Tag Archives: Belgrade Lakes

Golden Pond

It is our last full day here at camp.

I’ve been for a long walk this morning, some exercise before the day begins in earnest.  There is a heron out on the swim dock which is great to see.  Up to now, our dock has merely been a pit stop for ducks and sea gulls.  Yesterday while out on the lake we spied osprey, a magnificent bald eagle hunting for fish, and many iconic loons.

Their calls to one another haunt our dreams.

It is my full intention to be firmly present in these final couple of days here in Maine, but I admit to already feeling the pressure of the journey home which we will undertake in the wee hours of Sunday.

We are steeped in friendship and gratitude, natural splendor and rest, great food, camaraderie and play.  The well is nigh full and we can draw on it back in our day to day at home.

There are small projects planned which will keep me grounded in practice, as the goldening of late summer drifts down on everything.  There is a wistful sadness to the time of year, always, and especially now.

Tomorrow I shall have one more quick dip in the sea (don’t worry, I’ll avoid any shark tending locales!) and perhaps another bite or two of ocean sourced food, before packing up and readying for home.  Next I write, I’ll be back in my familiar haunts and settling into what could be a long autumn, what with one thing and another and so many precious plans canceled.  It will be important to maintain an even keel in the months ahead.  To lean into the winds in a way that fills the sails and keeps us on course.

Perhaps today I’ll have a sailing lesson.

Much appreciation for you all reading along with me on these recent adventures.  I shall endeavor to keep writing, even as we settle back into normality.  For there is beauty and even some adventure to be found there as well.

More soon.

Transition

In which we dive in.

Yesterday was moving day.  The day on which we gather ourselves en masse for a week away from home and, more importantly, work.  There are groceries to collect, the packing up of all the essentials for a week at the lake.  Usually we figure we can have a meal in town and pick up any forgotten necessities.  Usually things are more casual and fluid, especially as the kids have become adults in recent years.  But this year is different.

We hunker down.

Moving day, even on a good year, breeds small anxieties in my heart and this year the spin cycle of the mind is even more active than usual. I am loathe to leave the ocean, but excited for the relatively warm, fresh waters of Long Pond.  I worry we will forget something, worry I’m not doing enough to be of assistance to our little family unit, worry I’m getting behind in my art work, becoming lazy and complacent here in this vacation-land paradise.  I worry my country is breathing it’s final dying gasps, worry about the ripple effects of this damned virus……  I won’t bore you with all of the worries, but you get the general picture.  This is my brain on transitions of most kinds, what can I say?  I am only human, a work in progress.

There is nothing for a wave of worries quite like playing a bit of music.  Good for the soul in so many ways – perhaps merely the tonal qualities of music in general and the necessity of managing ones breath as a flute player specifically.  One of my nagging worries yesterday is that I might miss the precious zoom calls which fall on the very hour we are due to be arriving here at our little rented cabin.

But, as with seemingly everything on this gift of a journey this summer, it all works out.  Our rental allows for a bit of an early arrival, which means I can attend these conversations after all.  My computer remembers the household wireless, so no technical glitches either.  With two back to back zoom calls, I get to see the faces and hear the voices of my musical mates from the Swannanoa gathering which shores up the heart in these heavy times.  We learn a couple of new tunes, all the while catching up with one another, with hopes to do so in person next summer.  But who knows?  With a bit of music, and the knowledge that my friends scattered around the world are ok for now, my unsettled heart shifts back into center.  I am grateful.

Soon we are unpacked and a simple dinner is in the works.  By tradition, we feast on steamed lobster, bread and a salad on our first night at ‘camp’.

After dinner, we load onto the boat for a sunset cruise and a swim.

That’s one way to wash away the lobster juice.

We are welcomed back to this magical place by the mournful calls of loons echoing back and forth across the pond.

Sunset is miraculous and beautiful over the Kennebec Highlands, as it is most days.  And we marvel.

The evening descends.  Some play games up at the house, others opt to watch the stars come out and listen to the loons down by the dock.  My anxieties are by now washed away by the gifts of this magical afternoon and evening.

It is now Sunday morning and there is a full, soft day ahead of us.  Each of us keen to soak it all in here together.  We all know there was a time, mere weeks ago, when we weren’t sure if we might even make this trip happen.  And so we are doubly grateful to simply be here this year, now more than ever.

Thanks to you, dear readers for coming along.  I really appreciate all of the emails and messages you’ve sent encouraging me to keep the updates coming.  I aim to do so, hopefully with more artwork as this week unfurls……

A mystical island tale, a lakeside sojourn, a journey’s end and home again.

Last I left you here I was to spend a week in a place much like the land of Brigadoon of lore at the Swannanoa Gathering.  And gather we did.  It felt like coming home to a family I only ever see once a year (twice if I am truly fortunate).  I took no pictures.  I made no drawings.  I played tunes which only live on in the hearts and memories of those of us who were there for the week.  It was indeed a week like no other.  There was a wedding! Yes, a REAL wedding!! And we wore dresses and popped champagne, cried tears of joy over poems read at the ceremony.  The experience was one of time outside of time.  I have designs for an artful gift to make up for the Bride and Groom and will share that with you here later, along with maybe some photos of the blessed event.  Suffice it to say, it was an honor to be a part of it all. And it was over far too soon for my liking….

Yet we simply had to leave.  The Gathering was to turn itself around for another group of folks who have an equal love for something equally obscure, each week being precious and different.  Jack and I were home for about 36 hours, to do laundry, rethink the contents of our knapsacks and to remind our poor dogs that we hadn’t completely abandoned them.  (While we were in Maine, they were in extremely capable hands of a friend who loves them and our home almost as much as we do!)

We were off to Maine.

Perhaps more than any other residence of my soul’s True Self, Maine is where I come home to roost.  The smell of the pine trees and the sea, the expansive green-ness of it all.  It’s captivating.  And it causes a churning and questioning each year about ‘what are we doing, living in Ohio of all places? When we could have this….’  But in spite of this churning, we must return there, having once lived there long enough to be hooked for life.

We stopped in Freeport to pick up our loved ones, and headed en masse to Monhegan Island, the magical, mystical spit of land about 15 miles out into the Atlantic Ocean.

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It was gray and rainy, and not a particularly pleasant day for a near 2 hour ferry ride.  (a number of us suffer from wave sickness when conditions are Just So, and we were a tad on the worried side…)

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Yet in spite of the occasional rains, the breeze was nice and so was the ferry ride itself.  I felt lulled into trance by the hum of the motor of our dear Balmy Days II.  Soon, through the mists, we could spy Monhegan herself.  ‘The Island’.

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She came closer and closer.  And the rain clouds dried their tears for us, little by little.

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And just like that, upon our arrival, the sun was out to welcome us. It was to be a beautiful 2 days of island exploration.

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Monhegan has an old tale to tell, older than most places in this fledgling country of ours.  The Native Americans who first spied the curious “canoes with wings” (European sailboats) had fished around Monhegan since time before history.  But of written history, there are about 400 years of stories which add up to a place steeped in the narrative of a strong and hearty ilk who have fished, farmed (a bit) and made a life (as well as some art!) on this tiny iconic rock of a place.

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We love to add our stories, even just a day’s tale or so, to the Book of Monhegan.  This island has a way of getting under a soul’s skin.  And if away for long enough, one finds one’s heart fairly longing for a glimpse of it, a chance to walk it’s paths and stack its stones once again.  I myself already can’t wait to return.

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Many ships have wrecked on or near Monhegan over the centuries.  This one below is the wreck of the DT Sheridan.  It’s a lovely old iron vessel that has rusted to a gorgeous oxide color and is still substantial enough to climb upon and explore.

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Some of the locals even use it as a nesting place…..

 

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We all love to comb the coast for stones that call to us.  I for one appreciate stones cast by Mother Nature into the shape of a heart.  I hadn’t seen any of these since Taos.  I was delighted to find many of them here on this island.

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As is the case with many water bourne places, down every lane of this island and tucked in every hidden, protected cove lie boats of all shapes and sizes and utilities.  I never tired of seeing them anywhere.

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And yet the ocean is not the only Great Being inhabiting this island.  There are many acres of protected woodland space and folks like to take found natural objects and detritus and create little fairy huts which haunt and taunt the hiking paths.  So many of them, in every shadowed space! We delighted in spotting them.  And of course in building one of our own as well!

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On this day, I did manage to make a sketch in my journal…

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…and Jack, managed to have a tune, and to find a friend with whom to play it.

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Soon, after a bite to eat and some time to rest our weary feet, the breeze shifted.  As we glanced up, we noticed that the light had begun to change…

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Much like my beloved Taos-land, Monhegan Island has drawn artists from around the world and throughout time with That Perfect Light that people speak of in a hushed and awed whisper.  This is the haunting hour of the day that painters long for.

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I pined for my oil paints, which in deference to space in our old wagon, I left behind in my studio at home.

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But I vowed that next we have the opportunity to return for longer than one glimpse of an overnight, I would make a point to bring them along with me and attempt in some small way to Capture the Light.  In this day and age of Contemporary Art, much of which I am thrilled by, there is some discussion of painting, especially painting plein air or landscape painting of any sort, being a waste of a modern artist’s time and effort.  I firmly disagree.  I believe that to even begin to capture the light of a beloved scene, or the spirit of familiar place is in some way to have touched the divine.  Much in the way some folks may go to church, not to become God, but rather to touch God for a moment through prayer or contemplation.  To me, this is why drawing and painting in a specific place at a specific time (versus maybe from a photo later) holds such magic.  I am fortunate to know many artists who feel the same and do not seem to feel the need to ‘throw the baby out with the bathwater’, so to speak, with regard to Old v. New in the Land of Art Making.

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The little old houses light up with the breath of the sunset.  Pinks, yellows, limes and golds….

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We laughed and danced in celebration of the sunset.

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And we were treated to a spectacle that most people don’t often get to witness.

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I love a good sunset.  And we do have them back here in the midwest.  But there is nothing like an island sunset.  The photos simply cannot do it justice…..

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[more boats!] 

The following day we were to leave our beloved island, to continue our journey, this time to lake country…..

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We were loathe to leave her behind, but know we will be back….

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And just like that, we were nestled in the Kennebec Highlands, at a lakeside cottage which has become familiar to us and we enjoy returning to…

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We were greeted with moody, changeable skies which rained and threatened rain a lot of many days.  But we were not to be put off that easily.  There was sailing to be had on the new arrival in the boathouse….

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…and rolls to be practiced in the kayaks we had brought with us from 1000 miles away….

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Almost as if we had willed it into place, the light did return to warm us with some sunshine and sunsets.  Though to be honest, so long as it’s not a total wash out, I am a fan of misty, gray days.

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One early morning I awoke to the sense that all was strange and modified in some way.  And so it was.  We had been socked in with fog! I arose to capture an image, and promptly went back to sleep.  It was vacation after all!

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So long as it wasn’t raining firmly, which it didn’t do much, we found ourselves on or near the water.

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Even Ginger Small got in on the sailing fun that week!!

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The sunshine did make an appearance here and there on all but one of our days at the lake, so we were happy campers.  Simply being all together, cooking meals, sharing cocktails and laughter and games was enough for us.

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It is hard to believe how grown up these cousins-of-soul have become.  Each year we wonder if it will be the last of the four of them together at Camp, as Life and Work may yet intervene.  But so far, so good.

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They are, the four of them showing serious signs of Growing Up…..

 

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On the other hand, growing up is highly overrated.  The lake brings out the kid in all of us.

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After a lovely reunion back in town with some old pals from our days in the Navy, it was time to saddle up and head home.  The New England sun rise beckoned us, ‘please don’t go…’.  We drove and drove and drove.

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Soon we were welcomed home by an iconic billboard just north of our fair Queen City which we look to as a bit of a ‘you’re almost there’ beacon, for all its doom, gloom, hell-fire and brimstone.  We do live in Ohio after all, which is not without its quirks.

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And home, while not without its quirks, is also not without its gifts.  I arrived home to find a lovely package from a cousin.  She sent to me some old art supplies belonging to her mom, a great auntie of mine, one of which was an engraved paint box!  I am very thankful for this unexpected gift and must yet make a proper thank you card to send….

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One thing that has unexpectedly pinned me here back here in Ohio is my musical community, which I look to upon returns from amazing travels to keep me from ‘burning up on reentry’ like some traveling Space Shuttle coming home at the wrong speed and at the wrong angle.

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These folks, and the music we share together each week at the local session, have been, are, and likely will continue to be, one of my greatest gifts in this life as I know it.  We gladly occupy our space in Harp Jail for a time every week.  When I am not fully landed from travels, and my soul aches to be elsewhere, these people and this music guide me back to center time and time again.  I am so thankful for it.

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Music is why I have the Day Job that I have; a place that I happily go to many days a month (even on my birthday!) because I love my work and I love the people I work with….

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and they seem to like me as well.  Birthday cupcakes are wonderful… birthday cupcakes with a butterfly ring are just over the top!!

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I like for celebrations to last and so this week my birthday drones on and on in the best way possible.  I am 45 now (in sheep-count-speak that would be ‘two pebbles in my pocket and a yan, tan, tether, mether, pip on my tongue.’)

My mamas (yet another reason to come home to Ohio!) treated me to lunch yesterday at a rather fancy place which I had never been to. We shared amazing food, delightful conversation, cake (!)…

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and even a champagne toast!!

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I was gifted with a small chalice which is just right for a little spot of red wine at the end of the day…..

I couldn’t be more happy with my birthday celebration thus far.  And it isn’t over yet!!

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One reason I like to extend the length of birthdays, and all good things really, is if you imprison your event into one calendar day, potentially other happenings on that very day could taint the taste of your special day, making it not so nice after all.  On the calendar date of my birthday I received a rejection letter from a local arts organization who’s been trying to find some work for me (we will find the right project eventually, I have faith!) and I was quite saddened not to be chosen by their partner on this most recent project because it had seemed so fitting.  Rejections are part of the work of being an artist in this world but they are still a stinging thing, especially on your birthday!!

Also on my birthday came the news of Robin Williams’ untimely and sad passing due to complications of depression.  I was deeply moved and saddened by this news, especially as I have battled depression at various times in my life in varying degrees of severity.  I have tools which work much of the time to keep me healthy, but I am acutely aware of how close the darkness lies.  And of how tenuous my own relationship to lightness truly is.

At the end of a season of travel there is always a time of adjustment, a time that generally holds with it some heaviness of spirit.  But I know through playing music, finding magic and mystery and whimsy in the out of doors (see this guy below??)….

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…I can potentially keep myself from the true depths of darkness.

I can seek the beautiful in this world and catalog it, allowing the ugly news of the world in when I choose to do so  and on my own terms.  Being informed in this age of instant news at all times is tricky business.  It is important to be well read, up to date, ready to vote and be an active part of society.  And yet...  This world needs poets.  And artists.  And pinks so pink they match the shoe laces on my running shoes.  This world needs monks who pray on mountain tops, even when the world seeks to destroy itself while they do so….

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I am home.  I am rested, yet restless.  I am out of practice and in desperate need to get back to the drawing board.  And so I will.  Today I started with a visit to the zoo, where I sketched some lions….

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You will find my virtual self checking in here at the blog, lurking now and then over on Twitter, and eventually back on Facebook*, where I will seek to find some new terms for my relationship with that platform.   Meanwhile, I’ll be seeking beauty….

*{for the time being I am taking a break from facebook, as it has become a place which seems to contribute to my heaviness of spirit.  That said, the day of my birthday was made more lovely by many wishes from friends far and wide and I am so grateful for this!  I shall return to that virtual space after a time for in the long run, there is often great value and connection there for me.}