A French priest had a different perspective on early Maine

In my research for the book that became Quaking Dover, I became more knowledgeable about what emerged as northern New England.

There was the attempted English settlement, Popham, at the mouth of the Kennebec River in 1607-1608, of course, which had a direct line to the project that settled Dover in 1623.

But the French also had their own perspectives and influences on the region, as is seen in the English raids on the village of Norridgewock upstream. Because the Jesuit missionary Sebastian Rale had established a Roman Catholic church, the French considered the settlement a French village on par with places like Castine, even though apart from Rale, the inhabitants were Abenaki.

That settlement was destroyed in 1705 by 275 New England militiamen headed by New Hampshire’s Winthrop Hilton, the second son of Dover founder Edward Hilton. This was during what the English called Queen Anne’s War, which the French termed the Second Intercolonial War.

It was attacked and destroyed again in 1724, leaving Rale among the slain, as part of Dummer’s or Father Rale’s War, as the English called it. From the French point of view, he was a martyr. The English colonists saw him as a villain who had led deadly raids further to the south.

Both events happened during what we are more likely to know as the French and Indian wars, not that the French or the Natives used that label.

~*~

More recently I came across a long letter from the French Jesuit Pierre Biard in Port Royal in today’s Nova Scotia to his superior in Paris in 1612.

Here are some highlights related to what would emerge as Maine.

~*~

And in truth it would be much better if we were more earnest workers here for Our Lord, since sailors, who form the greater part of our parishioners are ordinarily quite deficient in any spiritual feeling, having no sign of religion except in their oaths and blasphemies, nor any knowledge of God beyond the simplest conceptions which they bring with them from France, clouded with licentiousness and the cavilings and revilings of heretics. Hence it can be seen what hope there is of establishing a flourishing Christian church by such evangelists. The first things the poor Savages learn are oaths and vile and insulting words; and you will often hear the women Savages (who otherwise are very timid and modest), hurl vulgar, vile, and shameless epithets at our people, in the French language; not that they know the meaning of them, but only because they see that when such words are used there is generally a great deal of laughter and amusement. And what remedy can there be for this evil in men whose abandonment to evil-speaking (or cursing) is as great as or greater than their insolence in showing their contempt?

~*~

At these Christian services which we conduct here at the settlement, the savages are occasionally present, when some of them happen to be at the port. I say, occasionally, inasmuch as they are but little trained in the principles of the faith — those who have been baptized, no more than the heathen; the former, from lack of instruction, knowing but little more than the latter. This was why we resolved, at the time of our arrival, not to baptize any adults unless they were previously well catechized. Now in order to catechize we must first know the language [Algonquin]. …

Rude and untutored as they are, all their conceptions are limited to sensible and material things; there is nothing abstract, internal, spiritual, or distinct. … And as to all the virtues you may enumerate to them, wisdom, fidelity, justice, mercy, gratitude, piety, and others, these are not found among them at all except as expressed in the words happy, tender love, good heart. Likewise, they will name to you a wolf, a fox, a squirrel, a moose, and so on to every kind of animal they have, all of which are wild, except the dog; but as to words expressing universal and generic ideas, such as beast, animal, body, substance, and the like, these are altogether too learned for them.

~*~

[Regarding one convert:] Even before his conversion he never cared to have more than one living wife, which is wonderful, as the great sagamores of this country maintain a numerous seraglio, no more through licentiousness than through ambition, glory and necessity; for ambition, to the end that they may have many children, wherein lies their power; for fame and necessity, since they have no other artisans, agents, servants, purveyors or slaves than the women; they bear all the burdens and toil of life.

~*~

All night there was continual haranguing, singing and dancing, for such is the kind of life all these people lead when they are together. Now as we supposed that probably their songs and dances were invocations to the devil, to oppose the power of this cursed tyrant, I had our people sing some sacred hymns, as the Salve, the Ave Maris Stella, and others. But when they once got into the way of singing, the spiritual songs being exhausted, they took up others with which they were familiar.

~*~

Then our people were sure they were captured, and there was nothing but cries and confusion. Monsieur de Biancourt has often said and said again, that several times he had raised his arm and opened his mouth to strike the first blow and to cry out, “Kill, kill,” but that somehow the one consideration that restrained him was that I was outside, and if they came to blows, I was lost. God rewarded him for his good-will by saving not only me but also the whole crew. For, as all readily acknowledge at this hour, if any foolish act had been committed, none of them would ever have escaped, and the French would have been condemned forever all along the coast.

~*~

At the confluence of these two rivers [today’s Castine], there was the finest assemblage of savages that I have yet seen. There were 80 canoes and a boat, 18 wigwams, and about 300 people.

~*~

Do note that in most accounts I’ve encountered, the French are seen as far more sympathetic to the Indigenous peoples than were the English.

Mackerel by the bucket

Yes, I’ve long known the explicative, “Holy mackerel!” but have never gone beyond that until moving to Eastport, where it’s commonly fished from the Breakwater pier. Previous postings here at the Barn reflect that.

That said.

  1. It’s a small fish (around here, less than a foot long), oily like salmon, and to my eyes quite pretty.
  2. For those casting with a rod and reel, it’s caught with four to six hooks on a line, on a good day all of them emerging from the water fully loaded.
  3. Much of the haul here is either thrown back, as sport, or kept as bait for lobsters, or eaten smoked, pickled, or cooked fresh. Otherwise, mackerel don’t keep long. They’re bony, FYI, so they need to be fileted expertly.
  4. Oily? They’re rich in healthy omega-3 fatty oils, a plus when it comes to cholesterol control. And, thanks to that oil, their beautiful scales do stick to the human touch. Oh, and the fish are low in dreaded mercury.
  5. They exist in many species around the globe and are high on the menu of larger fishes.
  6. They breed near the surface of the water, with a female releasing between 300,000 and a million-and-a-half eggs that float free in the open sea.
  7. Ours travel in dense schools, roiling the water above.
  8. They’re fun and easy to catch, from what I’ve seen, and a great target for young and new anglers. There is no size limit, harvest limit is 20 a day per person, no license required except in interior waters, however that’s defined.
  9. They’re related to tuna and bonito. (Now we’re talking.)
  10. There’s an art in the cast and in the jigging of the line while reeling it in.

Looking for the pearls

When I first began reading contemporary poetry (for pleasure, independent of classroom assignment), I often sensed the poem existed as a single line or two, with the rest of the work as window dressing.

Now I read the Psalms much the same way, for the poem within the poem, or at least the nugget I’m to wrestle with on this occasion. Psalm 81, for instance, has both the “voice in thunder” and “honey from rock.” What exactly are those in my own experience?

We did revise the design while underway

Maybe it was a good thing that we didn’t have too much detail in the CAD design we ordered from a local lumberyard. Initially, that was a miscommunication between our contractor and us, plus a looming deadline for a building permit.

The upshot was that as we watched the space open, our vision transformed. We saw new possibilities.

The first big one opted for cathedral ceilings in the four bedrooms. No big problem, said Adam.

Also, we wanted to leave the charred exterior rafters visible in the two back bedrooms. They were evidence of the 1886 downtown fire that started on the waterfront just below our house. They also reflect the original roofline, which we had now raised. And they were dramatic.

Alas, once we realized how labor-intensive (i.e., costly) keeping that touch visible would be, we opted to forgo it.

In another change, the windows in the bathroom and laundry room went from transom-style to narrow vertical.

The ceiling in the upstairs hallway was originally going to be flat, but we liked the feel of having it follow the roofline. Classy.

In the two front bedrooms, the width of the two side roofline panels was halved when we saw how much the original, aligned to the old dormers, really confined the rooms. The purpose of the panels was to keep a sense of the original profile of the house as seen from the street.  What we wound up with does the job.

Note the way the loft over the neighboring closet makes the ceiling look even airier. The slope of the original Cape roof doesn’t run bluntly into that wall.

After that, the windows in the front two bedrooms went from spaced apart to being placed together, centered between the two pairs of windows below.

And there were some big tweaks in closet arrangements between bedrooms. The two smaller bedrooms got larger closets while the two bigger bedrooms got open loft above those.

As I’ve said, none of the bedrooms wound up looking like rectangular boxes with holes for windows punched in.

We did encounter so many unanticipated details. Things like molding, the placement of light switches, even the door latches – you usually open them with your right hand, it turns out. I’d never thought about it. How about you?

~*~

Did we see things an architect wouldn’t? I like to think so.

Working ‘in series’ came as a big breakthrough

One of the artistic ideals in my life originated in the fantastic illustrations by Inuit craftsmen as they expressed the world they inhabit. Perhaps you’ve seen some of their calendars exhibiting owls, seals, the sun itself, and the like.

As I was told by the couple who introduced me to the Inuit works, an artist in the tradition does a subject just once, at least in the position or perspective that results. A bear, for instance, might be shown standing, but only once. If a bruin shows up again, it would be fishing or lumbering along or maybe paired. Each appearance, though, must be unique. There were still plenty of ducks, geese, walruses, whales, and other Inuit – hunters, mothers, and children – remaining for close examination, even in their Arctic environment.

The husband who told me this, let me add, was a coauthor of the Alaska constitution who had some acquaintance with the ecosystem. He had grown up at its southern edge, northern Washington state.

After more than two decades with that as a guideline, I faced a conundrum as I tried to assemble my own poems for submission as a competition for a chapbook – a booklet, essentially. A book needs to flow from start and middle to an end with some sense of continuity. My one offering that had that, American Olympus, had a received a provisional acceptance from a prominent press that later rescinded, claiming a cut in their grant funding. And my other pieces hopped, skipped, and jumped from one setting to another – if only I had been able to remain in one setting long enough for continuity in their completion.

Beyond that, my own life had moved on, providing me a lode of new material to draw upon. That’s when I turned to the idea of theme and variations, a major element of the classical music I so love and also big in jazz as improvisation. What hit me, especially, was Ted Brautigan’s sonnets from the ‘60s. They were essentially three poems, reworked over and over, into a full and very stunning collection.

I took that as my springboard into two intense weeks – while working fulltime as a newspaper editor – of reworking raw notes of loved desire that had incinerated into what you can read as Braided Double-Cross – a set that was rejected by the jurors in a competition based in its principal subject’s hometown. Maybe it was too intense. The poems are searing.

The night I finished drafting the 60 poems, I should note, I went out to dinner and have no idea how much I tipped the server. I was thoroughly exhausted, not just emotionally. Not that I remember of the meal I devoured.

Love really can be such a bitch. At least it still is with me, no matter how much she wonders why I still worship the one who continues in my life.

~*~

For now, let’s turn to the question of what makes a poetry collection “hang together”? In contrast to an assembly from my “best work,” however sporadic.

For perspective, also consider my aversion to series in fiction, where I’ve seen too many series as the same book done over and over with a few tweaks, even if that has led to way too many bestsellers. Yet I’ve gone back to my novels and reworked them to create linkage from one to the next, at least in two separate series. What I think now separates mine from most series is that none of my novels is a carbon copy of any of the others. Mine do, in contrast, represent a sequencing of growth from one to the other. In that way, they create one longer epic rather than imitative episodes like a TV sitcom.

Still, what is it that draws you back to a particular author, book after book?

~*~

I think now of the observation that an author’s next book springs from what was left unsaid in the volume published just before it. That point resonates and returns us to the question of how does an author know when a work’s finished.

Regardless, I’ve definitely done much more in the vein of “series” since completing the first.

~*~

You can find Braided Double-Cross and more in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. You can also ask your public library to obtain it.

Highest with lows

What was the best year of your life and how did it look?

Pondering the possibilities for my most perfect year, I see how much even the best was tainted.

’72, I had the high of the ashram but it involved going through a lot of psychological muck and growth to get there. See Yoga Bootcamp for the parallels.

’73 was the whirlwind with my future wife, but I was laboring at subsistence pay, at best. See Nearly Canaan for the parallels.

’83 encompassed both my divorce and an exhilarating engagement with the young cellist who promised to be The One. It was also crushed in long workdays as a shirtsleeves manager in a newsroom, no matter how engaging I found the challenge professionally.

’86, I was deeply ensconced in a self-awarded sabbatical, but generally loveless. The core of my fiction was drafted in this period, and my circle of friends included Mennonites and my introduction to part-singing.

’99, the excitement of the ultimate woman in my life, as well as our frustrations in trying to find a home we could afford along with some emotional upheavals at the office.

2021, my exile to Eastport in what became a heavenly writer’s retreat, resulting in the publication of Quaking Dover the next year. It did mean being apart from my family and friends back in Dover for much of the time, but included exploring the fantastic outdoors of the waters and woodlands around me as well as the artistic stimulation of my new community.

So here I am now, with what’s turning into the home of my dreams in the sunset of this life.

Add to my once idealistic expectations, there was this

My goal of having our family operating on a Quaker Meeting decision-making process.

Yes, trying to find concesus with young children in the house. We’re all on board, right?

Let’s just say I failed here. My, was a naïve when I jumped in as a stepdad in my mid-50s!

Not just because of a rebellious younger member, whom I deeply adore. But also because of the parent/adult dynamics and tensions.

No doubt, I pictured myself as the clerk, that is moderator. The mother, however, is what the one in the movie My Fat Greek Wedding Declared, the throat, ultimately rules.

Saint Paul should stand fully corrected regarding the head of the household. The mother’s is great theology.

Just how are decisions really made in families? I’d love to listen in on the discussions.