Bermuda Breeze

Feathery whisps of clouds slowly drifted across the summer sky on a Bermuda breeze in Maine. Early moring humidity lingered and the scent of roses and moist soil filled the air. That's how it

was this morning here in Portland, Maine. The tropics in the early morning have this same scent...like that perfume I remember from years and years ago when I went to Bermuda. Floral, warm, gentle and delicious. That's how this mornng was born.

The Chuck, the Scarlet Runners and June

Often I'm asked, 'Pete, how's the chuck treating ya?' People remember my yearly battle with the chuck, the fat rodent who visits my gardens savaging beans and flowers and lupine. This year, after a few assaults, I spread chicken wire along part of the woodpile and rocks, too. Somehow, that seems to have discouraged him from making his home under the wood pile. I have waited and watched. I have studied the lupine leaves, a delectable favorite of El-Chuckoh. I've seen nothing. I know. I know. He sits, waiting on the perimeter, waiting for the moment to attack. But so far, even the scarlet runner beans (right) have not been eaten by him. (Earwigs, snails, and who knows what have been chewing on the leaves, but at least it's not the chuck!)
June has been good for the garden so far. The birds have been teaching their young, with baby finches, mocking birds, and cardinals flitting about the neighborhood. And the chuck perhaps is tending to his/her brood in some distant place where the pickings are better. Or more likely, he's just waiting for me to let down my guard. (Wasn't it last summer that we found the chuck in mid-summer standing on the wire fence plucking pole beans?) And so we wait with vigilance.

Lost in My Own Cyberspace

So, this morning while walking Baxter, I figured I'd take some photos of the hound wearing his new German-made collar. Sure enough, my trusty iPhone was at the ready. I took the pictures and that was that. Now, having downloaded them to my computer, I just can't seem to find them. I think there's a lesson here. I know I saved them. I know I carefully placed them in a folder.

I know I dated them for easy reference. But no. Five times I search my documents, My Pictures, Desktop, and I see nothing. So, I stopped doing the blog, stopped all other tasks I had been attempting to do at the same time. Then I went file by file in My Pictures. One by one. Painstakingly. And, as you can tell from the picture posted above, I found the folder of photos. There it sat, labeled differently than I had labeled it. I swear, there is a gnome who lives in my computer who changes things, moves things in the night, and wanders my office piling paperwork, old mail, pens, notebooks, seed packages, CD's, semi-used AA batteries, and scraps of paper with reminders on them, all over the place. Thank goodness there's a search function on my computer. Too bad it doesn't always lead me out of my cyber-maze. That search function seems to point to bread crumbs for me to follow part of the way. Then I realize the gnome has eaten most of the bread crumbs. Then I get frustrated. But it's amazing what taking a deep breath and pushing forward can do when dealing with the gnome. There's almost always a solution if the intellect can push aside the gnome of frustration. Onward!

After the rain, a foggy dawn in Maine

June, that cool, damp month in Maine, is back at it with early morning fogs and cool nights, showers, and life emerging. The blaze roses on the front trellis hang, laden with the nighttime wet. Soon the beetles will browse looking for marvelous morsels of rosebuds.

Baxter

When we go for a ride, Baxter often careens from seat to seat, window to window, chasing, barking, enjoying the passing world.

But if it's an especially long trip, like on the Interstate, he almost always climbs up onto our shoulders and jams himself between the headrest and the driver or passenger's head. I shot this picture after calling his name and awakening him, just barely awakening him, on a recent excursion.

As I am so fond of saying, 'He's not much of a dog, but he's a GOOD dog!....all 6 pounds of him!!!'

Singing Peas

This morning as I sat in my office overlooking the garden, I thought I heard, amidst the sound of rain drops, a quiet, happy tune coming from the garden. No, it wasn't the gnome who lives below the weather vane. It was, to my delight, the peas.....tendrils humming....in the cool June mist.

Disaster...what is it about us?

What is it about us that makes us apparently so inept at planning for disaster? Is there some kind of systemic problem in our land, in our national psyche, that makes us incapable of taking the potential for disaster seriously?

I was just reading the AP's analysis of BP's preparation for dealing with a catastrophic oil disaster. Sad but true, the plan for dealing with a major blow out of a Gulf oil well was woefully inadequate. That's pretty obvious now. But why wasn't it obvious to the regulators in advance? Had the government enforced its own regulations and studied the plan months ago, the 'plan' would have been shot full of holes. Is it the fox guarding the hen house? Is it our insatiable need for oil? Is it the dumbing-down of the regulatory process to the point that 'drill baby drill capitalism' sadly outweighs rational thought that protects the common good? Is it the big money that lubricates and permeates the political process?

In a word, YES.

I know I don't want to support the so-called 'Nanny State' in which government takes care of everything. But wouldn't it be nice to be confident that existing laws and regulations were being enforced?

But, you know what really worries me? It worries me that our free world is so fragile. We assume so much until there's a disaster of some sort, until the lights go out, the retirement fund is gone, the Internet totally crashes worldwide, until we find the most common, untested chemical is killing us, or there's one of those horrific attacks.

Each new catastrophe makes me hope we are learning.

Truth be told, in large measure, I think it's just the nature of things...we muddle through, do what we can, and hope it all works out. Much of the time it does work out. It's just when it doesn't work out, it makes me wonder why we're just so damned inept at being ready for disaster. It's infuriating when we know how to be ready but we (or those who are supposed to be in charge) just haven't bothered.

roses

Roses abound in the springtime sun. Their more civilized cousins are also about to burst open.

Peas

Summer gives way to the damp chill of June.
Weather here taunts us with the delicious feel of summer
Only to snatch it back and return us to June,
The way it usually is...
A cool, showery situation
That reminds us why peas pick-up their pace
This month
And are eaten July 4.

The view from here....

This was the early spring view from my house, across the street. And this photo (right) is my trusty hound, Baxter...an incredible min-pin who always wants to assist with keeping the critters at bay.

Critter watch

Here in suburban Portland, Maine our neighborhood once had a rural feel. Pheasants once strutted around the back yard and there were vast expanses of fields and over-grown orchards. I've watched the change with a sense of sadness. Traffic on our 25mph road has increased dramatically. Condominium projects have replaced the fields and the rural wildness we once imagined we had. But, we adapt.

The pheasants are long gone. But other critters have moved into the neighborhood and seem to thrive here. The tree rats, better known as squirrels, are happy as can be. In fact, Baxter and I just chased one from the bird feeder. Gudrun came to the door as I came huffing and puffing back into the house, carrying the hound. "What on earth?" "Just the squirrels, again," said I. Baxter is not let out of the house without a leash. But when I burst from the door in pursuit of the bird-food bandit, Baxter was right on my heels, dashing into the compost heap after the varmint. As I lugged him back into the house I could feel him panting. Ah, the thrill of the hunt.

It reminds me.... I haven't seen the woodchuck for a few weeks. I know he's out there...plotting, waiting to attack my garden or my flowers, or, God forbid, my scarlet runner plants. I barricaded his wood pile house a couple weeks ago and he hasn't been around since. BUT....this morning, as I look at the wood pile, I note that the tarp has been lifted, ever so slightly, in the middle. He may well be back. Waiting. Watching. Preparing to launch an attack on my tiny piece of suburbia. I'm ready.

So it goes, in the Portland burbs of 2010. Squirrels, woodchucks, a fox every so often, and our constant friends, the cardinals, jays, gold finches, chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers and occasional warbler. At nighttime the racoons come out. And the skunks.

It seems we've all adapted to the sprawl. And we go on, making the most of this moment.

Scarlet Runners

It feels like we're about a month ahead of schedule in the garden this year....the peas are climbing nicely, the tomatoes and peppers are happily doing their thing...and my experiment in gardening...my scarlet runners are now all in the ground and looking to climb whatever is handy. The scarlet runners should produce beautiful red flowers and then beans...some of which I'll harvest and use again next year. As they mature, I'll pass along a photo or two.

At the left is Grandson Brody admiring this years beautiful poppies...and harvesting one crinkled red petal. (He tried to stick it back on after plucking it, without success).

I've been blogged

OK....so, after a many month hiatus, I returned to my blog, coaxed back by The Cloth Diaper Sniffer..... it's a long story. So, here I am. Musings from Maine. My last Musings is still out there...somewhere....but this is the authentic new/improved version with the old one clipped and pasted below.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Stop Grabbing My Lapels
I don't know about you, but are you sick and tired of having the commentators on the news say, "Look, this is what you need to know..."? I crave educated discourse and discussion. Not loud-mouthed know-it-all's telling me to "LOOK...." Each time somebody says, "Look..." I don't want to. "Look" is an obnoxious way of trying to grab my attention, perhaps even interrupt a conversation with the message, "I have something more important to say than you and you need to hear it NOW! Give me a break. "Look" is simply said too many times. When I'm watching Larry King or Wolf Blitzer or any of these info-schmo's and someone begins saying, "Look...", I just go away, knowing my brain needs better input. I flip on some comforting music, perhaps one of those CD's that's buried deep in my stacks of music. And I listen. Relax. Often I read one of those old-fashioned pieces of paper that purports to contain news. Some papers actually carry news. How refreshing to read them on occasion. And the papers generally don't shout, "LOOK!" Politely tell those on the tube who are getting in your face and grabbing your lapels and saying, "Look...I'm talking here..." to go away, in the most polite, passive-aggressive kind of way. Amen.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 5:46 AM 1 comments
Tuesday, January 27, 2009

A New Year, A New Way
Well, it's been quite a month. First there's the matter of the snow. Lots of it. But more importantly, it's been a month of change for the nation. Who among us, other than pompous gasbags on the AM radio dial, has not been moved by the arrival of Barack Obama as President? Young, happy, moving, changing things, helping us hold our heads up high, this is the President now in office. Our expectations are soaring. And I know there's not a chance he will live up to our expectations. Many will feel the disappointment and bitterly complain that he's like all the rest. But for many others, I hope myself included, his daring to start changing the world view of the USA is one of the most important things he can do. He's doing it with the appointment of Senator Mitchell from Maine....a man who has considerable success in bringing people together both in Ireland and the Middle East. Mitchell will work hard to bring peace to that troubled region. The President is shutting down Guantanamo. He is ending torture of enemy combatants. He is actually talking to Republicans. What a breath of fresh air. I wish him luck. I hope he uses his immense popularity to ask us all to sacrifice. I hope he leads. It's been so long we've had no leader. I hope he deals with the thieves who have raided the pensions of innocents and the executives who collect their millions and millions as their corporations fail.Last Saturday night, under star-filled skies, I stood alongside a frozen Maine lake and felt a sense of awe. The stars shimmered above and it felt so peaceful. I thought about my parents and all those who have come before us who struggled to give us the lives we now have. In the zero degree air, I felt comfort that my country is again being set on a course I could believe in. As I turned to go back to the winter camp I shared with friends, a slight breeze came up. I had this warm feeling that my Dad was at my side saying, 'All is well.' It feels good. First time in a long time.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 4:27 PM 0 comments
Labels: Winter politics
Sunday, January 11, 2009

More Snow

More snow. The gnome still sees above it, so it's really no big deal. It is Maine, after all. And it's winter. And, I guess we could be in Washington state. So, no griping here. Just hunkered down on a snowy Sunday, listening to nice music, smelling the herb marinade for the pork tenderloin that is festering for dinner, watching the birds avoid the peanut butter I put out for them, and getting ready to blow snow out of the driveway. Just another winter day in Maine.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 8:58 AM 0 comments
Labels: Another lazy winter Sunday in Maine
Saturday, January 10, 2009

Mule Musings on a Day Off

Here I am back. I have decided. I am like the mule racked with indecision. The mule sits between two bales of hay and starves because he can't decide. Well, maybe I'm not totally like the mule. I can't decide. I'm more like the mule stuck between two ROWS of bales of hay. I move toward one, then meander to the other side before being distracted to move on to the next. Then I turn around and start over. Yeh. That's it. Of course it's not flattering to be the mule. But I digress.So....here it is, Saturday morning. A day off for me. We sit and drink coffee and watch the birds at the feeders frantically eating, getting ready for the next snow storm. I'm referring here to the BIRDS frantcially eating and not US. We were just eating in a normal Saturday morning fashion. A little toast and juice. But I digress. I need to shovel the driveway before the next storm. But it's so cold out there and all the previous snow has turned hard and can't be shoveled anyway. So, thoughts turn to money. The household cash flow. Sure. We watch endless news reports of lay-offs and pay cuts and economic decline. We see each story filled with b-roll shots of sheets of money at the printing press...this to symbolize what is about to be infused into the economy by the man who will be President. But we all know that money will not be arriving here. It will be sent out to all of us in such small amounts that we'll not notice and life will go on as usual. That's partly because here in Maine, the ups and downs of the economy don't matter much...we're accustomed to being one of the lowest per capita income states in the nation anyhow. So, the big ups and downs of America don't matter all that much, especially when, as Lou Rawls used to sing, "It's an uphill climb to the bottom." We'll get by, just fine, I figure, since we both run our own businesses and can push them hard enough to put money in our pockets that will far excede the imaginary money we see being printed on TV. Our money will be real. That money on the government printing presses is just stuff we'll have to mail off to China anyhow. But all that aside... It's Saturday and we're cutting back on our lavish lifestyle because that's just the right thing to do after a Christmas in which we overspent. (Although, according to all the TV news reports, we didn't spend enough and now the makers of junk nobody wants are singing the blues.) Now we need to tighten belts, get into fiscal and physical shape and blah, blah, blah. So, Saturday, with our new fiscal austerity, we'll pool our resources, buy a tank of cheap gas and go out to see the grandson...take him sledding...yeh, that's it.But first, I should find the gift certificate for the tickets to the movie theater so we can go on the cheap tonight. I look for it right where I put it and of course it's not there. I look again. Still not there. I pull the drawer out to look and find 2008 tax information I need to file in the pile that I'll no doubt misplace later. So, off I go to file it. Oh, and I need to shred that other stuff I found. Oh, and pay the bills I left in the mail pile..or at least schedule them to be paid. But first, above all else, I need to check my e-mail. And in so doing, decide, en route, that that poor plant needs water and fertilizer. I prepare the water with liquid fertilizer and remember the plants I have cowering in the basement...they need water, too. So, down I go, wondering, when I get there, if the bigger of the two plants is really dead or just pretending to be frost-bitten from having been left in the garage until Christmas. Both get water and I figure I'll check them again sometime in the spring.You see what I'm getting at, I imagine? I am the mule musing about stuff I need to do and nibbling at the hay, but still being hungry. OY. So I must focus. Perhaps this can be my blog? Writing about something that surely everyone experiences when they are highly disorganized and confronted with a day filled with luxurious time.But for now, I'm off. Perhaps I'll call the guy who gave me the tickets... But first I have to check my VISA bill and while I'm at it, figure out when the cable bill is due and see if I scheduled it to be paid by the bank and see if Discover is also due and how I'll pay it if it's due at the same time as the mortgage. Or maybe we'll just go sledding and not worry about the bales of hay that litter my life. HEE HAW. Great idea.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 8:04 AM 0 comments
Labels: Organizational Mule
Saturday, January 3, 2009

Lilacs in winter
The holiday season is over. Amen. Farewell. I know this because I took the tree down yesterday, helping each ornament find its way to a container in big plastic bins. Each ornament says, 'Remember me?' Some hung on trees 50 years ago...smiling elves, ceramic bells, plastic gingerbread men. Others found their way to our tree from mergers of family. A sadness in this putting away.But all around me, a new season dawns. The lilacs tell me so. Big, fat, greenish yellow buds laugh-off the winter chill and remind me that brother crocus and tulip are already stirring underground, right by the foundation facing south. Now I await the song of the cardinal, the song that comes every winter in the hashest part of the season. In a bright red attire, he will sing the next season to us. But that's still a few weeks away. Meanwhile, I find brightness and a smile in the lilacs in winter.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 7:17 AM 1 comments
Labels: Christmas
Thursday, January 1, 2009

A Nasty Cold Start
My feet are cold. It's mid-afternoon in Maine and the sun is on its way down. The wind is howling and the weather people on TV insist on giving the temperatures based on the wind chill. I'm safely inside listening to the wind. But my feet are cold. A week ago, when the temps were about 60 degrees, I was saying, 'Hah! Wasn't much of a winter was it?' And now my feet are cold and my dog won't even take a walk. The closest to going out for young Baxter is to dash onto the deck in pursuit of the tree rat (squirrel) that's raiding my squirrel-proof bird feeders. The squirrel dashes to the spruce trees nearby, and Baxter proudly dashes back into the house to a thousand accolades for his work in behalf of the household. But my feet are cold and I must leave this place, this space in the house to find a warmer zone.
Posted by H. Phillips Smith at 12:19 PM 1 comments
Home