Notes from Maine - 2025/07/27

This morning was magical. As I did my chores—mostly horse-related—the air felt cool and close. It was thick with humidity, but not oppressive. It almost seemed like I could lie down in the pasture and go back to sleep. The sunlight filtering through the trees looked like eclipse sunlight. It was yellow and wan. Faraway wildfires have tinted it.

When I was little, riding in the back of the station wagon to our grandparents’ house, my brother said, “Grandpa is going to say we brought the rain with us.”

“Why?”

“The grass is yellow. It’s been dry.”

Through the pelting raindrops I saw that he was right. We were riding a storm into a drought. Our time at our grandparents’ house was completely governed by the weather. I wanted all the bright, sunny, hot days to happen when we were there, not to mark the ending of good weather with our arrival.

Sometimes when I walk into my barn, I catch the scent of my grandparents’ barn. It’s a cool, dark place easily repelling the sun’s assault. There’s a coziness to that—inherent safety. This time of year, the memories blend with the present. There might be other places in the world that would evoke the same nostalgia. I wouldn’t know. I never bothered to look. It makes me wonder if my attachment to Maine is an inherent affinity or just something I learned as a kid. Probably the latter. Given the winters up here, it’s easy to imagine that human beings shouldn’t naturally be drawn to Maine as a permanent home. We would thrive much more easily in a place where winter doesn’t require either a huge effort or reliance on industrialization. I’m not a Mainer. I’ve only permanently lived here for 33 years. If I had kids, they wouldn’t be Mainers. Tim Sample says, “If my cat had kittens in the oven I wouldn’t call them biscuits.” Still, this is where I feel at home.

Mom and I went to the camp on Friday. She wanted to put in some plants before my sister arrives. The blueberries at the shore are peak. Albert (dog) loves to swim, although he doesn’t do it with any grace. He swims like he’s angry at the water for restraining him. The dog is pure muscle and bone. He would sink like a rock if he wasn’t furiously clawing and kicking at the water. Fortunately, he always is. A million years ago I had a Labrador who could float. He paddled around when it suited him, although he typically swam recreationally, making it clear that he wasn’t trying to get anywhere in particular. 

My sister is in Connecticut right now. She’ll be making her way up here later today. Mom is visiting the local embassy of her native land (Costco in Scarborough). A friend offered to take her and for several days Mom wouldn’t commit to the trip. She desperately wanted to go, but needed a reason. After she made up her mind, I added some things to her list. I didn’t want to be the driving factor for why she went, but as long as she was going of course I needed a few things. I don’t remember the last time I bought napkins or paper towels. As far as I know, they don’t sell those anywhere else except Costco and I’m not a member.

When she gets home, Mom will put another coat of polyurethane on the next kitchen cabinet that I need to install. She’s applying poly in the laundry room—it’s much easier to do before I mount the thing. It happens to be the LAST AND FINAL cabinet. I never thought I would see the day. When I was planning the kitchen renovation, I put some thought to how many of the cabinets I would save and re-use. My plans showed painted cabinets, thinking that it wouldn’t be feasible to refinish the dark face frames into anything reasonable. Of course I knew (even back then) that I would end up replacing everything, I just had to warm up to the idea. By the time I had spent the best years of my life building a completely new floor, I wasn’t going to throw old junky cabinets in there. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I found in dark corners and beneath the cabinets when I tore them out. My new kitchen features zero points of ingress from the walls, floor, or ceiling. If a pest wants to get in here now, they have to use the door, like anyone else. In sharp contrast, the old floor had enormous holes and gaps, some of which had traffic signals to manage the rush hour of rodents in and out. 

Even with the cabinets nearly complete, I still have a ton of work to do in the kitchen. I’m going to box in the space above the cabinets, tile the backsplash, and add a bunch of lighting. The level of complexity and planning for these remaining tasks is much lower. It’s easier to talk about these things than actually do them. I suppose that’s why I talk about them so much.