Who pulled the plug?
Author: Jnana Hodson
In downsizing to a remote fishing village in Downeast Maine, this eclectic writer feels everything's coming together.
In the end
Contributor’s notes often read like obituaries.
Greatly appreciated gifts in my life
- A squirrel-proof bird feeder. So this one becomes a gift for the birds, too, while greatly amusing us as we watch the furry tales in their frustration.
- Electronics support, including an external speaker for my laptop and a smartphone.
- Recordings and books. Even two exquisite journals from Venice! One year I got a big collection of CDs spanning the New York Philharmonic’s history, while another was CD copies of some of the earliest wax recordings. One gift was even Max Rudolf’s book, The Grammar of Conducting, along with a real baton.
- Wool socks and other clothing. Yes, they are appreciated.
- Lenses. My camera and fine binoculars. Plus a microscope, back when. Think it came from the Sears catalog.
- Martini glasses. It’s a joke in our household. Oh, yes, the hand-carved olive skewer.
- Indoor pool swim pass. Something I used almost daily.
- Revels workshop, where I learned I could sing with the pros. Led me to become a charter member of the Revels Singers chorus in Boston.
- Ceramic vase with a “frog” to hold a flower stem. It’s a great way to admire a single bloom close-up.
- A mummy sleeping bag, still in use 45 years later. Yes, I know they make them lighter today, but this one has memories.
~*~
What gifts do you treasure?
Running on the wind
One sight always catches our breath as we drive Route 9 across what sometimes feels like the fringe of civilization as we’ve known it. And, for the uninitiated, the state highway from Bangor to Calais can become pretty monotonous in its long uninhabited stretches. As they say, make sure you have a full tank of fuel before you tackle it.
On a clear day, from a dozen miles away you might catch glimpses of a corner of the windfarms on Weaver Ridge and adjoining hills in Hancock County – I’ve counted at least 30 towers before the road dips away – but there are more tucked away in the high terrain. Still, nothing can prepare you for that first flash of the big blades turning gently in the air right in front of your face, or so it seems.
They dance gracefully – sometimes as a solo, then as a pair, or four. You spot them to your left but they suddenly show up on your right – the roadway twists along the slope. As those slip behind you, more giants rise above the hedge of forest. And all too soon, you’ve moved on.
The towers and their blades are bigger than you’d suspect. In fact, at the moment, they’re the tallest wind-powered electrical generators onshore in America, though much larger ones are projected for offshore installation.
Wind generation accounts for nearly a third of the electrical production in Maine, though the state also imports a fourth of its electricity from Canada, largely Hydro Quebec.
I am baffled by the “not-in-my-backyard” opponents to similar windfarms. They still want energy for their computers and refrigerators and lighting, right?
As if these “spoil the view”? I find them mesmerizing, even enhancing as a kind of sculpture and a reminder of the currents in the air itself. They definitely look better than a toxic oil refinery – and there’s no awful smell. For that matter, they strike me as much more attractive than a television transmitter or cell phone tower as a hilltop crown. And they do remind us of the charming Dutch windmills in a much smaller scale.
The latest installation, 22 Vesta towers and turbines, cost $150 million and went into full operation earlier this year.
Kinisi 83
skateboard have hands bags
Acorn bells
If you’re getting toward the finish line with NaNoWriMo, just remember
The first draft is for yourself, as a writer. You want to see where this idea goes. And a book-length manuscript in just a month is a mental marathon, often through uncharted terrain.
The revisions are more for the reader. You really have to lead them through what had been tangles.
Sometimes that includes you. Just in case you were wondering what to do with your next 11 months.
Our first significant snow of the season
Since the ground isn’t frozen, this will melt off quickly. But it’s what greeted us when we woke up this morning.
My first exposure to a winter of heavy snowfall started off the day after Thanksgiving and continued, with one melting around Groundhog Day, until nearly Palm Sunday. That was Upstate New York, with around 130 inches of snow total.
The stories I could tell since!
Holy granola, honey
the summer I thought we’d vacation out West we instead moved there to a new workplace just as I’ve dreamed the parking brake won’t hold the car in place some things don’t change that much and once again, there goes our hard-earned cushion, this time, six steps later, it’s New England and a more faithful spouse, all the same, just as we paid off the barn-repair loan, I was mistaken to think I saw the end coming
Also worthy of note
School teachers in the classroom aren’t the only instructors I’ve had in life. Some have definitely been mentors, others more guides, even in passing, and then there were crucial colleagues.
Here’s a sampling:
- Scoutmaster Bob: He loved nature with a childlike awe while insisting on the Old Way when it came to camping and hiking. The lessons made me far more independent in the coming years.
- Joel: An ambitious youth pastor who made room for a lost adolescent. I learned a lot about politics from him.
- Gene and Doris: A girlfriend’s parents who raised my vision beyond my side of town and its status in life.
- Marcy: Ace photojournalist who heightened my appreciation of masterful image and its graphic arts presentation. Her photos had a distinct style. And eventually she won a Pulitzer.
- Kurt: Two Buckeyes discovering the wonders of the Cascades at the same time. He had his own way with a camera, too, as well as an editor.
- Howard and Myrtle: Opened the Bible to me in a personal way.
- Bill and Fran: They helped me bridge my intellectual world with the Wilburite Quaker tradition.
- Bob and Ruby: The central Mennonites in my theological and choral music expansion in my Baltimore years.
- Jack and Sarah: Originals in more ways than one, in their leap from tenured university positions to Old Order dairy farmers. Her gentle touch as an elder touch was a blessing in a difficult personal time.
- Paul: The other Quaker in my mostly Mennonite circle and a fine musician, to boot. We were two bachelors trying to navigate a social scene safely.
Jnana's Red Barn 