Unpacking in a new place

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

This year, the Barn’s largely been cleaning up with posts reflecting my two decades in Dover, a span that brought about a culmination in my life. Marriage, children, an active Quaker Meeting, publication of my novels and much poetry, ocean beaches. It was a rich mix and put me on a huge learning curve, thanks in no small part to my brilliant spouse and said kids.

With my latest Big Project wrapping up and heading (I hope) toward release, I’m in a reflective mood. Why not?

Actually, I’m also feeling at loose ends, before a new routine emerges. I’ll look at that another time.

What I’m not feeling is retired, even if I’m not getting dressed for the office every day. Again, we can delve into that in a future post.

It’s also been a year of big transition for me, holding down the fort aka beach house, camp, summer home before the renovations are in progress and then done.

I’ve been having to master cooking again, which has been a lot of fun, considering the expert advice I can get with a simple phone call, and the reality that I’m quite willing to eat the experiments that fail. (So this is what she means when she says …)

A lot of memories have been stirred up in the process.

Sometimes Eastport reminds me of Port Townsend, Washington, back in the late ‘70s, where Puget Sound collides into the Strait of San Juan de Fuco. It was both a working fishing town and an arts center. And memories, too, of my second Summer of Love, not that coupling was part of the equation here but rather all the chance new introductions.

Downsides?

There’s no nightlife to speak of here, apart from the occasional play or concert. Post-Covid fully, we’ll likely be back to dancing and singing and classic films. And an absence of a number of other things, as I’ll explain sometime in the future.

OK, I do wish our IGA grocery were a Trader Joe’s, and less pricy, but it’s still more varied than an Aldi, at least in summer, when there are far more people in town. We’re way too small for a Market Basket, even if that frugal New England chain ever gets up this far along the New England coast. Practicalities do intrude.

With most of our possessions in storage for now, I’m feeling rather liberated in my spare surroundings. There are days when I wish a certain book or recording were at hand, but I’ve been busy enough to let that pass. We’ll see how much longer that continues.

Admitting the place of geography in a piece

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Much of my literary writing has attempted to capture the unique sense of particular landscapes, sometimes to the extent that the locale becomes a character of its own. Serious wine drinkers might see this as a matter of terroir, meaning distinctive local flavor.

In my novel What’s Left, I tried to avoid this touchstone but wound up developing the neighborhood around the family restaurant anyway.

In placing it in a college town in southern Indiana, I created an inside joke all the same. If you’re familiar with the region, you’ll know the Ohio River is much more than an hour from Indianapolis. The college town where she lives is defined by both, and thus in a site uniquely its own. If only it actually existed!

Still, I think the flavor is right.

~*~

I know I’m not alone here.

Tell me of a favorite book or movie where you think the location becomes a character in its own right. Let’s make this a long list!

~*~

There’s nothing quite like an American diner in Paris …

Greatly appreciated gifts in my life

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment
  1. 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.
  2. Electronics support, including an external speaker for my laptop and a smartphone.
  3. 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.
  4. Wool socks and other clothing. Yes, they are appreciated.
  5. Lenses. My camera and fine binoculars. Plus a microscope, back when. Think it came from the Sears catalog.
  6. Martini glasses. It’s a joke in our household. Oh, yes, the hand-carved olive skewer.
  7. Indoor pool swim pass. Something I used almost daily.
  8. 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.
  9. Ceramic vase with a “frog” to hold a flower stem. It’s a great way to admire a single bloom close-up.
  10. 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

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

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.

Each blade weighs 1½ tons, even though it appears svelte.

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.

The hub stands 382 feet above the ground – that’s more than the length of a football field – and the blade tips reach to 585 feet.

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?

A tractor-trailer rig could easily be parked in the gearbox or “cabin” attached to the hub.

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.

Sometimes they seem to play peek-a-boo as you drive.

If you’re getting toward the finish line with NaNoWriMo, just remember

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

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

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

Since the ground isn’t frozen, this will melt off quickly. But it’s what greeted us when we woke up this morning.

Someone had already been out walking the dog.

 

Our neighbor doesn’t pick her semi-wild apples but leaves them for the deer. At the moment, they look like ornaments.

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!