
Right, Winnie

You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

My wife’s long dreamed of living on an island and had come close to making that a reality. She’s still pained by the way that came apart, back before she met me. Well, indirectly it’s a reason we came together.
So here we are, finally with a destination that’s technically an island, one connected to the mainland by a causeway rather than a ferry.
As for me, Downeast Maine – the lands and waters east of fashionable Acadia and Bar Harbor – reminds me of the Far West, with its long distances to anywhere, the wilds and wildlife, and opportunities to explore nature. But our destination also has a lively arts scene, one that reminds me of Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula, back in the early ’80s.
Leaving the Pacific Northwest crushed a passion and way of life, something I’m feeling rekindled in this new setting.
No, it’s not Alaska or the coast of British Columbia and there are no glacier-glad mountains, but the vibe’s right. For that matter, I’m not up for that degree of isolation in my life at this stage.
Somehow, though, this is exciting.
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For us, it’s not quite as simple as packing everything onto a boat and landing at a new dock.
Instead, we’re relocating in stages, eventually merging two households into one. Two households with barns, to an old Cape without one.
Whatever we keep will be strategic, for sure. And yes, it will still be lined with books, lots of them.
After nearly 21 years in the same house – the one with the small red barn – we’ve come to a difficult decision.
It’s time to move on. Not only is the place too big for just the two of us – remember, there were once five us of living here – it’s also eating up too much of our retirement budget and time. We can’t continue to watch our meagre savings shrinking. For that matter, we can’t even keep up with the gardening and cleaning routines, not if we’re going to indulge in the other desired things on our proverbial plate. An estimate for reroofing the house may have been the tipping point.
We’ve run the numbers of having others renting space here or trying to swap what we own for something smaller close by, and we do love the community, as you’ve gathered from reading the blog, but no enticing alternative has jumped out. Dover’s simply a very hot housing market at the moment.
What has caught our fancy, thanks to a daughter’s investigation, is a small down-on-the-heels city on the ocean at the other end of Maine – one with an active arts community and a nearby Quaker meeting. It is as far from where we are now as is Manhattan in the opposite direction – a five-hour-plus drive. Half of the townships you pass though in the last two hours of that route are uninhabited, except for the black flies, mosquitos, and moose.
Even without that prompting, we still need to sort through our possessions and cull what we can. It’s not just clutter, either. So much of this is essentially frozen time – things we thought we’d want to get to someday or debris from the past, souvenirs we probably won’t ever revisit again. (There’s more on decluttering on my Chicken Farmer blog.)
The key question we’re asking ourselves, “Is this something I’ll need or use in the next five years?” Or, for that matter, really miss.
And so, independently, we’ve started. No matter how liberating the task ultimately becomes, getting there is often painful.
In our case, it’s a multistage process, as I’ll discuss in future posts.
We’ve started with the books, mostly, because there are so many of them and they occupy the most space. They’re also heavy to move.
After that we get to clothing, kitchen goods, garden and home maintenance tools, our personal collections.
For me, that leads to writing supplies and files, concert program notes and playbills from events I’ve attended, my vinyl, CD, and tape recordings.

Here we are!
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What about you?

Sportsmanship?
As we were taught,
It’s not whether you win or lose but how you play the game.
In politics?
As we’ve too often seen,
It’s everything, and ruthless.
As for personal psychology or wisdom? Don’t we learn more from losing?
When Joshua and Jaya finally arrive in their Promised Land in my novel Nearly Canaan, they discover how far they are from other destinations.
As I recall, some people would drive hours for a fine dinner, and hours going back.
Here are some drive times from Yakima, Washington, to other Western locales.
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And that’s not stopping for fuel, food, or comfort.
How long does it take you to get to a favorite daytrip destination?

In my novel Nearly Canaan, Jaya resumes her career in nonprofit enterprises – a field she left in moving to the Yoga Bootcamp from Manhattan.
Running nonprofits turns out to be a management specialty – and they are a major player in the economy, even if you don’t read a lot about them in the business section of the newspaper.
Here are some considerations.
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Do you donate to any nonprofit groups? Do you volunteer? Do you rely on their services?