Maine 2010 Day 3

11-8-10 0624. Blue Hill ME. Dry and sleepy under the well padded eaves of Mary and Volkers home just above Blue Hill. The storm front has apparently stalled over Eastern Maine, and roiled wetly overhead all night…now, finally, there seem to be only a few pitter pats, and today it’s light at 6. Joanne must have stopped the clocks after all. Strange to think, as so well explored in that book called something relevant like ‘Latitude’, how carefully precise a few humans had to be to figure out what time it was. Marty figures that about the time we all come to fully depend on internet time, someone will hack the satellite system and so he is studying up on his aledades and peloruses and most of all the ultimate in sun shooting equipment, the sextant. Don’t worry, drink your coffee, this isn’t my day to go off into a rhapsody of Sextantology. But it is impressive to read memoirs like Worsley’s ‘Shackleton’s Boat Trip’ and realize that without that instrument, those 28 men would have voyaged in vain.
Now you can buy an orange colored phone sized gadget at LL Bean for a hundred bucks..press the button and it sends out a signal to the Cloud letting anyone who cares to listen in exactly where you are to within 3 meters. Of course, you don’t want to push that button unless you have a healthy bank account; all those rescue efforts are recharged to the rescuee these days. Cutbacks, you know.
So it kinda pre-stormed yesterday all morning. We got up leisurely and had a eggs sausage and toast breakfast, took stock of the state of the universe of dogs, fishing, the Barrier Islands off Carolina, deaths in the family and Rotary’s sponsorship of school years abroad. It smelled like snow when we finally packed back into the car and drove off up the driveway that curves gently through the little conifers and beeches. Back on the well packed dirt of Pond road,we drove past the homemade signs that explain that any gathering or hunting may result in being shot on sight, and into beautiful downtown Searsmont, past the firestation, the general store , and the church, and thus out of town. Route 3 is littered with antique and second hand book stores, but we motored resolutely on to make lunch in Blue Hill.
Well, not quite, First there was Remys, which is no news to Mainers but a midbox you may not have heard of otherwise. That’s was to get the orange collar cover for Fuji, an orange hat apiece for us deers and turkey look alikes, and of course just the pair of Sanita ex Dansco clogs that Sala was looking for. For the footware in-cogniscenti, apparently that which was once Dansco is now Sanita…the lasts’ were passed..if you once fit Dansco, you now want Sanita. And then, right next door as though placed there by the Tempter itself was the Goodwill, in an only slightly less upscale midbox of its own in the middle of what had been, until recently, blueberry bushes. That’s where we got the discretely fuzzy brown warm plaid shirt that Sala wore last night for dinner.
We did, eventually, arrive down the quarter mile of winding driveway off the main road into Blue Hill that leads to Volker’s well kept grounds. The slim and efficient stacks of cut firewood, each with its current iteration of the eternal quest for the perfect waterproof cover held down efficiently adjustable ties fastened to screws set into the lowest tier of logs which has replaced the trendy but ultimately discarded plastic bottles filled with sand that were on trial several years ago. Behind the house, the attachments for the Kubota sit on the graveled assembly pad, waiting the Call of the Tractor. Come snow or sleet or dread of night, the Kubota is ready for Volker to climb aboard and start improving the immediate environment. The driveway sparkles with new topping. Orderly glades are emerging from undergrowth. The little stream burbles and babbles with the influx of water as it enters upstage left and exits downstage right. Sometimes wild turkeys perch in the larger beeches. And the house itself is warm. Unobtrusively, little labor saving devices make life easier. Such as the small orange flag attached to the damper lever on the stove, so that when the discussion of whether the damper is open or closed begins at the dinner table across the room, you can just look.
We visited Cionas beautiful small and energy efficient home, just occupied last year and definitely owner built right down to the brushed cement counters. It’s set in a meadow outside of East Blue Hill, and Ciona was working with a friend to buck up and split wood she had cleared for the house. The superefficient stove was positively bursting out the heat, and we had tea and apple crumble that Jim the Friend had thoughtfully brought. Sala sees a vision of what a winterized addition to the Green House might look like when she roams through Ciona’s house..particularly the usable working pantry and the hot water heating system.
Later, we all dined on Chicken Bog, white flour rolls and cuppycakes for dessert…all gleaned from one of Granma Steinbach’s recipe books. The Bog, which is a savory stew flavored with three kinds of sausage, was Fuji’s favorite. This morning, walking in the cemetery down towards the harbor, Mary had brought one of the cuppycakes, but Fugi was more interested in playing with her miniature tennis ball. It was raining. The wind was cold. A solitary clammer was digging just ahead of the advancing tide on the mudflat below. Fuji ran and ran. I blew the dog whistle. In her own good time, Fuji came dancing back, miraculously still with the ball in her mouth.
Time for breakfast and a wet and stormy saunter by car back down rt 3 and 1 and eventually perhaps back to LL Bean to experience drawing a compound bow.