I know I keep talking about the dramatic tides around here, but the SUV in the circle offers a measure of just how far out the water goes twice daily.
Low tide in comparison
Author: Jnana Hodson
In downsizing to a remote fishing village in Downeast Maine, this eclectic writer feels everything's coming together.
A few things that peeve me royally
Look, don’t make me elaborate. Here are a few, in no particular order.
- Getting stuck in traffic
- Having my plans derailed
- Overly loud music or TV or movies or mufflers
- Not being able to make out the dialogue or lyrics. Along with people singing way out of tune
- People cutting in line or who who can’t count the limit in the express checkout
- Stupidity of all sorts, but willful stupidity most of all
- Arrogance
- Lateness or just not showing up, as promised
- Lying and cheating
- Abuse of authority slash power or gross injustice in general
Your turn! Lay it on!
Crow and cawing
Maine has a raft of unincorporated townships, and some of them even have names
For those of us who come to New England from other parts of America, the insistence that here we live in either a town or a city but nothing in between comes as a shock. There’s no saying “near” anywhere, even if the place has its own post office. Nope, either city or town, the difference being the kind of government it has.
Eastport, for instance, is a city, while neighboring Lubec, roughly the same size, is a town.
And each may have its own neighborhoods or villages, further complicating the picture. A town typically has its historic center, even when larger development came later somewhere else within the boundaries – maybe out along the railroad tracks, for instance, or the mills. Note that when you look at maps.
Maine adds a third twist to this model. Much of the state was surveyed into parcels, typically six-by-six-mile squares, that never lived up to expectations, at least in terms of habitation and development. They remain uninhabited, seasonally or year-’round, or lack sufficient population to self-govern themselves.
Here in the Pine Tree State, they’re designated as townships or even plantations, though some do have names or have reverted by necessity from self-rule to management by the state.
Thus, when driving along you might see a highway marker like the one announcing that you’re entering T26 ED BPP.
There are many more signs like this, equally baffling. This one translates as Township 26, Eastern District, Binghams’ Penobscot Purchase. Don’t ask me more, I’m already confused, as I’m sure you are.
There’s even another variation, PLT, for Plantation – and, no, it has nothing to do with fields of cotton or tobacco.
Significantly, more than half of the state is uninhabited. Hard to think of that, considering the urban and suburban density and congestion of so much of the rest of the Northeast.
Somehow, nobody’s counting mosquitos or moose in the equation.
What do you have to explain to others about the political setup of the place you live? Ward politics? The county sheriff? The nut jobs, right or left?
Kinisi 130
spontaneously
brilliant
bare bones
ignition un-
impossible
The ‘shadow Meeting’ extended beyond official members
I’ve long been fascinated by what I’ve come to call the “shadow Meeting” – people who continued to worship as Quakers and uphold many of the values after being “read out of Meeting” for violating its discipline, usually over marriage procedures.
It’s a fact for several generations of my own ancestry in North Carolina.
One place I see it in Dover is with the Varneys.
The patriarch of this prolific Quaker line was Humphrey Varney (1636-1714), a brickmaker who moved to Dover from Ipswich, Massachusetts. He married Sarah Starbuck, widow of Joseph Austin, as her second husband.
After the Dover’s disastrous massacre, their son, Ebenezer Varney (1664-1753), married Mary Otis after her return from captivity, and their son Peter (1666-1732) wed Elizabeth Evans.
After that, well, it seems the Varneys married into all of the other Dover Friends families. Many of them also spread, most notably across Maine.
The family made its imprint on Dover, though I’m not sure how many remained Friends.
Jesse Varney was a morocco shoemaker when his store was consumed in flames in December 1810.
By 1837, Varney’s Block stood at Lower Square on Central Avenue near Washington Street. In 1844, a bigger building was erected.
In 1847, 99-year-old Eunice Varney died. She was the oldest resident and a member of the Society of Friends.
There’s Varney Road, extending Long Hill Road to Blackwater Road. And Varney Cleaners, founded by Fred Varney.
The Varney School on Washington Street, used from 1861 to 1953 and now as law offices, was named in honor of Judge John R. Varney. He died in an 1882 fire that destroyed the Washington Street Baptist Church building.
George Varney was a prominent merchant for more than 40 years and owned a drug store on Washington Street before retiring in 1920 at age 65 and passing the next year. He built a large home on Arch Street in 1913.
John R. Varney was co-owner of two newspapers – the Dover Enquirer, purchased in 1868, and the Dover Daily Republican, acquired in 1880.
My curiosity, of course, wonders how many of the Quaker values continued in their lives, as well as what directions their faith took. I like to think it worked like yeast.
~*~
Check out my new book, Quaking Dover, available in a Nook edition at Barnes & Noble.
Welcome to Dover’s upcoming 400th anniversary.
Still the white emptiness
that or the alternative, boredom, besides, we’ll have the rest of eternity to recover Ahem, amen, what’s this, a partner? or simply another vaporous angel?
Living in sweats
The thought had once appalled me. Like was this the epitome of laziness, that you really didn’t bother to get dressed for the day? Or that perhaps you’d gained so much weight you wanted something that would hang loose rather than accentuate anything?
Skip ahead to retirement and then the Covid shutdown, and I’m having to admit there have been days when I’m living happily in sweats, especially in the depth of a northern New England winter.
Sometimes I even think of it as luxury, not having to venture outdoors.
Oh, what a bum I’ve become kind of feeling!
How do you dress for everyday comfort?
Reflecting on the upcoming Met broadcast season
Each fall, donors to the Support the Met Broadcasts campaign receive a handsome program guide to the upcoming opera season.
I’ve kept mine, going back to 2005, and find they make a fine reference collection regarding both the plots and performers.
My own listening experience goes back to Joan Sutherland’s first role there in late 1961 or ’62. It was exciting, even through all of the AM radio static of the day.
While much of the core repertoire remains the same, there are also new productions and new or rare works, and it’s interesting to see how these are lined up.
What struck me in the new booklet is how few of the singers’ names I recognized.
When I first started listening, the leading performers were celebrities, often household names and gossip column fodder.
It was a tight circle at the top, in this country and in Europe, enhanced by handsome multidisc LP albums.
Think Pavarotti or Callas.
Well, times have changed, as has the focus. The singers are often more musically informed, and they’re required to physically to act and project their roles in sometimes demanding stagecraft. As for the sets and costumes? This is the height of theater.
The amazing thing is how many fine performers there are now, and they’re active far beyond the confines of the Met and its elite sisters.
There’s a similar shift in the conductors. I recognized only six who will be in the pit. The biggest surprise was seeing the Pittsburgh Symphony’s maestro among them, and he’s considered solid but hardly superstar. (Consider that a compliment, by the way.)
What’s significant is that one-fifth of them are women, one leading two separate operas. The cadre is growing.
What’s missing, though, is American-born conductors. They are active on the symphonic scene globally.
The pulp and paper mill in Woodland, Baileyville
Has to be the biggest business employer in Washington County, where jobs that pay well are scarce. Some days, the vapor plumes can be seen miles away, and ditto for the smell. Much of the bundled pulp is shipped from the Cargo Pier in Eastport.
The plant also makes kraft paper and tissue.
Jnana's Red Barn 