July 18: Reminder

Hundreds of people from the community gathered together today under a big tent in the hot sun at the Ragged Mountain Recreation Area to celebrate the life of Ken Bailey, a man who did it all: he was a loyal husband and father, Vietnam vet, editor and columnist of the local paper, owner of the town shoe store, policeman, fireman, Rotarian, Maine guide, avid hunter and fisherman, executive director of the Megunticook Watershed Association, and lake warden on Megunticook Lake and Nortons Pond. He had a kind word for everyone, and his life was an inspiration. He loved life and outlived his cancer prognosis by about four years, engaged and alert to the very end.

I stood in the shade of a spruce tree while family and close friends recounted their favorite memories of Ken. Up the mountainside a raven croaked several times, distracting me for a moment. As I briefly shifted my attention, I could hear a goldfinch twitter and dip overhead. It struck me how here below we were all thinking about mortality, grieving a loss in our human community, while up in the sky the birds continue to fly and sing: life goes on. Beautiful things still happen, even when we aren't open to recognizing them.

Above the mourners
goldfinches flit and chatter 
in the bright sunshine.

July 17: Morning fog

We awoke to a morning dampened by mist, bird song muted by opaque curtains of fog draped over the trees.

Are they near or far?
How strange the crows sound, unseen
in the morning fog.

July 16: Roadside, Crow

Wildflowers flourished along the Vermont roadside as I headed home this morning. I was impressed with the lush growth of flora; the verge beyond the paved shoulder is often mown flat. Here and there amid the cornflowers, black-eyed Susans, and Queen Anne's lace would appear a single crow, standing just the right distance from the speeding cars, almost obscured by the tall weeds. Perhaps the road's edge is a good spot for gleaning bugs or to await road kill. I didn't see any other birds until somewhere in New Hampshire, when I counted four vultures soaring over the highway.

Just by chance the crow

poses prettily with the

roadside wildflowers. 

July 15: Child's play

We spent some time today catching up with an old friend from college and her sweet, tow-headed, three-year-old son Henry. The morning's activities included a lovely plein air brunch, a romp on the capitol lawn, and a visit to two different farms. Henry got to feed goats, pat a sheep, admire some rabbits, a small, white-faced calf, and a donkey, slurp a maple creamee (Vermont's version of soft-serve), and sit on two tractors (one defunct antique, one modern and working). Amazing how little boys are drawn to large machinery at such a young age, as if they were born knowing how to make that "vroom vroom" sound.

Under the child's feet
as he runs for the tractor,
tiny pink flowers.

July 14: Misty mountains

Visiting a dear friend in Vermont, my second favorite state to spend time in. The feeling I get when I cross the bridge on I-89 outside Lebanon, NH, into Vermont, is very similar to the little thrill I get crossing the Piscataqua River Bridge to return home to Maine: this is a place I belong. These cornfields and rolling green hills and the roiling White River and road cuts of schist that I studied in college geology classes, they are familiar and loved. I'm particularly fond of Montpelier, with its gold-domed Capitol, historic buildings, funky shops, views of the Green Mountains, and a river running through it. So today I'm in one of my happy places with one of my closest friends.

As if in a dream--
distant mountains in a haze
beckon me onward.
 

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July 13: Pre-dawn

I'm not a morning person, so the wee hours of the day are always a revelation to me. Unfortunately, things weighing on my mind have left me wide awake at a ridiculously early hour. It's too bad, really, that this isn't a natural habit for me, as this is a wonderful time of day--watching the pale sky slowly brighten and deepen into blue as the song sparrow sings from the still-dark trees and crows stir upriver, breaking the peace in our otherwise quiet neighborhood...

Pre-dawn, crows yelling--
what is there to shout about?
The day's still so young.

July 12: Summer clouds

During this idyllic spell of summer weather, the clouds have been spectacular--big, fluffy cumulus clouds that roll across the sky's blue canvas, adding texture and dimension to its bright expanse without lingering too long, blocking the sun, or releasing any rain.

Beech Nut, the sod-roofed stone hut on Beech Hill Preserve, and clouds

Clouds amass above the Megunticook River, as viewed from my office

Blue screen, white brushstrokes--
a folding Japanese screen,
"Sky with clouds and birds."

July 11: Chimney swifts

Another perfect summer evening. Sat outside at a local bistro, alone, sipping a cocktail, periodically looking up to admire the expanse of blue sky. Eventually the chittering of chimney swifts filled the air--my energetic dining companions.

This sky, it's flawless,
till swifts fly all over it.
Then, it comes alive.

July 10: Beech Hill kind of afternoon

Today was one of those days I truly loved my job: enjoyed a business lunch on the sunny outside deck of the Waterfront on Camden Harbor, spent a couple of hours in the office, then led a group up Beech Hill in Rockport for the rest of my afternoon. If you have to work, what better way to enjoy a perfect summer day here in midcoast Maine?

Here's how this idyllic day looked from up there:

View of Penobscot Bay from Beech Hill

View of Ragged Mountain from the road

Historic sod-roofed stone hut at top of Beech Hill

Follow sparrow song
through fields of sunlit lilies
all the way to sky.

July 9: Perfume of the leaves

With hours left of sunlight and blue sky after work today, my husband and I walked into town. On the way we passed under a huge tree, its boughs hanging down all around us like an umbrella. We realized when we were under this green umbrella that the tree was flowering, the cloying but sweet perfume filling the air. It stopped us in our tracks. Dozens of bees hummed amid the leaves, tucked up in the fragrant blossoms. 

The leaves and bark of the tree made me think it was some kind of aspen or cottonwood, although I couldn't find it in any of my books. Most native aspens have a long, drooping flower like a tassel, but not our aromatic tree, which abounded with small, subtle, creamy white flowers. If we hadn't smelled them, we probably wouldn't have even noticed that the tree was flowering under its leafy green canopy.

Perfume of the leaves
and hum of bees draws us in--
summer seduction.

Later: After I posted this, a persevering reader sent me several options for what kind of tree this might have been. He got it in three: American Basswood. Thank you, Kirk Betts! Here's a photo from Wikipedia:

American Basswood

I particularly enjoy that it turned out to be a basswood, which is also known as a linden tree here in the United States. The origin of my surname "Lindquist" is "linden," so I've always thought of lindens as a sort of family emblem--even if I can't recognize one when I see it!

July 8: Flowering

Suddenly, my garden is full of blooming flowers again! This mid-summer wave of flowering, amid the chaos of unweeded greenery that is the front yard, brings some of my favorites: the sunset-purple clematis climbing the porch railing, a succession of day lilies in orange, red, pink, and more orange, and the tall, cardinal-red bee balm that attracts hummingbirds. And soon, the bright purple stars of echinacea will join in, as well. 

Midsummer again--
orange lilies open for 
their day in the sun.