Along Maine Route 9, the “Airline Highway,” Washington County.
White supremacy was there all along
Maintaining a unique group identity can be perilous, no matter how necessary.
The necessity side, at its best, has to do with trying to make progress, improve justice and physical comfort, live healthier, counter the corrosive forces of status quo and lethargy, be smarter, and so on. Put it any way you want, things in general could be better, and even thinking something like that will set you apart from the status quo of broader society.
On the other hand, humans are social animals. We need others as family, friends, colleagues, cohorts. We even need them to share our stories, histories, songs, and place on this earth. Relax, right?
It’s a complex calculus, then, around the world.
What I started to see in researching my book on a Quaker community in New England, though, was a blatant arrogance within the Puritan wave of immigration. I suspect similar sides are apparent in the Spanish settlers to the south or the French to the north, or, well, back in the Old World, all the way to China. Even one tribe over another.
I’m trying to look at this clearly.
The English, of course, knew they were superior to the French, who I gather saw it the other way around. (Insert proper expletive and spit appropriately.) And they were both superior to the Spanish or Portuguese or Italians, according to this scenario.
Germans? Not really on the scene in earliest settlement in America, far as I can tell, though the Dutch of New Netherlands add their own twist.
Remember, the English also looked down on the Scots and Irish, as well as the Welsh and Cornish.
Sounds to me like the old game, King of the Hill.
The comedian Eddie Izzard has an insightful riff on this where he says it all comes down to a flag. If you have no flag, you have no claim to your country or land. So, here, I’ll stick mine in the ground and this place is mine.
That does make for a short ride on the papal Doctrine of Discovery. Look it up, if you must.
What I’ve seen in my research is how this air of superiority made equitable dealings between the Europeans and the Indigenous peoples impossible. There was no eye-to-eye even exchange. Even the concept of farming was viewed as more productive, and thus superior, than the Native hunting and gathering use of a piece of land.
Well, I could argue that God preferred a wild-game offering over grain in Cain vs. Abel, Genesis chapter 4.
You know, quality over quantity.
As for equality? We have our guns and Bibles.
Which points to another distinction: written language. I’m a writer and a reader. You expect me to not take sides here?
Still, in the New England story, the English weren’t shy about labeling the Natives as “barbarians,” “savages,” and “heathens.” Never mind many of the practices of the English and French, who not only offered bounties on scalps – Native and the other side’s European – but also indulged in the practice themselves. As for heathen? For the Puritans, with their Calvinist inclination of proclaiming themselves God’s Elect, most other Christians were also lumped in that group, perhaps at a slightly lesser degree.
Many of the consequences, however, have been tragic, for all sides.
In some theology, pride is a sin, right? Ahem. (Hopefully, in contrast to justifiable self-esteem.)
Well, as some among us might note, I’m proud to be a humble Quaker. Not that we didn’t fall into that trap of feeling superior, too.
There’s plenty of work for all to do on this issue. I’ll leave my end of the discussion at that, for now.
‘Nine-to-five’ rarely fits what I saw
I used to be surprised by all the working-age adults on the street and in stores on weekdays, not just housewives, but now more likely the invisible off-hours employees on the job nights and weekends, especially at minimum wage in a 24/7 economy.
Not that I was that much on that schedule, either. I mean, I was working nights and weekends.
Think, too, of all those who work holidays – police, fire, nurses, ER personnel, toll-booth collectors, air traffic controllers, bus-train-plane-airport staffers, restaurants, convenience store, even grocery and pharmacy, plus journalists, entertainers, utility line, gas station attendants, theater crews.
The 9-to-5 bit starts to look spoiled. Besides, an 8 o’clock start was more likely, to allow for a lunch break.
Not every dawn here is spectacular
Some are much cloudier than this.
Looking at all of the artistry around here
I suspect that for artists the biggest point of painting and drawing anything in this locale becomes an exercise in observing the amazing natural phenomena.
That, too, becomes the reason for many others to purchase the resulting efforts and take them home as something much more than a souvenir.
Can you ever anticipate where you’ll wander in a dream?
WE’RE ON A TOUR BUS, coming down along the Northwest coast. The scenery is gorgeous, with the blazing orange light of late afternoon among swirling clouds. We cross a long bridge into America – the Columbia, I first think, though I can see little below or beyond – we come to a kind of Sturbridge Village of the Far West sort, debark briefly. I look up to see in the parting clouds a chevron of mountain peaks. I identify them, with Baker and Shuskin and the baby in front, but the clouds close over before you can view them, though you try.
Only days before, I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d want to travel.
SEVERAL TIMES IN THE NIGHT, I encountered Abraham Lincoln’s Best Friend. Maybe not completely, but at least close to it, probably from his New Salem days. A storekeeper of some sort, maybe a printer with the shop “out back,” at least the action appeared to be in the other room. He greeted me / us across a rough plank counter, had some Blacks working behind him. With impassioned, watery eyes kept trying to tell me / us about a meeting or gathering for later that night, but carefully, not to be overheard by spies. The general plight, fear in the air.
I’M OUT DRIVING ON SOME CURVING rural roads I once knew. Take a turn to the left. Somehow, I wind up returning to the Ashram for a visit. From the circle, Swami addresses me by my street name, obviously a rebuke, and then asks, “What are you doing here? Why did you come?” Obviously, there will be no satisfactory answer. I wind up leaving.
Since it’s a vacation, I stay overnight elsewhere. Find there’s a public evening performance on the street. It’s an Ashram presentation from the Mahabharata; Swami, seeing me, is quite upset, shoots darts. I get the picture, and leave – realize as I’m going she’s still entangled.
Back to some obsessive binge viewing
The rest of the family keeps trying to get me to spend more time at the digital big screen they put in our parlor. Not that it’s anywhere near the Black Wall of Death I’ve seen elsewhere in our midst. Admittedly, winter can be a long emotional struggle in this remote fishing village, and for much of it, I’ve been alone in our toehold here. Even as a writer’s retreat, those depths can be a challenge.
As an additional aside, let me admit I’ve always been more of a “radio guy” rather than TV, one skewered toward classical, opera, jazz, and folk music at the more esoteric edge of the dial.
Now, as I must confess, their push has led to some binge viewing, as if I even knew the term previously. Being able to stream programming does make a huge difference in the selections. Maybe this is what I get in a remarriage that has made everything (and kept everyone) younger except me.
And yet, I hate to confess, much of what I’ve viewed has even been extraordinarily fine writing, acting, and production.
The latest round they’ve introduced me to, though, might be considered slumming. It’s the so-called reality show Project Runway in its several incarnations.
The appeal is puzzling. I’m anything but a fashionable guy, despite my personal flair. And I’m definitely counter-consumerism, even in the face of the TV series’ shameless appendage to the clothing industry and the lingering impact of “brand placement”.
But I do understand having to work against a deadline, with little or no time for correction. That’s the daily news biz where I made my career, for one thing. The idea of having to create quickly within limits and obstacles also resonates, even or more commonly on a low budget. Oh, yes, do look to newspaper newsrooms for that. Besides, as the series demonstrates, the reasons an editor or a reader or a fashion judge goes for a certain work or rejects it outright is another connection for me. For that reason, I do love the insights into a decision, even when I’m vocally objecting to the outcome.
Many facets of the Project Runway series deeply bother me, even offend. Much of the judging is blatantly biased and a strand of cruelty is engrained in the series, yet overall, what remains is addictive.
I think that the center of that is the fact that within the creative process, fashion creates something that is more concrete on video than say a poem, a dinner, or a string quartet.
As a male, I see that there’s far more to wear than long pants or shorts, or an oxford dress shirt versus a T-shirt. You know, a very limited range. As for neckties? I doubt most young men even know how to tie one today, something that was a requirement for employment in many careers in the past.
There are glimpses into the much wider range of decisions women face, but even that soon hits barriers, as we find in the the show’s focus on women’s wear, still largely in the realm of dresses.
As for the line between “fashion” and “costume” or just “clothes”? Or “youthful” and “juvenile”? If the labels were more definable, this could be educational.
Beyond that, some of the young designers become fascinating characters in their own right.
Fortunately, my binge viewing’s moving out a bit with “Shrinking,” “Community,” or the quirky, original, rough-edged, and hard-to-follow “Reservation Dogs,” which almost puts Oklahoma just one town over from us. Or some other series that should be back soon with more episodes.
Don’t I have better things to do in my “spare” time? Or, for that matter, others in my now scattered family?
Comfort food I crave
Open-face hot turkey sandwich at a great diner-style eatery in Mexico, Maine.
What’s high on your comfort food list?
When we’re havin’ a heat wave
When the temperatures around here start inching into the 60s, the locals complain of a heat wave. Seriously.
Well, maybe complain is too negative, but they are vocal.
Convertibles will have been cruising around with their tops down for some time, at least when it’s not raining. Or maybe not.
I even saw some tables on the Old Sow restaurant’s outdoor deck blithely occupied at night when the temps sat in the lower 40s.
I won’t even mention the guys who go around all winter in shorts.
This definitely ain’t California, Texas, or ‘specially Florida.
How does seasonal change kick in where you are?
Some related history books I’d like to see
Assuming they’re well written.
- A biography of Sir Ferdinando Gorges. He was the godfather of New England, after all, but failed to fulfill his dream.
- Ditto for father and son Alexander and Nicholas Shapleigh (especially the trials of being royalists as the Puritans and their commonwealth emerged).
- Especially a bio of Major Richard Waldron in all of his shenanigans. He made much of Dover a personal fiefdom and ignited decades of warfare that followed his death.
- How early colonial economics really worked. Start with the charter holders who “owned” the province but not the land.
- A clearer understanding of Puritans, Unitarians, and Baptists, especially as they evolved within New England.
- A closer examination of the Dover Meeting minutes, especially the Revolutionary War disciplinary actions as well as more on the recorded ministers and elders.
- Hampton Meeting and Salem Meeting … and a comprehensive history of New England Yearly Meeting and its Friends.
- Devonshire folkways and ways its Puritans may have deviated from those …
- How the four towns differed, then and now.
- Dover in its textile mill glory days.
For my own contributions to the field, see Quaking Dover. Order your copy at your favorite bookstore. Or request it at your public library.
Jnana's Red Barn 