turn out and some excellent music and I ran into a few old friends. I had been telling Rick for the past couple of years what a dive the Solon Hotel was so he was anxious to check it out. It had been a long time since I’d been there so you never know if it might have gotten fixed up. It did seem a little cleaner than I’d remembered it in the past but it’s still quite a dive.