Not me. The colors in that photo are beautiful, and I can see where the cake analogy comes from, but Maine just isn't like a cake. With all that sugar, cakes are decadent, in a way that Maine is just not.
But that photo is a gorgeous expression of Maine's character, which I first became acquainted with through the Robert McCloskey books, Blueberries for Sal, One Morning in Maine, and Time of Wonder, as a small child, and then a camping trip up the coast when I was probably six.
I'm of Medicare age now, and around a decade ago, a girlfriend who had One Morning in Maine gave it to me, after I developed a strong interest in it. Besides just enjoying the feeling of McCloskey's Maine--which is very different from Steven King's Maine, for which I'd gotten a feel reading 11/22/1963--I found McCloskey's drawings captivating. In most of them, there was something off balance, that people and pets were often in motion...
I was so taken by the drawings that I would go through the book a few times a day over a period of a week or so. One picture, the girls at the breakfast table, has the mother pouring a glass of milk for Sal, while Jane, in her high chair, has just spilled her milk, some of which is dripping onto the floor, where the kitty is lapping it, while the dog, facing in the opposite direction on the floor, is nonetheless peering around suspiciously at the cat. Even the stovetop is beautifully drawn.
Sal has lost a tooth, which is the central element in the plot--which also involves a trip to Bucks Harbor to get food and other provisions, and the replacement of a spark plug in the boat's motor, which had necessitated McCloskey's having to row all the way to Bucks Harbor. While at the grocery store, Sal shows off the empty spot in her mouth to Mr. Ferd Clifford, and Mr. Oscar Staples, who are hanging out on a bench at the store.
After a week of going through the book off and on, I suddenly noticed that Mr. Oscar Staples was holding a cigarette. I emailed Jane McCloskey, who I did not know, and told her about it. She emailed me back that SHE had never noticed it. And the presence of a cigarette, subtle as it was, in a children's book, suggested to me that Mr. Clifford and Mr. Staples were real people (as was Mr. Condon, the owner of the grocery store). A little googling supported my hunch.
It was always my wife's dream to live along the coast in Maine. After selling our business in 1999 we stayed in Nebraska for a few years while our daughter attended a wonderful Montessori school which was on a farm. The school had several horses, sheep, peacocks and peahens and other assorted animals that came and went as farm animals do.
In early June, 2003, my wife and I were out rehabbing a small pond and waterfall in our backyard. It was 9 am, 90 degrees and extremely humid. As we worked we asked each other, why we were still living in Nebraska. After weighing the pros and cons for awhile we decided to move to Maine. 30 seconds later we had decided.
It took us a year to unwind our lives in Lincoln and find a place to live in Maine, but we settled in Blue Hill the following June.
Down the road from us in Blue Hill was the estate of EB White. The location of his farm is the worst kept secret in the county according to John Hodgman who goes into the forbidden disclosure of the location of the EB White estate. In his two latest books he doesn't even reveal EB's name which I suppose I shouldn't have mentioned either.
And between the EB White farm and our house their were two other homes of Maine authors, one living and one not. I'm not sure why Maine has nurtured so many writers, but it certainly has.
Perhaps Professor Richardson will someday explain why she chose to keep a home here when she travels all over the country. It's certainly not convenient for travel.
Until we were able to relocate here (Lamoine) some years back, I had to resort to reading "Letters of E.B. White" to tamp back my longing. Curiously, I _still_ dip into that every so often. Most recently I found "Chickens & Gin," a set of correspondence between White and longtime friend Edmund Ware.
As for the heat of summer. Honestly, it's gettin' too hot in the summer here. And I miss the cold winters as well.
I have "Letters of E.B. White" also and as it turns out I drive by your house at least once a day. We moved to Lamoine from Blue Hill in 2018. We really like it here. Great little town with lots of very nice people that pull together when necessary.
Last summer wasn't bad, but the two previous ones were warmish.
I first drove across Nebraska, going west, when I was 17, in the eight year old '62 Falcon. One of the first things I noticed was a faint sensation that I was driving ever so slightly uphill, coming out of Omaha. And when--years later--I found the elevations of several towns along that route on google maps, I realized that it had not been my imaginations--that the land, though a flat plane at that stage, was tilted ever so slightly upward.
But when you get into the west, there IS topography with a western feel, and there were a lot of huge bales of hay on the land. Even Nebraska has its charm. But I, too would rather live in Maine.
I am a 5th generation Nebraskan but since the 1960's once my family members left for out of state schools most often they didn't return.
And since we weren't born here in Maine, we will always be "from away." But Maine has it's own brain drain. But sometimes, the kids that leave return.
When they built Interstate 80 across NE they picked the flattest most boring route possible. It pretty much follows the same route as the Union Pacific railroad did when the built the trans continental railroad in the late 1860's.
I do remember it being not so flat and quite beautiful in the westernmost third or so, although back then it was route 40, I think, and in any event it had only one lane in each direction. But I'm virtually certain it later became 80, as it went through Cheyenne and Laramie, which I know is 80. And to the best of my recollection, my riders and stopped for the night in the last 20 miles or so of Nebraska, before Wyoming, and slept in the car, or I may have slept on a picnic table outside. I don't remember for certain.
When my nephew, Jonathan, was just three years old. I took a risk. I had stumbled upon a signed copy of Blueberries for Sal on a vacation to Maine the summer before. I knew he had the book already, but this was a hard cover signed copy, one that he could keep forever. so I wrapped it up and gave it to him for Christmas. I fully expected him to open the gift and say, “but I already have this book”. I was delighted when he ripped off the paper, looked at me with the largest smile on his face and shouted, “Blueberries for Sal! Blueberries for Sal! This is my favorite book.” Three years later he and his parents and little sister moved to Maine and have lived here all the rest of their lives.
What a beautifully written homage to the State of Maine, David. I am sure the professor (and Peter) would agree with you that to its credit, Maine definitely lacks decadence.
When we first moved to Blue Hill, my daughter who was 10 at the time, came into my office and said, "there's a man in the kitchen that wants to talk to you."
I was startled that someone had entered our house and I didn't hear them when I was about 15 feet from the front door. And worse, why was by 10 year old letting strangers into the house?
So I came out and met the man. Turns out, he had walked up the shore from his house about 100 yards down the beach. He introduced himself as Tappy Wilder. We exchanged stories and pleasantries when I asked him what he does for a living in Maine. He said he manages his uncles books and other publications. It took a while for the light bulb to go off, but I asked him if his uncle was Thorton Wilder? And, of course it was. I love the play "Our Town" and have seen it performed multiple times. Tappy said that his Uncle didn't write much in Maine, choosing to use it as a summer retreat.
I chose not to scold my daughter for her indiscretion.
I guess it boils down to a person's idea of decadence. Last night I made some poached salmon and to go with it, some steamed fiddleheads w/butter and a touch of salt. It felt like decadence.
My view of Maine was formed by The Stand, which this Okie gobbled up like candy in Los Angeles some 40 years ago. It was reinforced by subsequent trips to the midcoast area where I would gladly spend my remaining time on the planet.
11 All the angels stood around the throne and the elders and the four living creatures, and fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, 12 saying:
Such a beautiful photo! And one does need breaks from the world so we are ready to fight for Justice again. I hope you have a great night! Thank you, Heather, as always!
It’s good to hear that you’re taking a night off. Peter’s photo reminds me of the best of the impressionist paintings—the ones that immerse you in the scene so that you can almost taste the gentle breezes.
Right on both counts. The estimable Dr. Richardson needs to recharge her batteries in order to be able to provide us with more trenchant commentary on the days events.
The wonderful photo speaks for itself and to us all.
Heather Warmest thanks for sharing with us the beauty of the world, which is being so ravaged at home and abroad. You show us this beauty with a new moon. With your personal lighthouse of humanitarian and constitutional insights, I and your countless followers look forward to basking in the full moon of an America that reaffirms its democratic soul.
Thanks Heather, it's good to get a day. Question: Have you ever been asked to be a guest on one of those Sunday morning network news shows? Keep us posted OK? We need more of you.
The layers!!! So scrumptious! Like a layer cake. 🥰
That’s what I thought. Or parfait.
Not me. The colors in that photo are beautiful, and I can see where the cake analogy comes from, but Maine just isn't like a cake. With all that sugar, cakes are decadent, in a way that Maine is just not.
But that photo is a gorgeous expression of Maine's character, which I first became acquainted with through the Robert McCloskey books, Blueberries for Sal, One Morning in Maine, and Time of Wonder, as a small child, and then a camping trip up the coast when I was probably six.
I'm of Medicare age now, and around a decade ago, a girlfriend who had One Morning in Maine gave it to me, after I developed a strong interest in it. Besides just enjoying the feeling of McCloskey's Maine--which is very different from Steven King's Maine, for which I'd gotten a feel reading 11/22/1963--I found McCloskey's drawings captivating. In most of them, there was something off balance, that people and pets were often in motion...
I was so taken by the drawings that I would go through the book a few times a day over a period of a week or so. One picture, the girls at the breakfast table, has the mother pouring a glass of milk for Sal, while Jane, in her high chair, has just spilled her milk, some of which is dripping onto the floor, where the kitty is lapping it, while the dog, facing in the opposite direction on the floor, is nonetheless peering around suspiciously at the cat. Even the stovetop is beautifully drawn.
Sal has lost a tooth, which is the central element in the plot--which also involves a trip to Bucks Harbor to get food and other provisions, and the replacement of a spark plug in the boat's motor, which had necessitated McCloskey's having to row all the way to Bucks Harbor. While at the grocery store, Sal shows off the empty spot in her mouth to Mr. Ferd Clifford, and Mr. Oscar Staples, who are hanging out on a bench at the store.
After a week of going through the book off and on, I suddenly noticed that Mr. Oscar Staples was holding a cigarette. I emailed Jane McCloskey, who I did not know, and told her about it. She emailed me back that SHE had never noticed it. And the presence of a cigarette, subtle as it was, in a children's book, suggested to me that Mr. Clifford and Mr. Staples were real people (as was Mr. Condon, the owner of the grocery store). A little googling supported my hunch.
Ah, Maine!
It was always my wife's dream to live along the coast in Maine. After selling our business in 1999 we stayed in Nebraska for a few years while our daughter attended a wonderful Montessori school which was on a farm. The school had several horses, sheep, peacocks and peahens and other assorted animals that came and went as farm animals do.
In early June, 2003, my wife and I were out rehabbing a small pond and waterfall in our backyard. It was 9 am, 90 degrees and extremely humid. As we worked we asked each other, why we were still living in Nebraska. After weighing the pros and cons for awhile we decided to move to Maine. 30 seconds later we had decided.
It took us a year to unwind our lives in Lincoln and find a place to live in Maine, but we settled in Blue Hill the following June.
Down the road from us in Blue Hill was the estate of EB White. The location of his farm is the worst kept secret in the county according to John Hodgman who goes into the forbidden disclosure of the location of the EB White estate. In his two latest books he doesn't even reveal EB's name which I suppose I shouldn't have mentioned either.
And between the EB White farm and our house their were two other homes of Maine authors, one living and one not. I'm not sure why Maine has nurtured so many writers, but it certainly has.
Perhaps Professor Richardson will someday explain why she chose to keep a home here when she travels all over the country. It's certainly not convenient for travel.
E B White! Stuart Little! I still have my first-edition copy, in its rather tattered dustjacket.
His son owns a large boatyard in Brooklin, ME. And the Blue Hill Fair has a Wilbur each year.
Congrats on your first-edition of Stuart Little!
HCR needs not explain her choice of Maine as home. I think she’s made it obvious. However, it’s not for everyone, fortunately.
Yes. While I have great respect for people in cold climes, it's not for me.
Until we were able to relocate here (Lamoine) some years back, I had to resort to reading "Letters of E.B. White" to tamp back my longing. Curiously, I _still_ dip into that every so often. Most recently I found "Chickens & Gin," a set of correspondence between White and longtime friend Edmund Ware.
As for the heat of summer. Honestly, it's gettin' too hot in the summer here. And I miss the cold winters as well.
I have "Letters of E.B. White" also and as it turns out I drive by your house at least once a day. We moved to Lamoine from Blue Hill in 2018. We really like it here. Great little town with lots of very nice people that pull together when necessary.
Last summer wasn't bad, but the two previous ones were warmish.
Yes, you and eleventy-million dump trucks. ;-)
Eastern Nebraska to Maine!
I first drove across Nebraska, going west, when I was 17, in the eight year old '62 Falcon. One of the first things I noticed was a faint sensation that I was driving ever so slightly uphill, coming out of Omaha. And when--years later--I found the elevations of several towns along that route on google maps, I realized that it had not been my imaginations--that the land, though a flat plane at that stage, was tilted ever so slightly upward.
But when you get into the west, there IS topography with a western feel, and there were a lot of huge bales of hay on the land. Even Nebraska has its charm. But I, too would rather live in Maine.
I am a 5th generation Nebraskan but since the 1960's once my family members left for out of state schools most often they didn't return.
And since we weren't born here in Maine, we will always be "from away." But Maine has it's own brain drain. But sometimes, the kids that leave return.
When they built Interstate 80 across NE they picked the flattest most boring route possible. It pretty much follows the same route as the Union Pacific railroad did when the built the trans continental railroad in the late 1860's.
I do remember it being not so flat and quite beautiful in the westernmost third or so, although back then it was route 40, I think, and in any event it had only one lane in each direction. But I'm virtually certain it later became 80, as it went through Cheyenne and Laramie, which I know is 80. And to the best of my recollection, my riders and stopped for the night in the last 20 miles or so of Nebraska, before Wyoming, and slept in the car, or I may have slept on a picnic table outside. I don't remember for certain.
Thanks. I will be ordering these for my youngest granddaughter, Elle.
When my nephew, Jonathan, was just three years old. I took a risk. I had stumbled upon a signed copy of Blueberries for Sal on a vacation to Maine the summer before. I knew he had the book already, but this was a hard cover signed copy, one that he could keep forever. so I wrapped it up and gave it to him for Christmas. I fully expected him to open the gift and say, “but I already have this book”. I was delighted when he ripped off the paper, looked at me with the largest smile on his face and shouted, “Blueberries for Sal! Blueberries for Sal! This is my favorite book.” Three years later he and his parents and little sister moved to Maine and have lived here all the rest of their lives.
What a beautifully written homage to the State of Maine, David. I am sure the professor (and Peter) would agree with you that to its credit, Maine definitely lacks decadence.
When we first moved to Blue Hill, my daughter who was 10 at the time, came into my office and said, "there's a man in the kitchen that wants to talk to you."
I was startled that someone had entered our house and I didn't hear them when I was about 15 feet from the front door. And worse, why was by 10 year old letting strangers into the house?
So I came out and met the man. Turns out, he had walked up the shore from his house about 100 yards down the beach. He introduced himself as Tappy Wilder. We exchanged stories and pleasantries when I asked him what he does for a living in Maine. He said he manages his uncles books and other publications. It took a while for the light bulb to go off, but I asked him if his uncle was Thorton Wilder? And, of course it was. I love the play "Our Town" and have seen it performed multiple times. Tappy said that his Uncle didn't write much in Maine, choosing to use it as a summer retreat.
I chose not to scold my daughter for her indiscretion.
Another beautiful story about the folksiness of Mainers, even the "famous" ones!
Thank you Lynell!
Blueberries for Sal! One of my favorites as a child. Now I read it to kids whenever possible. My top favorite is Burt Dow, Deep Water Man. ❤️
I guess it boils down to a person's idea of decadence. Last night I made some poached salmon and to go with it, some steamed fiddleheads w/butter and a touch of salt. It felt like decadence.
Wild salmon in the freezer here and the fiddleheads are just up.
Nice. Somehow I missed them last year. This year a farm (via Farmdrop) has been selling them.
Too bad your neighbor doesn't sell them off his produce wagon.
that doesn't sound decadent to me. The salmon and the fiddleheads are quite good for you. Maybe ever so slight decadence in the butter and salt...
Yeah...I know. I guess it's literal vs. figurative decadence. Or something. ;-)
It's too healthy to be truly decadent, despite the butter and salt. And the fiddleheads were undoubtedly freshly picked. AmIright?
My view of Maine was formed by The Stand, which this Okie gobbled up like candy in Los Angeles some 40 years ago. It was reinforced by subsequent trips to the midcoast area where I would gladly spend my remaining time on the planet.
Salty , down eastern rugged, a place for poets, pets ,people who have places to do common things.
Well said!
11 All the angels stood around the throne and the elders and the four living creatures, and fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, 12 saying:
“Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom,
Thanksgiving and honor and power and might,
Be to our God forever and ever.
Amen.”
What a lovely sliver of a moon!
Thank you for all your insight and your words, professor. See you tomorrow.
This is what I needed tonight. Thank you.
Stop the world. I want to get off.
Such a beautiful photo! And one does need breaks from the world so we are ready to fight for Justice again. I hope you have a great night! Thank you, Heather, as always!
Fantastic picture! Love the different levels of color with a crescent moon! 🌙
I call crescent moons a Cheshire Cat moon because it reminds of the smile of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland.
Always great to hear you’ve had a lovely day off.
You deserve the night off-enjoy! Gorgeous photo.
Trump/MAGA never take a second off.......rest well when you can........Satan does not rest
Proverbs 4:16 Amplified Bible (AMP)
For the wicked cannot sleep unless they do evil; And they are deprived of sleep unless they make someone stumble and fall.
Good for you and why spoil it?! Another masterpiece by Peter…please thank him.
It’s good to hear that you’re taking a night off. Peter’s photo reminds me of the best of the impressionist paintings—the ones that immerse you in the scene so that you can almost taste the gentle breezes.
Right on both counts. The estimable Dr. Richardson needs to recharge her batteries in order to be able to provide us with more trenchant commentary on the days events.
The wonderful photo speaks for itself and to us all.
What a lovely photo! Enjoy the weekend!
Heather Warmest thanks for sharing with us the beauty of the world, which is being so ravaged at home and abroad. You show us this beauty with a new moon. With your personal lighthouse of humanitarian and constitutional insights, I and your countless followers look forward to basking in the full moon of an America that reaffirms its democratic soul.
Stunning image.
Thank you, as always for the serene photos to take our minds from the daily happenings in the world. So much beauty when we stop to look.
Thanks Heather, it's good to get a day. Question: Have you ever been asked to be a guest on one of those Sunday morning network news shows? Keep us posted OK? We need more of you.
This photo is stunning! Enjoy the break.