AN HOUR OF RECKONING

To wake up one day and sense you’ve built whatever big projects you would – a newspaper, a house or business – from now, the focus would be shorter, more along the lines of maintenance or preservation. What we might now consider middle-age, actually, rather than elderly – and sit back, sip wine on a porch or in the garden. Grandchildren, rather than children, likely. Life, at its crown.

I keep wondering, even though I’m officially retired. For one thing, the income’s short of expectations. For another, there’s so much work remaining. What would it feel like, to finally be caught up?

 

OVERLAPPING TIME AND SPACE IN NEW ENGLAND

When my private-time writing returned to poetry shortly after relocating to New England three decades ago, my attention turned to this unfamiliar place where I was now living. Quite simply, it felt much different than any of my previous locales, and the spirit of specific locations has always been a central concern in my literary ventures.

My personal writing has often been a way for me to assemble thoughts and impressions. In many ways, it’s the way I work through a problem or gain focus on an issue. So when it came to the exercise of looking at my new environment, I soon envisioned a set of poems along the line of a monthly almanac or even a calendar of words rather than color photographs.

I’ve long had a fondness for those large monthly calendars anyway, and by the time I got serious in pushing the almanac, I had a good selection of images to draw from as additional inspiration. Just what images does the region conjure up, anyway?

That’s when New England’s famed Winged Death headstone engravings came into play, and each month began to compress the overlapping centuries this corner of the United States embodies – more so than other parts of the nation, at least.

Winged Death 1New England also has a strong tradition of authority and dissent. The Puritans, after all, came to these shores in their dissent from the Church of England, and Samuel Gorton, Roger Williams, Anne Hutchinson, and their followers in and around Salem, just north of Boston, were soon challenging the Puritan hegemony before being banished, in waves, to Rhode Island. Early Quaker firebrands were soon adding to that upheaval, and that’s included in my spiritual legacy.

What emerged from all this is a craggy, even Baroque, collage that reflects the evolution of the Yankee character in its landscape of harbors and mountains. It’s now available as a free PDF as my latest Thistle/Flinch edition. To read more, click here.

A CLUTCH OF MAPS

One of my favorite passages in all of poetry comes from Howard McCord’s “Longjaunes His Periplus”:

A chest of maps
is a greater legacy
than a case of whisky.

Followed by:

My father left me both.

Like my younger one, I’ve always been fond of maps. My bedroom wall was lined with tacked-up National Geographic charts, which tended to sag in our humid summers.

I was reminded of this the other morning when I was looking for a Boston street map, just in case I lost my bearings. Yes, I could have gone to the maps at Yahoo or Google. Even looked for the satellite views and all of the scary ability to snoop that goes with it. I couldn’t, though, use a GPS, neo-Luddite that I partly remain.

So I opened the drawer and here’s what I found (I won’t give you the years, though many are from the early ’80s):

  • Connecticut.
  • Pennsylvania (Exxon).
  • Seacoast (New Hampshire).
  • Idaho.
  • New Jersey.
  • Sierra Club USA.
  • Pennsylvania (official).
  • AAA USA.
  • Long Island/New York City.
  • Saugus Iron Works.
  • Maine.
  • Historic Bath.
  • Delaware.
  • Audubon Flyways.
  • Walking Tours of Bath.
  • Strafford County.
  • Dover (0ne of a half-dozen varieties).
  • Maudslay State Park in Newburyport, Massachusetts. Has a great stand of mountain laurel overlooking the Merrimack River.
  • University of New Hampshire campus.
  • Museums of Boston.
  • Gonic Trails.
  • Doctors Without Borders global view (two copies).
  • Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
  • Paul Revere House in Boston.
  • Manchester, New Hampshire.
  • Vermont.
  • New Hampshire (one of several varieties).
  • National Geographic the Making of New England and another of Canada.
  • North Cascades.
  • Mount Rainier, including trails.
  • New York City subways (two versions, three maps).
  • Brunswick and neighboring Maine.
  • National Geographic Endangered Earth.
  • Virginia.
  • White Mountains trail guides.
  • Mount Agamenticus.
  • Lamprey River.
  • Pawtuckaway State Park.
  • Trumbull County, Ohio.
  • Baltimore (two versions).
  • Britain and Ireland.
  • Mohegan Island.
  • Historic New England properties.
  • Maryland.
  • Lake Champlain Ferries.
  • Maine State Ferry Service.
  • Ipswich, Massachusetts.
  • Portsmouth-Exeter-Hampton etc.
  • York (Maine) Water District trails.
  • Minute Man National Monument, a series of sites in Massachusetts …
They even take me places I haven't yet been, as well as back to some old favorites. All without leaving the house.
They even take me places I haven’t yet been, as well as back to some old favorites. All without leaving the house.

And that’s before we get to the drawer of topographical maps, especially those from my Cascades years. Or the books and atlases. Or the genealogical maps, Guilford County, especially in those files.

Oh, the memories! And you want to tell me they’re obsolete? Fat chance!

GINGERBREAD LIGHTHOUSE

A small electric candle hangs upside down to illuminate the caramelized window panes of the lamp room. A candy kiss provides an improvised cone to top the lighthouse.
A small electric candle hangs upside down to illuminate the caramelized window panes of the lamp room. A candy kiss provides an improvised cone to top the lighthouse.
The rugged appearance is part of the fun, especially when surrounded by lobsters and sharks. Not that we have sharks in real life ... I prefer to see them as porpoises.
The rugged appearance is part of the fun, especially when surrounded by lobsters and sharks. Not that we have sharks in real life … I prefer to see them as porpoises.

While I’ve never gotten wrapped up in my wife’s fascination with gingerbread houses, my contrarian nature has embraced the idea of making an annual gingerbread LIGHT house, and here’s one result .

For the recipe and the templates, especially if you want to go for fancier results, check out this story, recipe, and assembly directions. (It’s not the only gingerbread lighthouse at Coastal Living, by the way, in case you’re really adventurous.)

The model was based on the Whaleback Light just downriver from us, so I feel it’s an extra special touch. And the gummy lobsters and gummy sharks, along with the candy rocks for the lighthouse wall, were purchased from Yummies just beyond the Kittery Outlet stores. That can be a destination for Maine visitors all in its own.

Inserting the candy rocks into the frosting "mortar" was fun, but let me suggest doing it with the sheets flat, before you erect the walls into place.
Inserting the candy rocks into the frosting “mortar” was fun, but let me suggest doing it with the sheets flat, before you erect the walls into place.
What would Maine be without lobsters?
What would Maine be without lobsters?

REGARDING THE THREE-FINGERED MOUSE

I’m inclined to agree with Bukowski in blaming Disney (with all that “happy, happy, happy”) for America’s problems. Or even the world’s. Not that I’d agree with his solution for escaping them, meaning cigarettes and the bottle or a barroom brawl and violent sex.

You see, I’m uneasy when it comes to “happiness” as a goal or a life’s purpose. There’s too much suffering and oppression around us, after all, and no spiritual unity with the universe can exist by denying that. Still, that’s not to argue we need to be pulled under with its negative impact.

As for “fun”? I see that as a self-defeating destination. Its flipside, we should note, is boredom.

Joy, however, is another matter. It’s central to the message of Jesus, as the 16th chapter of John makes clear.

To that we could add bliss or contentment, not in the sense of denying the upheavals and evil of the world but rather in the dimension of accepting a personal inner peace that allows one to labor in furthering the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

For me, this means learning to be more loving, and that’s a never ending challenge. It’s quite different from being giddy or depressed or self-centered or even blaming, gee, I was at the beginning of this post.

Oops! Back to Square One, once again.

TALKING TO MYSELF IN THE MIRROR OF BLOGGING

Me, topical, timely?

Or just lost in another time warp?

~*~

Put another way, you’ve probably noticed the Red Barn rarely comments on current events. We prefer to take a larger perspective. As for all of the posts on gardening, there’s never an actual recipe. Which reminds me about the remaining kale and Brussels sprouts, being sweetened by the frost. There’s always more to do, isn’t there? Now, where was I?

RISING TO ‘COMPANY FOOD’

Even before sweet potatoes became a trendy go-to thing in health-conscious circles, my wife and I were considering them anew. Not the marshmallow-covered side dish I loved at Grandma’s dinners, but in something less Candy Land. You know, as chips or fries, for starters. Let’s not overlook the basics before moving on to international cuisine.

Still, getting those just right can be tricky, but my wife has been tweaking the details. Let me say, though, they’re good. Very good, indeed.

In fact, sampling the last round, I proclaimed, “These could be company food,” meaning something we keep up our sleeves for those times we’re expecting guests.

“It’s something they probably wouldn’t get regularly,” she agreed.

That, in turn, had us pondering traditional French fries, which Americans seem to find on every restaurant menu.

“People just don’t make those at home anymore. And homemade can be glorious when they’re done right.”

Amen.

Well, that had me remembering Grandma again, this time her deep-fat fryer and the hand-cut fries she used to make and then serve with her homemade ketchup.

Thinking of that and how both would be “gourmet” items today, I had to admit, “We really didn’t appreciate those properly at the time.” Back when we were kids.

Back before McDonald’s. Back when “dining out” often meant the “drive-in,” rather than the “drive-thru.” For the uninitiated, the drive in had waitresses who came to your car.