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ellenkushnerWe found internet in a restaurant in the fogbound fishing village at the end of Deer Isle, where we are eating the world's largest (and best) strawberry shortcake . . . and Delia says I should post this, from a letter to my family, because she's tired of being the one who always writes the travelogues. As she has set herself the rather tiring task of revising 2 chapters/day of THE MAGIC MIRROR OF THE MERMAID QUEEN, I will oblige:
After a flurry of packing & leaving, we are now blissfully settled in E's house, on a wide place in the road between Blue Hill and Deer Isle. Picked up the rental car at the Bangor Airport - and guess what? *Another* damn' SUV! All they had, no lie. At least this one's small-ish. It is also seductively evil: it is quite comfortable, holds a lot of stuff, and the view's divine. Oh, dear. Maybe I will be able to exchange it for the requested compact before we head down to Boston . . . . Last night we went to the Fireworks in Stonington, a fishing town at the end of Deer Isle. Excellent fireworks, and I had some local blueberry pie, and hope to have more in the coming days. On the way here we passed the stony field that Robert McCloskey used for BLUEBERRIES FOR SAL. After the fireworks we came home to our own private show: the back yard, a big field sloping down to pine trees and the sea beyond them, was pitch black, and full of fireflies. No moon, and a salt-shaker-full of stars above us. The fireflies are slightly larger than the stars, and greenish if you chance to see them up close. But from a distance - in our case, the porch which runs along the back of the house - it was hard to tell one from the other - as if the stars had come down and were dancing in the field - trying to attract a mate and make more stars? Who knows? Woken this morning by a bumblebee that had somehow gotten trapped in our bedroom against the window and was making a noise like a lawnmower, wanting out . . . . The air here is very clear - a relief after the humid haze of NYC, so sharp it almost feels like a miracle - and it's downright cold at night. I now perfectly understand why people used to abandon the city entirely to come here for the summer. I would.
My new Mac is so ultra-cool that it does not even have the capacity for landline connection - so look not to hear from me until the next dire need for shortcake . . . . Hope you had a fiery & glorious Fourth!
After a flurry of packing & leaving, we are now blissfully settled in E's house, on a wide place in the road between Blue Hill and Deer Isle. Picked up the rental car at the Bangor Airport - and guess what? *Another* damn' SUV! All they had, no lie. At least this one's small-ish. It is also seductively evil: it is quite comfortable, holds a lot of stuff, and the view's divine. Oh, dear. Maybe I will be able to exchange it for the requested compact before we head down to Boston . . . . Last night we went to the Fireworks in Stonington, a fishing town at the end of Deer Isle. Excellent fireworks, and I had some local blueberry pie, and hope to have more in the coming days. On the way here we passed the stony field that Robert McCloskey used for BLUEBERRIES FOR SAL. After the fireworks we came home to our own private show: the back yard, a big field sloping down to pine trees and the sea beyond them, was pitch black, and full of fireflies. No moon, and a salt-shaker-full of stars above us. The fireflies are slightly larger than the stars, and greenish if you chance to see them up close. But from a distance - in our case, the porch which runs along the back of the house - it was hard to tell one from the other - as if the stars had come down and were dancing in the field - trying to attract a mate and make more stars? Who knows? Woken this morning by a bumblebee that had somehow gotten trapped in our bedroom against the window and was making a noise like a lawnmower, wanting out . . . . The air here is very clear - a relief after the humid haze of NYC, so sharp it almost feels like a miracle - and it's downright cold at night. I now perfectly understand why people used to abandon the city entirely to come here for the summer. I would.
My new Mac is so ultra-cool that it does not even have the capacity for landline connection - so look not to hear from me until the next dire need for shortcake . . . . Hope you had a fiery & glorious Fourth!
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Date: 2008-07-07 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-07 01:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-07 02:05 am (UTC)It's a great area. I'm not sure if Sal still has her law practice on island on not - she used to have an office at one end of the village of Deer Isle.
If you get this while you are still there and are still in a literary/historic frame of mind have someone give you better directions than I can from here (I know what it looks like and was even in the barn a couple of times, buying hay bales for archery practice) on driving by E.B. White's house in North Brooklin (on the east side of rt 175). The Blue Hill fair is the model of the fair in Charlotte's Web.
Buckminster Fuller had a house in Sunset on Deer Isle and also one on Eagle island, just off of it. If you take rt 15 south down the west side of the island, after you go by the Sunset post office and the church the trees will clear off to your right and there are a bunch of older white houses to your left, his is I think the second one. It is a lovely late 18th Century building,although I hope the current owners have fixed the flue so the mosquitoes don't get you (friends rented it from his estate one year and I've never been so eaten alive indoors.)
Oh and since I know you like lovely things, if you end up back on island check out Turtle Gallery. Elena Kubler who runs it is a lovely woman who finds a wide variety of lovely things. I spent several summers happily gallery sitting for her. And one of the first bits of art I ever bought was a Siri Beckman woodengraving from there, 30 years ago.
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Date: 2008-07-07 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-07 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-09 04:37 pm (UTC)