Tag: maine

Take a Latch out of Arkansas…

October 21st, 2019

My parents have often been called “adorable.” People say that my mom is incredibly sweet and my dad has an amazing mustache. My mom is known to make friends wherever she goes and learn the life story of cashiers in the grocery store. My dad, on the other hand, is your classic introvert/hermit who is happiest sitting alone with a cup of coffee…preferably around nature. So, they have quirks (like most parents). And when they decided to drive up to Maine for a few days to join the “leaf peepers,” I braced myself for the quirks.

My dad picked up rocks all up and down the coast of our little island near Acadia. My mom rolled her eyes and added a few to his collection. We found fresh lobster and clam chowder…and my mom even tasted lobster (I know – right?!?). There were antique stores and bookstores to visit. Plants to identify and forests to wander. There was annoyance at people being in all of the places. And there was a stop at a lighthouse (and annoyance at people standing in the way of pictures).

They brought their quirks all the way to Maine with them…but if you looked at my car (and the list of places I’ve visited between here and Arkansas/Tennessee), you’d know that I have plenty of my own. And, as confirmed by all photographic evidence, our quirks prevent us from taking any sort of normal photo together.
The Maine Thing

October 16th, 2019

About last weekend…there was hiking and there was Maine.

I hiked on Saturday and Monday, with Maine filling the space in between. When you roll into a small town and your friends invite you to meet them at a brewery and then join them for a movie on permaculture, you know you’re in for a good time.

Saturday night I crashed in my favorite yurt. I slept “late” and savored the gentle morning light that streamed into the yurt.

Such a change from cabin life! A few weeks ago, when the temperatures dropped, we had to close up the windows to our cabin. The only natural light we have comes from the small window on the door. Some days, it feels like living in a cave.

The yurt was a pleasant change.

And the cozy, restful night left me prepared for the day’s adventures!

There was a cranberry farm.

Yes. I picked cranberries. And cranberries and cranberries. As we walked out to the field, another gentleman who was there with his wife asked if I had ever done this before.

“I’m from Arkansas. This isn’t really something we have there.”

And with that, we began picking. I filled a small jack-o-lantern bucket with cranberries. The official haul was three-pounds of cranberries. Now…what to do with all of those cranberries?

We started with cranberry-apple-pear hand pies. (And some savory pies with a roasty tomato sauce, buttercup squash, and rosemary…no cranberries.)

It was in part of an early celebration of “World Community Bake Day” (officially, it’s today – the 16th). The wood-fired stone oven was fired up and everything went it. Pizza. Vegetables. Naan. Bread. Hand pies. I was in my happy place.

I enjoyed one of the hand pies alongside a glass of freshly pressed cider. Because what else do you do on a brisk Sunday evening in Maine next to a wood fire oven??
One Month Later

August 8th, 2019

These are a few of my favorite (Nashville) things…

On July 8th, with EVERYTHING piled in my car, I went to breakfast with my roommate (breakfast tacos). I drove back through town to pick up coffee from my favorite place and cookies from my favorite place and make a deposit at the bank. Somewhere along the way, I realized that my bike rack was not going to do. So I abandoned the bike back at “my old” apartment.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally left Nashville.

To put it mildly, the emotions were mixed.

I was excited for a new adventure and eager to not be in Nashville. But at the same time, Nashville has all of the best people…the ones who put up with my occasionally ornery nature, the ones who understand how much coffee I need to function, and the ones who know when to leave me alone (or not).

And…I didn’t really have a plan. And I like plans.

Looking back on the past month of “not having a plan,” I don’t think I could have planned things any better if I tried! All along the way, new opportunities have presented themselves…because I’ve been open to them!

When I set out on this adventure, that was my goal – be open to opportunities. Because of this, I’ve met new people and gone to new places and learned how to eat a fresh lobster! I hiked in four new states and I made a pie with blueberries that I picked and I dove into a lake after practically bathing in flour for several days (Kneading Conference…it’s what we did). I discovered a beach full of snails (SNAILS!) and ate a cannoli sitting on a bench in Boston and I survived a slightly questionable bite (still not sure what that was all about). I did yoga in a park and I’ve gone days and days without showering.

I have a vague notion of where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing “next”…but from what I’ve learned so far, less planning is better.
A Pie-ku

August 4th, 2019
She grew the rhubarb
I picked fresh wild blueberries
Then I made a pie
M.E. Latch

At the Kneading Conference, I met someone named Mary Elizabeth (RIGHT??). She lived on a small island not too far from Acadia. She invited me to come visit.

A normal person would probably not follow through with this. But I’ve forgotten what “normal” is. So, I maneuvered a ferry system that only mildly stressed me out (see last post) and made it to the island. As we entered her home, she pointed out the rhubarb on the kitchen table and mentioned that she had picked it from her garden.

I know two things about rhubarb: (1) it doesn’t really grow down south and (b) it belongs in pies. So naturally, I mention this to her. She responds that they used all of the strawberries. I shrug my shoulders, scratch my head…and then I ask about the blueberries.

If you wander around the island enough, you will find berries upon berries upon berries. I woke up the next morning and made dough so that it would have time to chill. Then, I went on a berry hunt. Eventually (I was concerned about invading private property…but no one seemed to mind…and there were definitely enough berries for everyone), I found the right spot.

And it was SO right. The space between the road and the woods was covered in blueberries. I had to step gently. An older gentleman passed by and asked if I was making a pie. How did he know?!?

I slowly worked my way down the road – put a berry in the bucket, eat three, put a berry in the bucket, eat three…

The gentleman came back by and told me that there were more berries at the end of the road.

THE END?!? This road ends?!?

At the ocean. The road ended at the ocean. I sat and ate some of my berries before turning around to go make this pie.
(Please be assured – I did not eat the pie by myself. The pie was enjoyed as dessert following a dinner of freshly caught wild lobster…yes, I had to be instructed in the proper method to eat the lobster.)
Ferry Boat Newbie

August 4th, 2019

During a trip to the other Portland several years ago, I had a minor fiasco with public transportation. I found myself on the opposite side of town from “home” after the main bus lines shut down for the night. After hopping on and off everything possible and spending an uncomfortable amount of time at a sketchy bus stop on the corner of “my phone is dying” and “there’s a creepy man just up the road,” I finally made it back…about four hours before I had to brave it all again to get to the airport in time to catch a flight.

There are layers of added complications that go into this but we can stop there and summarize: I get a little angsty with public transportation.

I love that public transportation exists and I am comfortable using it when I fully understand the system…when I have all of the information and I feel like I’m in control.

That was not the case with the ferry boats in Maine.

In a sort of “comedy of errors,” I was on the phone with three ferry companies, one police department, and possibly an alien spaceship before figuring out where to park and how to catch a ferry. And even then, I wasn’t sure about the parking situation…so I just walked into the police department and had a lengthy conversation with the fellow at the front desk. He was very understanding when I gave him an Arkansas address.

I’ve just started letting people know, right out of the gate, that “I’m from a land-locked state and ferries are a foreign concept. Help me!!” It’s a great conversation-starter.

(In case you’re wondering: I parked behind the police department/city hall…with a permit in my windshield. And I walked the 3/4 mile down to the ferry boat. One of my calls to this particular ferry company determined that I could, indeed, pay on board and that they took plastic. There were two crew-members on the boat and one of them, based on his accent, was undoubtedly a native Portlander…he did confirm this. The ride was short and painless and I arrived at my destination in one piece. And breathed deeply for the first time all day.)