Hello, readers!

I’m excited to announce that my lineup of ebooks is available as part of a promotion on Smashwords for the month of July as part of their Annual Summer/Winter Sale. This is a chance to get my novels, poetry collections, and Quaker volumes, along with volumes from many other indy authors, at a discount so you can get right to reading. Some of mine are even free, as you’ll see.

The sale begins today, so save the link:
https://www.smashwords.com/shelves/promos/

Please share this promo with friends and family. You can even forward the news to the avid readers in your life.

Thank you for your help and support.

And happy summer reading!

Dealing a new deck, just for fun

While awaiting the delivery of the windows for the front upstairs – once we had definitely decided on their size and placement – Adam turned to one of our optional side projects, redoing the back deck.

The ramp leading to it was becoming a safety hazard, and the existing deck was tiny and sinking.

The replacement and steps are a huge advance.

The windows arrived, and that put a hold on the bigger plan, for a lower deck on two sides below. It would be one way to keep Eastport’s red ants at bay when we’re dining outdoors, as well as less lawn to mow. Pluses on both counts, right?

Would Adam get back to it before the ground froze? We were facing a time crunch, and the interior was the priority, followed by the cedar shake siding.

~*~

Coincidentally, we found a mason who was able to get to repairing the top of our chimney – it really was in precarious shape – and touching up the exterior of our foundation. We wound up with a layer of supporting cover compound, too.

Our plumber had also installed three outdoor spigots and removed the one we previously had. It was leaking badly anyway and was on the side of the house where it was least useful.

Progress was taking place, just not always of the most noticeable sort.

Anyone else taking notes in an art gallery or museum?

I’m not sure when the practice started in my own life, but somewhere it did.

Typically, in a first visit to an art museum, I’ll move along quickly to get a sense of the fuller collection. In the returns, however, I’ve become more inclined to sit down in front of a particular piece or even a full wall or room and then more fully immerse myself in particular pieces, usually while the rest of our party roves on. Yes, I’m with notebook in hand.

Those scribblings have led to poems, especially those in which Norman Rockwell and Gertrude Stein appear commenting, somewhat like poet Lew Welch’s Buddhist Red Monk who kept popping up at the bottom of the page. I’m not quite sure how they showed up, either, but there they are, as you’ll find in recent entries at my Thistle Finch editions blog.

Let me repeat that I’m generally averse to poems about poetry or celebrating poets or that somehow place artists of any stripe above the rest of humanity, ditto that for movie stars or professional athletes or billionaires or politicians. We do need our heroes, but I’m convinced that it’s healthy to keep their human frailties and shortcomings in perspective.

In that regard, I do believe we artists need to keep our vision beyond our studio door. Anything less strikes me as incest, even for an interdisciplinary addict like me. It’s why I refuse to respond to political pollsters. Go ask somebody on the street, OK?

Still, I made the central character in my Freakin’ Free Spirits novels a photographer. Even having him make a living by working at a newspaper was skirting my taboos.

~*~

The term “ekphrasis” defines poems that describe visual artworks though it can be applied more broadly. Sometimes the results are admirable, as exemplified in music by Gunther Schuller’s “Seven Studies on Themes of Paul Klee” or Modest Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition.”

~*~

Lately, I’ve become quite fond of the Alex Katz galleries at Colby College, not just because he almost collected a painting by my first wife. Rather, I sense something in the plainness of his depicted figures and where I’d like my own work to head. It’s stripping something down to essentials.

We’ll see.

~*~

For Rockwell and Stein, take a look at at Thistle Finch editions. For Freakin’ Free Spirits, look for the four novels 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. They novels are also available in paper and Kindle at Amazon, or you can ask your local library to obtain them.

Where else can we jointly examine our deepest values and ideals?

Allow me to restate my argument that religion is important, along with a confession that in too many ways, at too many times, its proponents have betrayed its radical promise and its progressive direction, whatever their professed faith.

At its best, religion gives us individually and collectively a place to examine our hopes, dreams, and possibilities of a healthier, more justful, and more harmonious world. In short, moral and ethical guidelines. It can also provide the necessary foundation of community for pursuing and nurturing that goal.

Some of the sharpest critics of its practice at worst are prophets found in the Bible.

To see some examples of how that worked within the Quaker movement, visit my blog, As Light Is Sown.

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.