Tag Archives: maine

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……

On, In, Near

“I can think of no greater happiness than to be clear-sighted and know the miracle when it happens.  And I can think of no more real life than the adventurous one of living and liking and exclaiming the things of one’s own time. ”    ~Robert Henri

An early start to the day sees us racing the tides to visit a colony of seals near here.

We get the boats in, just in time and paddle the short distance out to a rocky ledge where our selkie friends are known to congregate at low tide.

We do not venture too close so as not to stress them out, but we can see their velvety bodies slip into the water when they spy our approach.  One or two trusting souls hang about on the rocks and watch us watch them.  The rest, the shy ones, watch from the water, only getting within 50 feet at the closest.  Sea dogs of a sort, they have some curiosity and fascination with us, as we do them, and we spend some time observing one another.

There are also osprey, terns, cormorants, gulls.  We aren’t out long, but it is a productive day already.

Back home to gather some of the kids, we then head to lunch at a lovely land’s end marina.  We are in our element, and pinching ourselves at our good fortune.  No wait, a table by the water, and the best of company.

In the afternoon we walk off our lunch time decadence with a cliff walk trail which leads to an inlet of sorts where we take a swim.

Classic Maine woodland, complete with fairy huts and mushrooms.  We soak in the quiet of a natural island pine forest.

We manage to find a path to the water of a little inlet and swim for a time.  Salty and warm and lovely.

We are happy campers.

Today is day 7 of my attempt to swim in the ocean every day I can whilst we are near the sea. So far so good!

Suffice it to say, I created no art today, but rather took the beauty of the day to gather imagery and impressions for more work in days to come.  Tomorrow we shift gears, heading inland to a rented lake home.  All of the co-workers have taken the week off and vacation for the lot of us begins in earnest.

I will miss the ocean.

Expect a post here in this space come Sunday, or possibly Monday, depending upon the flow of things.  Til then, be safe, wear a mask, be kind to one another.

More soon……

Selkie times

::: TWIST OF HEMP week 37 :::

It’s the ocean side of this journey, and we couldn’t be happier.  It being Tuesday, I have a John Joe Badger drawing to share with you, of course.  His journey and mine are interwoven in music and adventure and so, this week’s illustration features oceanic imagery and the stories I love.

Of course.

Today’s swim found us meeting with high tide and so the dip into the sea was a simple one.

My god-daughter and I stole away from the co-working space, aka home, for the day’s swim and conditions were the best yet.  There is nothing like a cold dip and then drying out on warm stone.

*many thanks to my pen pal Ben for the lovely capture book to grab quick pencil sketches along the way.

I never tire of the view off the coast here.  Islands upon islands leading out to the Atlantic ocean proper, all of them offering magical little inlets, coves and wharves which are so picturesque.

I can’t capture all of them, but I capture what I can.

There is a magic to the Atlantic ocean – ancient, mysterious.  No matter which side of the pond one finds oneself on.

John Joe Badger finds himself practicing his pipes every day on this trip to Maine (as do I).  And he finds himself enjoying the company of friends as well.

We are keen to make contact with seals at some point perhaps and it looks as if John Joe already has.

He plays the tunes he knows for his new friends.  Always trying to tap into the magic that the music, and the sea, provide.

Two of the videos above I gleaned from the blog of a favorite artist/writer/friend Terri Windling.  *here* is the link.  If you want a dose of magic and escape on the internet, go subscribe.  It’s always beautiful and worth the time.  The other, from Ronan Browne, is a perennial favorite of mine and an air that I play on the flute and am learning on the pipes.  It’s a haunting thing, an oceanic melody and I never tire of it.

Thanks, as always, for following along on this escapeful journey of ours.

co-work

It is monday.  I walk the roads for a bit before the temperatures climb too high.  Our folks here asked us to bring some warmer weather with us when we arrived.

Perhaps we overdid it.

Co-working spaces are selected, but shift throughout the day as conditions change.

As for me, I manage to sketch for a few minutes to get the bones of a little painting down.  Not wild about the results, but practice is practice.

In the heat of the day, a few of us steal away to swim and cool down a bit.  The ocean does not disappoint.

Day three of ocean swim.  I couldn’t be happier.

Today is our 29th wedding anniversary.  We started off right here in this place all those years ago and it’s nice to be here to celebrate this year.  Hopefully with oysters if we get lucky…..

*****later******

and so we were lucky indeed…….

Cheers, y’all!

 

Day 2, in pictures and paint

It’s fun to see how others have weathered the isolation in recent months.  Here it’s Rumikub.  There have been many games, apparently.

Locals remind themselves of what is lovely here, in spite of all.

While on my morning walk/run there is a veritable parade of old fashioned cars, harkening to days bygone.

It is good to walk in a place where glimpses of the sea are readily available through the trees.

Before the day gets away, I steal away to paint for a bit, using a new paint set up I gleaned recently from the lovely work and suggestions of Lena Rivo.

Wonderful to find a secluded bench, with shade and a view.

Here’s the wee painting I come up with…..

I can still see influences in my painting from the workshop I took with Henry Isaacs here in 2015.  (click the blue for the link!)

Later it is time to swim.  Of course it is.

Is that a seal???

Alas, it’s just me.

Sea me.  I LOVE swimming in the ocean each day.  Thankful it is just down the road from us.

Tonight, in the spirit of reconnaissance for a kayak opportunity of Tony’s later in the week, we gather for dinner at another lovely spot, out of doors, away from others, by the sea, and happy to be together.

We are treated to an amazing sunset.  And just like that, our first full day in Maine comes to a close.

We are deeply grateful to be here.  To fill the proverbial well with hope for the months to come.  To remind ourselves AND you that beauty and friendship still exist.  That we will get through these hard times.

Bon courage, friends.

 

 

 

Return to center

In spite of such dire times, our journey home to Maine was fairly simple.  With three drivers, all of our food and drinks on board, we merely stopped for gas now and then and to hit the loo.

There were lovely fogs in New York State as the moon and sun rose together.  There was nearly no one else traveling, which was nice.

Having lived here for years, this feels like a homecoming.
The long awaited first glimpse of the ocean…..

We arrived mid morning to inject ourselves into the family bubble here for a couple of weeks, ever so grateful to our loved ones so keen to have us.  And now we settle.

Poppy’s Welcome

Of course that begins with a dip in the sea.

Shenanigans have begun already.

We found a lovely place to paddle around for a bit and rinse the worrisome drive off of our hearts and minds.

There will be more such imagery in coming days.  I hope you’ll come along as I share this magical place with you, no matter where you are.  There are books to read, sketches to conjure, knitting to wrangle, and music to play.

Wishing you peaceful summer’s breezes……

ps…

There was lobster.

and corn.

and pie.

Goodnight!

view from the point

“We withdraw not to disappear, but to find another ground from which to see; a solid ground from which to step, and from which to speak again, in a different way, a clear, rested, embodied voice we begin to remember again as our own”

~ David Whyte*

                                                                    *came across this quote via @lachanterie

We find ourselves in Maine, where once upon a long time ago, many many lifetimes ago actually, we came as newly fledged adults to begin finding our way in the world.  Much like recently hatched ducklings, we imprinted on this land then and have returned year after year in pilgrimage to this place which so shaped us in those early days.  The smells, sounds, color and light here are different from all else and they speak in a soul-full tongue indeed.  We are grateful to be here.

As it is a “workaday” sort of day for many of us here, I crept away to a local point to give my paint brushes a little spin, they having collected a bit of dust during my time down other, more musical pathways recently.

I found a perfect spot under a shade tree, at the end of a lane one can find only by foot.  There were welcoming spots in the form of benches and water accessible paths.  I opted for a space at a picnic table and set about to sketch a bit.  It was clear that other artful efforts had occurred in this very space as there was evidence.

So I began with the watercolors, of course.

Eventually moving over to oils…..

…..which are not without their frustrations, but I mixed and painted and observed and corrected and painted some more.  And got the bones of a painting down which I can perhaps work with later in the week once we are settled at camp.

note the stripe up the right side, this is due to the little carrying rack I built (which works a treat actually!) and I will fix it at a later time.

All in all, it was lovely exercise on this, my first day back here in Maine where we are settled in for awhile, nestled by the sea.