Tag Archives: sunset

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.

Away ::: Twist of Hemp 38 :::

Midweek, and we are away.

Skies – sunsets in particular –  have been magnificent.  Reminding us of our small place in the world.

Evening jaunts on the boat allow us a break from the heat on shore and affords us quality time together (at once more than we can handle and never enough – how I love this chosen family of mine).

At times we must dock the boat near the little local general store to stock up on supplies.  And sometimes we forget our masks and must improvise which results in iconic fashionry.

In this time of fear and uncertainty, we see others and wish them well, while also hoping they never come too close.

The light here in Maine, from a painter’s perspective, is perfection.  I take source photos for later use.  Balancing the time here, trying not to be selfish.  As usual, I would split the artist side of self off to go work in the corner all week bathed in paints while the rest of human self could dive into a book or a group activity in earnest.  But the art always calls and there is no splitting.  And so here we are.  I do the best I can.

would you look at that light????

It is a gorgeous day outside, and I have a paddleboard planned with my dearest, long time friend (she birthed both my babies with me back in the day, so you get the depth of our connection.)  Later, some socially distant music is planned with a fellow Irish musician local to these lakelands and I am grateful to find a tune here in the wilds, so far from home.

I realize that home is only as far away as the next tune, the next friend, the next dip into some paint of any kind.

I am home the minute I can center into a bit of music, or a puddle of paint, or a beautiful fireside conversation with loved ones (while a mysterious mink waterly wanders by with nary a splash.)

There has been daily practicing of the pipes, as the lady pipers group has done a tune trade this summer and my job was to learn a tune from my “tune fairie” and record said tune to share with my mystery tune-provider.

It was terrifying.  Honestly.

But I did it, as I am keen to do this.  To learn.  To find my small place in this tradition.  Even as an American with only distant ties to the motherland of this music, even as an adult learner with so very little musical knowledge. Even as merely an artist.  Something about all of it makes just sense.

And so I dive in.  Best I can.  We have limited time, always.  Especially when on vacation.  Especially when on vacation during a global pandemic.  I know this.

This limit is why I paint.   Why I play.  Why I write.

There is a recent article in Downeast Magazine about Miss Rumphius, a favorite book of mine about bringing beauty into the world as one lives one’s life.  I highly recommend it….

 

Why We Love Miss Rumphius Now More Than Ever

A couple of years ago I was able to visit an exhibit of Miss Rumphius illustrator Barbara Cooney’s art work and I was thoroughly captivated.

Hireath

What do you do to make the world more beautiful in your own way?

I’d love to know.

Wishing you all well, no matter what tune you are playing just now.

 

Of interest

” For an artist to be interesting to us he must have been interesting to himself.  He must have been capable of intense feeling, and capable of profound contemplation.”

~Robert Henri

This day is close. Like humid and slow.  I’m reminded of Ohio and grateful for the lake here.

This morning, a walk before some rain.  I go for some time, in order to walk off a bit of the rich food and drink vacation with friends doth provide.

I walk, hike and occasionally jog a bit as well, past Wyeth style fields…. (keen to get this barking IT band back in working order)

…..up mountain roads, and past signs of life in the outer world.

There are stony sentinels guarding these well worn paths along the way.

The humidity suits the fungi sort.

Upon returning to camp, rain has begun in earnest and I retreat to the boathouse to practice some tunes for awhile.

Soon, the sun is back out, and the instruments have had their fill of muggy conditions.  I put them away and go for a swim.

Fast forward to now…. I have made a painting.  It’s busier than I would like.  Perhaps I have waited too long to paint.  Exercising and playing music first on this particular day.  All are priorities of course.  I work from memory along with a few snapshots of last night’s spectacular sunset.  So much going on there, so much to capture.

So I just push paints around for while.  There are notes of this one I like.  “It is only a study” (this I remind myself again and again.)  I am finding my voice (aren’t we always?) in gouache and one can’t make a masterpiece at every turn.

It is late afternoon and dinner hour begins soon so I’ll wrap up and be fully present here at camp, as that is the business of vacation.   (Also, maybe another swim, jaysus, it’s hot!)

There are books to read, naps to take, boat rides to experience, meals to share.  It’s all a bright balance of good things here and now.  I am grateful for all of it…..

 

Notes:

 

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……

Red Eye

Bella Vista coffee lives up to its name. Great coffee, a wondrous view of the surrounding volcanic countryside, and delightful and friendly staff.

We are met in Guatemala City by our trusty driver Pablo and are whisked away from the big city to Antigua where Posada San Sebastian awaits us as our home away from home. We stash our things and wander for a cup of coffee (first of many) as our lodging isn’t quite ready for our weary heads. We wander the quiet town as it awakens to an average work day-  shops opening, my favorite coffee place too, Bella Vista, and we some how make it until our room is ready and we can nap .

Arco by morning light

The Posada is bustling but calm and we sleep soundly until well after lunch hour. This is the price we pay for an overnight flight. With more awake minds and bodies we spend some time with our sketchbooks .  I’m well over due for it and feeling rusty but I manage.

Posada San Sebastian has loads of cool objects to sketch. I love these folk art motifs on a box in the courtyard.

A page from the traveling journal

After a while we are famished for a late lunch/early dinner so we head out to town for some local fare. 

It’s delicious and there is even a strolling minstrel who sings to the diners.  It is a magical meal. One of many to be sure .

We wander a bit more, acclimating, looking into the shops, greeting the greeters outside of all of the establishments .

Upon our return, the sun is setting with much fanfare.

We are delighted by this, and even Fuego  itself gives us a small (non-catostrophic) belching light show of lava in the distance .

Though We are weary, we eagerly await the arrival of our fellow travelers with whom we will share the coming days .

More soon, provided we have continued connectivity.

Con Amor, de Antigua Guatemala