Tag: New England

OVERLAPPING TIME AND SPACE IN NEW ENGLAND

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

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

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

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!

REMINGTON AND THE BIG DIG

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Can’t drive through the Big Dig – the tunnels that take Interstate 93 under Boston’s downtown – without thinking of the story of Remington the Rabbit.

Seems his first owner, a teen, named him after her favorite TV show at the time, Remington Steele, in honor of its star. The one she had a crush on.

And then, when she and her mother moved to England, Remington became a feature in another household, at least until they, too, had to move, this time into an apartment that didn’t allow pets.

So Remington, in his long life, spent his final days surrounded by three children who, from all accounts, treated him well and found their delight returned.

And then, when Remington’s days ended, their father provided the crowning touch. Seems Daddy was an engineer working on the Big Dig in Boston. And that’s where Remington was clandestinely buried.

Somehow seems fitting, amid all that steel, knowing there’s a rabbit in the works, somewhere over my head.

WAKING TO THE FIRST SNOW

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment
It's a lot of weight stressing those branches. Falling limbs through the night had the power flickering. We were lucky, though, the lines kept running.
There’s a lot of weight stressing those branches. Falling limbs through the night had the power flickering. We were lucky, though, the lines kept running.

It’s pretty but also heavy, wet, dense — you much prefer the lighter, fluffy stuff when it comes to shoveling. Still, you can’t help but admire it as the sunlight starts strumming through the branches.

We’ve had several rounds of flurries before this, when some of the neighboring towns found their ground covered. Real snow, in my book, means digging out the driveway.

I like having the raised garden beds to be covered by a blanket of snow, especially when the thermometer plummets. The wrought iron loveseat by the bushes is one way I easily calculate the depth of our snowfall. I'm wondering how soon before it's completely buried.
I like having the raised garden beds covered by a blanket of snow, especially when the thermometer plummets. The wrought-iron love seat by the bushes is one way I easily calculate the depth of our snowfall. I’m wondering how soon before it’s completely buried.

GOING WITH THE GRAIN

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment
Just days before, I'd heard an excited account of a gathering of a dozen and a half "woodies" in southern Maine. A good number of the surviving wooden station wagons, as I was told emphatically. So there I was, tooling along Storrow Drive in Boston, when I came upon this Plymouth. Had to get proof, didn't I? Even though I was driving ...
Just days before, I’d heard an excited account of a gathering of a dozen and a half “woodies” in southern Maine. A good number of the surviving wooden station wagons, as I was told emphatically. So there I was, tooling along a misty Storrow Drive in Boston, when I came upon this Plymouth. Had to get proof, didn’t I? Even though I was driving in the rain …

AFTER THE TRAGEDY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Here in New England, the battle for control of the Market Basket supermarkets remains the biggest news story – but with a storybook twist. Rather than ending up as another soulless corporate bottom-line victim, there’s been a resurrection.

The bitter DeMoulas family feud finally led to an agreement less than a week ago in which the Good Guy (aka Arthur T) buys out the other half for roughly $1.5 billion. Ownership stays here at home. And, yes, there have been cheers all around in this remarkable alliance of stakeholders – managers, workers, loyal shoppers, and their communities – against the faction that fired the Good Guy and his visionary leadership.

The boycott held through August. The parking lots were vacant. Workers saw their hours cut. Some managers were fired … and now they’re back.

There’s almost a party atmosphere in the stores, but nobody’s slacking. Managers began showing up to work at midnight just an hour after reports of the agreement surfaced. Suppliers offered to deliver goods directly to the stores, rather than the distribution center, to speed the restocking of depleted shelves.

Many details remain to be ironed out, and a lot of damage will take time to repair. But at least there’s also a rainbow.

SUMMER CRAFT

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment
Boats are tied up in a row along one dock in Newburyport, Massachusetts. The harbor opens into the Atlantic.
Boats are tied up in a row along one dock in Newburyport, Massachusetts. The harbor opens into the Atlantic.
It's a great place to take off on a whale watch.
It’s a great place to take off on a whale watch.
It's a working harbor with treacherous currents, yet mooring comes at a premium.
The working harbor has treacherous currents, yet mooring comes at a premium. The mouth of the Merrimack River is on the horizon.