.silence.

I went to a book reading last night with Emily Ruschvich, a Idaho native and rural life enthusiast. She said she's always lived in small places and with that also loves rural literature. The moderator asked why she loved rural literature so much? She said "it shows the essence of us - rural life shows our humanness in our most quiet moments." I loved that. I fell in love with her passion and connection to the land here. I envy that connect to a place. She reminded me of the richness and depth of exploration that comes from the slow quiet of rural life.

I remember that silence.

It reminded me of those long hot afternoons living in that big house on the hill in Southern Malawi. The view from the front porch looking over the red valley below and the electric red/fuschia sunsets during burn season. The days with no work and no power. How they felt so long at first and then slowly over time turned into sweet delights. It was time and space to explore and create, a new fruit to experiment baking with or new supplies found on a trip into the city to make into jewelry.

One time, on a trip to the "big" city I found rope at the paper store and learned how to dye the cotton with found spices at indian stores and then wove it into a big necklace on one of those afternoons, just sitting on the front steps looking out at the guava trees and the clay lands while the boys (I lived with a family with two boys - Promise, 7 years old and Osborne, 5 years old they became my local guides, shadows, friends and food tasters.) played soccer with a ball made out of burnt plastic bags. Another afternoon I noticed the guava trees, so heavy and ripe with fruits and with a whole afternoon infront of us I decided we were going to make a guava crisp. I explained the mission to the boys, they had NO clue what a crisp was but with the brief mention of sugar (a rare treat) they were off leaping at the trees to help collect guavas. Within minutes Promise and Osborne were back with enough guavas for 10 crisps! As I gathered the ingredients and they worked on eating the leftover guavas. I went to the cookhouse to start the fire but  realized I forgot a towel to grab the pan and headed back to the house. As I rounded to the front of the house I had a strange feeling - something was different. I slowed down and looked around and before I knew it Promised and Osborne were sneaking up behind me whispering "Arish, baboooooon baboooooon" and there in the small grove of guave trees was at least 15 baboons in the trees scooping the fruit off the branches and into their mouths.  The world felt silent and full and magical for a moment - then Promise being 7 couldn't help himself and was worried they wouldn't leave any fruit so started running towards the trees and in a flash they were all gone - like it never happened.

It's been hard to sink into the silence of HERE. I ached for silence in Somerville but now that I am in a place of wide spaces and deep silence I am realizing how much in 3 years I acclimated to my home there.

.camping in maine.

I love Maine in summertime. I've only been a handful of times but I fell in the love the first time I went last year. There's this energy of Maine that is so intriguing to me - it's secretive and undiscovered nature. The towns are so quiet, the houses are so old, the summer season is so short, the roads are two-lanes and so windy. You can't go anywhere fast - even with no traffic. No one minds, they just drive slower or boat there or walk there or bike there or canoe there - everyone is exploring. I wonder if it's because the summer is so short or just the type of people that call Maine home but everyone is out - connecting to the land of Maine. 

I went to a new place this year - a small town named Richmond, just north of Portland. We took a right off the highway and drove for a longtime on a two-laned road I was wondering if this is the right way then a few houses with big lots started to appear and then one gas station with a fried chicken fast food and Dunkin Donuts in it, this must be it. It's funny in these rural town how the gas stations can be all-in-one town centers. We drove a little more and there it appeared, the adorable downtown of Richmond. It's just about two blocks long right on the railroad tracks with a bakery, post office, library, ice cream shop and restaurant. Most of the buildings are from the 1800s, I always wonder how these little towns keep running? What's it like in winter? Life is slow here and I don't image much changes. Maine seems to give me so many questions. The end of downtown stops right at the banks of the Kennebec river and the boat loading dock. Our camp site was on Swan Island so we had to canoe over since the ferry (small boat) stopped running at 3pm that day. It was dusk and the mosquitos were coming out in hordes. We eased into the murky river and paddled against the current. We paddled across the river to hang close to the edge of Swan island right along the edge of the swaying freshwater grass. 

The Kennebec river is fascinating with the current getting pulled and pushed by the ocean's tide, the water levels can change by several feet during the day and makes for an interesting plant life, it looks almost marsh-like in places with the entire Swan Island bordered by freshwater grasses. 

It was dark at this point and I was wondered as we were curving around the east side of the island if we would be able to see the boat dock for the campsite. With the darkness and current it took us about 45 mins but we found it. The night sky was so dark and no one was in the camping area except for us, we were greeted by that deep deep silence of Maine. There is such healing/peaceful powers in that deep deep silence. We slept under the bright blanket of stars and woke up to the hot summer sun. I haven't felt the rhythms of the life without buildings - highways - lights for so long - it felt so good. 

Swan Island was inhabited several times between the 1700s-late 1800s until the land was ultimately bought by the State of Maine in the early 1900s so it has many houses on it still from the different owners and settlements. We read the histories of the people that once lived on Swan Island - the first family of settlers that  were captured by the Abenaki Indians and sold as slaves across the border in Canada. The next wave logging the land leading wide open meadows on the island. Another wave of settlers serving off of selling ice from the Kennebec River until refrigeration became a household things. With not many resources people didn't stay long on the Island but their houses are still there today as a reminder of their stories.

We hiked and canoed and even swan in the murky dark waters of the Kennebec - SUMMER. I hope you are exploring your lands and reading histories and seeking dark night skies and feeling that deep deep silence.