rudderless

Further Reasons to Love Maine

More than ever, being in New England reminded me of how much I miss seasons. In the Keys we have the pleasant winter, and the terribly unpleasant summer. It works for some, but not for me. Most of my spirituality is wrapped up in what’s outside the door. Tide cycles, weather, seasons and the turning inward and outward that comes with passing through winter and into spring. More and more, I want to center our girls’ learning, and our family’s seasonal celebrations, on what’s unfolding outside. It’s very hard to explain a fall equinox to a three year old who can’t see the leaves fall off the trees. There are people who find their heaven here in the tropics. The clouds are spectacular, and I’ll never forget crossing some threshold in Biscayne Bay, where the water went from brown and murky, to the brilliant tropical turquoise you only see in pictures. It is beautiful. But wow, am I ready for a different kind of beautiful.

The second reason to love Maine- people! We bought our land five years ago after falling in love with the location. We don’t have relatives, or even friends nearby. We got a sense from the stores, libraries, schools, and innkeepers, that there were like-minded people in Brooklin, Blue Hill, and Sedgwick. There’s an organic food co-op. People build and sail beautiful boats. Our neighbors (who we’ve only spoken to by phone) have a wonderful off-the-grid house. All seemed good.

On this trip I took three or four walks in the neighborhood with the girls. We walked past a well-restored yellow house with a tricycle, a Prius, and a double stroller in the driveway. Sophie took note of their trampoline. Too much stuff to be summer people. And clearly, they had kids. I didn’t think much of it until I saw them setting up for a yard sale on our last day in town. We stopped by that night and as it turns out, Jim and Heather Cassidy moved to Brooklin two years ago after falling in love with the place. They have two young daughters, and in a few days, will move onto their sailboat (sound familiar?) to take a cruise down the Intracoastal Waterway. We have Jim to thank for putting us in touch with the local who’ll install our mooring, which we hope to be floating on next spring. We met some of the Cassidy’s friends- great people with kids who were super nice to Sophie. Walking away with our purchases, we knew it was perhaps the most gratifying hour we’d spent in Brooklin. Our suspicions were confirmed. We won’t be resident aliens. We’ll have our people in Maine!

Safe passage to the Cassidy family, and a toast to the arrival of fall, whatever that means in your neck of the woods.

Butterflies

There are many wonderful tales from our time in Maine and I will tell all that I can remember, but the one that stands out as my favorite has to be Sophie’s butterfly adventure. Woodenboat Magazine and the Woodenboat School are located in Brooklin, ME, a stone’s throw from where we stayed for the week. Their campus is breathtaking and better yet, completely open to the public. Imagine- in Florida, there would be a big gate and an admission fee and all sorts of rules to use land as beautiful as theirs. But we were free to walk through their beautiful fields and do a little drooling over their boats. Sophie caught sight of a few yellow butterflies and disappeared over the fields, chasing them. She chased and chased through short and tall grass for nearly an hour. It was seriously the most running she’s ever done in her life. Completely unprompted, just because it felt good. She snoozed off her workout in the car while John and I drove all over Blue Hill looking for a butterfly net- anything to foster this crazy love for our fluttering friends.

We had no luck finding a net, but on our morning walk the next day, Sophie started collecting wildflowers and leaves for “a butterfly picnic.” She was convinced that if we could gather just the right things, and make honey sandwiches, with little acorn-caps full of water, the butterflies would come to her “and be easy to catch.” The logic of a three-year-old is just so brilliant.

So while Rosy slept, we collected a stroller-canopy full of mushrooms, autumn leaves, wildflowers and ferns. Oh how I wish I could take that walk every day. Our picnic was delicious and a great deal of fun, even though we forgot the pretty vase and had to use a water bottle. She chased a few promising specimens and then decided that they were too shy to come eat with us. We should leave their tiny offerings in the field and let them enjoy. Smart girl.

I was a little overwhelmed by it all, feeling like my love for all things hippie-Waldorf and “natural parenting” was coming to fruition. The picnic was enough to convince me that we are leading her in the right direction, and that Maine is where we belong. But as we were leaving our friend’s house in York a few days later, on a cold morning, John noticed a sluggish little butterfly on their front walk, still warming his wings. He carefully, carefully scooped him and up and came inside to show the kids. Sophie got to hold it, every so gently. She had caught a butterfly.

Now we are home and she is building fairy houses in tree roots at the park. It makes me feel good to know that with what bits of nature we can gather up, and what stories she writes in her mind (and there are lots of them), she can be entertained for literally days on end. Like the butterflies, her experience was everything we were hoping to find, and then some.