Giving Thanks

I keep thinking about what I want to say for this, a post of thanksgiving, and I am struggling to find the words.  I usually keep my personal life and my blog life quite separate, writing only about the things here that inspire me and feed my creative spirit.  

Giving thanks for such things is easy.  I feel blessed to live in a beautiful part of the world, to have friends and family in abundance, to have food in my cupboards, and to have a roof over my head.  For these and so many other blessings I am grateful beyond measure.  I can blurt out my thanks without thought or hesitation.  

There is something else I am grateful for, though, and it is harder to express.

This year has been a difficult one for me and for some of the people I love most.  Truly, it has been a year that has sometimes felt like it was endured more than lived.  That's probably not a good thing to say aloud in the land of lifestyle blogs, where things tend to feel rather nicely tied up with candy-striped baker's twine.  Nothing in life has felt nicely tied.  All has been at loose ends.

The ends are still loose, and even a bit frayed at the moment, but that's just it--I don't care.  I am grateful for this truly horrible year.

I am grateful for what it has taught me about empathy, about love, about holding on tight with both hands, and about letting go, too.

I am grateful for what it has forced me to face and for what it has forced me to feel.  I am grateful that I've had the chance to learn very difficult lessons from someone much wiser than myself--and to learn them in the most loving and supportive of ways.

I'm also grateful that even on the most wretched of days, there is always room in my heart for a walk through fields and woods.  Yes, I am truly blessed.

 

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October

I snapped this photo with my phone as I walked through Fore River Sanctuary here in Portland, Maine.

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."  

~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

If I could be anywhere at any time, it would be right here and now, in October, near the ocean, on a path through salt marshes just before sunset.  A great blue heron stands sentry beside the footbridge, still in the shallows.  My legs brush against wild asters and the skeletons of Queen Anne's lace as I make my way.  A rush of wind brings the scent of salt and rotting leaves, which I think should make me feel sad or old or melancholy, but it doesn't.  Instead, every autumn of my life is with me all at once, making the trail suddenly both familiar and new, as if I've never walked it before, but could find my way just by the sound of goldfinches flying from tree to tree along its edge.  Up ahead is the old stump where I will turn back, follow this same way back to the trailhead.  The same grasses, the same reeds, the same stones and leaves, yet nothing will look the same.  I will be older by seconds, by minutes, by strides; I will see everything from another side.

The Whirl

Summer has spun ever faster this year, but suddenly we are nearing the moment when the merry-go-round man flips the switch, slowing us down, easing us--whether we want it or not--into that last turn towards Fall. 

August in Maine is always spectacular, and this one especially so, which we needed after a winter of record-breaking snows, a spring of bitter rains, and a July that was either light-the-fire cold or run-to-Walmart-for-a-window-AC hot.  The last two weeks have been blissful, sunshiny warm.  The coneflowers and brown-eyed Susans have thrived, the dahlias have exploded like fireworks, and the roses have bloomed, bloomed, and bloomed some more.

I am working on a garden post to show you how much the new beds have grown.  Summer in Maine is short.  Gardening's a challenge, especially since we are under snow so much of the year, but those months of bloom that we do get are all the more special for it.  And for me, September just might be the best of them all, so I will have much to show you.  

In the meantime, I wanted to share a few links to special places in our area.  If you live here or are planning a trip to Maine soon, here's a very short list of summer/early fall love:

Dining Fancies

The Well at Jordan's Farm (dine by candlelight in a field of flowers)

Kettle Cove Creamery (dessert after the The Well perhaps :)--take it to the beach to watch sunset)

Five Islands Lobster Company (Real Maine food in a stunning location)

Adventure Fancies

Casco Bay Lines Sunrise Cruise (leaves at 5 a.m.--absolutely beautiful tour of the bay)

Portland Trails (walk or bike for miles on beautiful trails)

Coastal Maine Botanical Garden (an award-winning garden right on the coast--loads of walking trails)

I'll have more links soon!

For now, I hope all of you in this hemisphere are soaking up every last bit of summer beauty you can.  

xo Gigi  

New Year's Walk

It wasn't about resolutions or starting the new year right.  

It was just a walk.

It was just dried berries and salt air and reeds rattling in the afternoon wind.

It was just a squirrel finishing his supper before sunset.

It was just the black lace of bare trees tatted to pink satin clouds.

It was just the sun showing off her finest gown 

before she rode away over the mossy hills.

It was just a catch in the throat, a halted step, 

as night filled in the spaces 

between the branches of the apple trees, 

and we realized 

with wonder that we 

were not alone.

Opening My Eyes

One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, 

"What if I had never seen this before? 

What if I knew I would never see it again?"

~Rachel Carson

The Fairy Village of Mackworth Island

To find it you must travel toward the far side of the island 

where the trees grow denser, casting long shadows across your path.

The fairies of Mackworth like the shelter of towering trees, 

but they also love clearings where the sun shines golden--

--all the better for seeking and finding building supplies for the village.

The most elegant homes are deeper in the forest, 

where the fairies have lived for generations.

But closer to the water's edge, young fairies 

have tossed up McMansions

twice the size of their parents' well-built abodes.

Some are cute, but shoddily built;

others use age-old techniques,

built to weather the island's storms.

While most fairies prefer homes on the ground, 

some have built penthouses 

with glorious ocean views,

or sweet efficiencies

with room for just one or two.

They don't mind if we visit,

but they'll roll out a glittering carpet of frost for our departure,

always anxious to see the back of humans,

who, though well meaning,

are rather bumbling

and not quite clever enough

to understand the plans and schemes

and dreams of the Mackworth fairy folk. 

New Fields

People who've read my blog for a long time might remember the many posts I wrote about Great Meadows Wildlife Refuge on the border of Concord and Bedford in Massachusetts.  Mr. Magpie and I used to go for long walks there every week in search of birds and frogs and turtles and other beautiful beasties.

We had come to measure the change of seasons in the height of the cattails and wildflowers, and in the comings and goings of migratory birds.  In spring there were thousands of babies on the marshes, cygnets, ducklings, goslings, and countless others. Come autumn the whole basin was a rustling shudder of reeds and water edged by evergreens and vines whose berries ripened to bursting before the first snowfall.  And when it came, it was as if the frosted path before us were laced with tiny drops of blood pricked from the fingers of fairy tale queens. 

Now we are finding new fields to wander.  This one, Gilsland Farm in Falmouth, Maine, is fast becoming a favorite.  I took these photos there over the weekend as we walked through meadows overlooking the Presumpscot River estuary.  Run by Maine Audubon, it is just the place to watch for hawks on a cold November day.

And this is how we often walk, he just ahead with binoculars in hand, on the lookout for a bird in the reeds or a Cooper's hawk circling above, and then there's me lagging behind, stopping to examine the hips of wild roses or a stand of particularly lovely evergreens. Afterwards, there's talk and tea and amazement at all each of us saw and each of us missed, and the promise in a day or two to take another walk just like this.

Deep in the Forest There Is a Promise

In one of the places where we walk we are always finding treasures and surprises.  We discover them at nearly every turn.  At the edge of the forest, indigo buntings fly from one stand of trees to the other then back again, their wings a flash of bright ink against the sky, which shimmers nearly white in the midday sun.  Just beyond them we spot a common flicker silhouetted on a bare branch; it holds itself nearly still for several minutes while the buntings flit about in the dappled shade. Deeper in the woods ferns unfurl against the moss like lace fans, and mushrooms stained raspberry pink at their edges grow with abandon.  Near the stream a rambling bush of blackberries just beginning to ripen bends low over the water, each of its berries sparkling in the dim light.  

At times like this, I won't lie, I am in a fairy tale.  It's not much of a leap: just follow the path, cross  the winding stream, turn right at the ring of toadstools, and there you are in your secret world--a world where old enameled coffee pots and cracked crockery jugs grow from fallen trees and apothecary jars sprout from the soil, each one offering up another chance at dreams.  In this world there are berries to eat and an old chipped mug for catching water from the stream.  The deeper you go, the cooler the air, the softer your step, and the more there is to see.  This forest holds a promise that you must find before you ever want to leave.

W is for Wild

No, not girls-gone-wild kind of wild--

violets and ospreys and blue herons kind of wild,  

reeds and new-spring-green-just-beneath-the-water wild,

rivers and swamps and spooky trees

set against a haze of green,

tiny new growth up close,

blossoms that take your very breath,

and a patient turtle who lets a muskrat use him 

as a picnic bench.

Climb the steps to the secret path

where the fairies live (yes, they really do),

or sit by the marsh,

breathe deep, and just wait 

for the next great blue heron to take wing--

that's my kind of wild.

Happy Earth Day!