Full Tilt Retreat

Kindness Award for Bloggy Help for Fenix in Boston

2007-10-08T15:05:00.000-04:00

This award is hereby presented to Fenix for being helpful to Mary. Thank you.

Note to my Readers

2005-06-11T17:42:00.000-04:00

I have decided to move Discovery at Little Hog Island to a new blog. I know you've already been complaining I have too many blogs and it's confusing, but this blog was intended for retreats and for a variety of pieces, and it has become focused on a single story which I am working on every day or nearly every day. I am going to slowly work at transforming both blogs. One, Discovery at Little Hog Island, will be the serial story, and this one will go back, eventually, to being for retreat work. I apologize to those of you who find my plethora of blogs confusing. Ask me, and I'll explain. Or go to the View my complete profile and navigate that way. Thank you for reading. Please leave me a comment occasionally so I know you're out there and I am not adrift in a sea of hungry black holes. Have patience, because this is slow work, and be gentle, because the first posts are first drafts.

I am not going to have the links up to date for a while, so please navigate within the story blogs by using the monthly archives. Thank you, and visit again soon.

2005-06-07T15:42:00.000-04:00

Audubon Roseate Tern Collage

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 36

2005-06-07T15:31:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 35

"Yeah, well, at the time, we decided that the larger ruins were an old, partially fortified settlement. A settlement that probably failed because of the rocky soil and the bad storms. Apparently it was one of those bad storms that did in the lighthouse and further crumbled some of the downed walls of the settlement ruins.”

“Check out this picture, Dana” Ross said, holding it out to Dana. He had been peeking ahead at the pile of items in the folder that Rheta had laid on the table between them. “Oh, look, there are more. And a stamp. I don’t recall that you got so into the terns, Rheta.”

“These aren’t all from when we were kids. I sort of collected these as I came across them over the years. I like this one best, because it is most successful at showing the rose color on the neck,” Rheta said, holding up one of the Audubon prints. “The part I didn’t like about Audubon’s paintings is that he killed 38 terns before he made the painting. What a jerk. I don’t even believe in killing one of them, but thirty-eight? Was that really necessary? No wonder they’re endangered.”

“I don’t think Audubon himself is solely responsible for their status, Rhee,” Ross said. He sounded fond to Dana, rather than critical. Maybe she should forget this project and head to Idaho and study the wild horses instead. That had been one of her other ideas. Why was she feeling so jealous of this one night stand?

Part 36

2005-06-06T09:49:00.000-04:00

Roof of Settlement house at Little Hog Island.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 35

2005-06-06T07:51:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 34

“If I remember right, you told me is was part of the PSSC Physics and Calculus deal with Gary, some sort of thank you for all his help, and that you hoped I’d understand because you’d love to go with me. Of course, I thought you were shrugging me off and didn’t like me.”

“I thought you liked Ami and Dorothy anyway.”

“I thought Ami was going with Billy Owens. Then I heard Dorothy was going with Billy Owens. I always thought you were cute. I asked you because I liked you.”

“Our mutual admiration society probably isn’t much fun for Dana.”

Dana was staring at the map Rheta had made of Little Hog Island, doing her best to ignore Rheta and Ross. She did get jealous easily and she felt as if Rheta were trying to horn in on her territory with Ross. But Ross had made no promises to her. She looked back at the map. “What’s this?” She asked, pointing.

“It’s a first people’s shell midden,” Rheta said. “And there were some projectile points there, too. I didn’t know what it was when I drew it; I just copied it off the old map. But someone before us had discovered a first people’s campsite, located right near the settlement.”

“Settlement?”

Part 36

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 34

2005-06-05T09:36:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 33

“I’ll show you what I’ve got handy, and maybe later dig out some more. I happened across a few of these when I was cleaning out my hope chest. I’m not sure exactly what I was hoping for when I stuck these in there, Buck. And yes, somewhere I have notes on the terns, although that part wasn’t my project—and I have some of Buck’s notes.”

Dear Wendy,

Gary and Rude both asked me to the Prom, can you believe it? Gary asked me first and I said yes, because I like him and I didn’t think anyone else would ask me. If I’d known Rude would ask me, I’d have said no to Gary so I could say yes to Rude. Now I am trying to figure out what to do. I’ve been obsessing about it, but I need to take more notes on Little Hog Island. Mr. R. (Raymie) Wadsworth wants me to make a topo map of the island showing the location of the ruins relative to the mainland and the other islands and to write a little essay proposing why I think they were located where they were.

I got a copy of the topo maps of the area at the library, but the details aren’t too clear because the scale is too small. It shows the ruins I drew yesterday as buildings and also some (other) ruins we haven’t seen. I rowed out alone to look and see if they are still there—I wanted to be the first person to find them if they were. Guess what—they are. So I’m going to get to tell everyone what I found. I don’t know why we never looked at the maps first. I guess that’s why we have teachers—to help us learn stuff. Only this stuff is more interesting than what we usually learn at school.

The new ruins, new to us and perhaps also newer in construction time, are higher on the hill and are constructed of different materials than the old ones. The woods are thinner there, and the ground underneath is rockier. A mostly solid hump of what I think is granite, like everything else. (I took a rock sample to find out.) One of them is an old lighthouse, I think. It’s round and made of stuff that looks a lot like the Rock Island lighthouse. I was wondering why there would be two lighthouses here, and I decided that the Little Hog Island Light was built first and that something happened to it and they replaced it with the Rock Island lighthouse. The other building, which is partly intact, looks as if it were the lighthouse keeps quarters. That doesn’t explain anything about the original ruins we found—Ami found. This is all just my guess, but I have taken samples and pictures at both sites and drawn some sketches and am going to take them all to R. (I mean Raymie, not Rude—Raymie is pretty cute too, but we’re not allowed to even think of dating teachers.).

I gotta work on that map for R. He showed me a way to measure the elevation so that I could make topo map lines between the ones show on the big map—he wants me to make more of them closer together to show the lay of the land and the shape of the hill. I guess I’ll try to draw (copy) the original topo map first, only make it a little bigger. I won’t put all those details in; that would take forever.

Meanwhile, while I am writing these words, I can’t stop thinking of Rude and Gary. ACK! What will I do? Mom says I have to go with Gary, since he asked me first and I said yes, and that Gary is really nice and cute. She’s probably right. Gary is cute and nice. I like Gary. But Rude is so . . . so wonderfully Rude. I want to say he’s sexy but I can’t write that in case Mom finds my diary under my mattress. (I didn’t write that, Mom!) Oh, darn. I will have to tell Rude something—what can I say?

Part 35

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 33

2005-06-04T09:42:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 32

“I’d forgotten that you had a crush on me, Rheta. What a dolt I was, sorry,” Ross said.

“Now I am jealous. Did you take the tent because you were jealous of my being with Ross?” Dana asked.

“Ross, who’s Ross?”

“Buck. Are you still in love with Buck?”

“Ross, huh? Kind of suits him. I think he’s pretty cute, yes. But I took the tent because Garrett called and said Wendy had left her tent at her campsite and would I pick it up for her. He said he’d explain later. If you hadn’t run into me taking pictures of those starry false Solomon’s seals, I would never have known I was being used that way. I’m sorry.”

“Wendy? This is getting way too complicated. Was Wendy one of your friends?”

“No, my middle daughter.”

“You weren’t writing to her in high school, were you?”

“No, that was Peter Pan’s Wendy, left from when I was a kid. I liked the idea of never growing up. From my vantage point at the time, grown-ups didn’t seem to be very happy. All they did was work; they never got to play. They always had to worry about money. So Wendy was like my alter ego. I was writing to my child self, I guess. Sort of. And I named my daughter after her, because she’d been so important to me as a child and a teen. But the terrible irony is that we do need to grow up, and my daughter Wendy has real issues assuming the mantle of adulthood. I wish I had named her something else. I’m not sure what. Every name seems to have some baggage attached to it. Like Darcy. I almost named her Darcy, but I was afraid she’s be murdered like Darcy Farrow.”

“I’m sorry about your daughter Wendy, Rheta. I don’t know much about it, but I hope she is able to be successful integrating into adulthood. And that she can retain a childlike sense of wonder. And I am glad I got my tent back. Do you have more notes from your high school project?”

“I think Wendy will always have a sense of wonder, which is good. I saved all the high school project stuff from Little Hog Island. Some of it is in the file here. Other stuff is in the attic.”

“Could we see some of it? Do you have any notes on the terns?”

Part 34

Rhee's First Map of the Ruins

2005-06-03T14:41:00.000-04:00

Rhee's first map of the dunes. Not included is this notation to "Wendy:" I had drawn a heart with a cupid arrow through it and my intials and Rude's and then realized Rude would see my map and so would all the others and Mr. R. Wadsworth, so I tried to erase it. It didn't completely erase hope no one sees it. Look top right under "hole in roof." (It says RW + RS! Shhh!)

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 32

2005-06-03T10:37:00.000-04:00

Part 1, part 31

Dear Wendy,

I’m going to tell you about the ruins on Hog Island, Little Hog Island, that is, of course. Mr. Wadsworth (everyone calls him Raymie, but you know MY mom says that’s rude) assigned me the task of taking notes on everything. I’ll copy out the parts that we need for class later—I like telling everything to you, you’re the only one who really understands. Like about Rude and Billy and Gary and Glenn. Golly, they are all so cute. Everyone says Billy is the cutest. He is pretty cute. Blond and blue-eyed and so, SO sweet. I like Rude the best, but he likes Ami best and then Dorothy. I can tell by how he acts with them, batting his eyelashes like a girl. He’s so obvious, the way he follows them around, it makes me sick. Next best, I like Glenn, then Gary. Don’t get me wrong, I like Billy a lot, too. Gary is so smart. He helps me with PSSC physics. I’d never get it, or calculus, either, without his help.

Anyway, I’m getting off the topic, as usual, and into my favorite topic, which is boys. Boys boys boys. I’d like to kiss them all.

Well, not all of them, I wouldn’t want to kiss Clifford Masman. He’s so fat. Mom says I should like him anyway. He’s okay, but I really can’t get past his fat even though I know I should. Or Karl Heney, he’s such a creep, and he smells bad. I mean I’d kiss any of my boys. Rude, Glenn, Gary, Billy or Harlan Hardan. He’s pretty cute, too.

Darn it, there I go again. I’m supposed to be talking about the ruins. They are all made of rock, rock from Little Hog Island. Whoever made them spent a lot of time fitting them together very carefully. The walls that are still standing are thick and strong and secure. Well-built and stable. The ones that are collapsed probably did not fall down by themselves. That’s my opinion. I think something happened to them and I am actually interested to find out what. Wouldn’t Papa be surprised to hear me say I am interested in learning something related to school? He thinks all I want to do is talk on the phone and go to school dances and drink soda and eat brownies, but he’s wrong. It’s so annoying when grownups think they know what you’re thinking and they don’t.

I am going to drawn a map of the ruins. I wish I could climb up on something really high and take a picture, but the highest thing is the ruins themselves. Well, some of the trees around them are higher, but I can’t get up in them to get above the ruins, so let me try to draw them. Your friend forever, Rhee

PS: Billy and Gary have both taken to calling me Rhee, and I like it. Rude sometimes calls me Rhee-rhee. He says it in a special voice and it gives me the shivers.

Part 33

2005-06-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

Line at Pier

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 31

2005-06-02T09:41:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 30

She yanked desperately, pulled and tugged. At last the zipper moved an inch or two. She stuck her hands the hole and pulled them apart. Finally the door opened. She dove through and up, breaking the surface, gasping for air, and then turned to help pull the door opening over Ross. They dragged the soaked tent and bedding up onto the rocks, and stood naked in the heap looking toward shore. The bikes were both lying on their sides and the contents of Dana’s bags had been scattered across the site.

“Glenn is going a little too far with his animosity,” Dana said, “We could have been hurt, or killed. The bikes might be damaged.”

“I’m not sure that was Glenn,” Ross said.

“Then who?”

“Well, it could be Glenn. Or it could be Dorothy and Yllsa. Or Willie and Simon. Or it could be Byron.”

“Byron, why?”

“We don’t know what the motivation was. The may not have intended us harm. It may have been a joke. Or, not. Dorothy is clearly jealous of you.”

“How could someone so pretty and slender and and young-looking and in such good shape and so talented be jealous of me?”

“You’re pretty and talented, too?”

“Not as pretty as she is!!”

“I think you are. You’re pretty to me.”

“Well, I think whoever dragged us into the water could have killed us. I don’t think it was a joke. If it was, it wasn’t funny.”

“Let’s check the bikes. Good thing it’s such a warm night, or we’d be getting hypothermia!”

Ross picked up the bikes and examined them. Dana picked up her belongings. She put on dry clothes, and gave Ross one of her largest T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. They went to a 24-hour Laundromat and washed all the wet clothes, sleeping bag and tent. They dried everything but the tent. Ross suggested they hang it up to dry at the site and that they go to a motel for the night, his treat.

In the morning, when they went back to the site, the tent was gone.

Part 32

2005-06-01T15:12:00.000-04:00

Roseate terns.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 30

2005-06-01T14:31:00.000-04:00

Part 1, part 29

“I love the smell of the sea,” Dana said, slowly, “and the warm balmy summer evenings.”

“Mmmmmmm,” Ross murmured, “It’s definitely balmy in here. A little beyond balmy—it’s downright steamy. Glenn’d say that it smells like a bloody fish market, but I think it smells like contentment, like comfort.”

“Like serenity.”

Dana rolled over and laid the length of her naked skin against Ross’s and breathed in the joy of having him beside her. “A gentle female rain after a long dry spell,” she whispered. “Ahhhhh!”

Suddenly the tent was yanked, battered and pulled down over the rocks and into the icy water. It collapsed around them. Ross thrashed and clawed at the fabric beside her. Wet tent closed over her face. Dana scrambled for the zipper, found it, fought with it, but it stuck in her hand. She yanked and yanked, lungs burning, but it wouldn’t budge.

Part 31

Roseate Terns over the Shore

2005-05-31T23:49:00.000-04:00

Roseate terns over the shore. Today is my birthday.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 29

2005-05-31T23:11:00.000-04:00

Part 1, part 28

“Yllsa is really pretty,” Dana whispered to Ross between kisses.

“She favors her mother,” Ross answered, unbuttoning Dana’s top button.

“No, she looks like more like you,” Dana said, twisting slightly to allow Ross access to the next button.

“She said she had her own boat, does she fish alone?”

“She has a partner now, but she fished alone for a few years. It’s in her blood.”

“Is there enough fish out there for all of you? Mmmm, Ross, oh.”

“Leave her and the fish back at Dorothy’s for now.”

“Is that a flashlight or . . .”

“Yes, I am happy to see you,” he murmured, stroking her soft skin. “Very happy. I’d like to see a little more of you, in fact.”

Dana reached over and unzipped the tent.

Part 30

Roseate Tern

2005-05-30T23:45:00.000-04:00

Roseate Tern

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 28

2005-05-30T23:07:00.000-04:00

Part 1, Part 27

“Is this one of your etchings?” Dana asked, with some trepidation. It was a large delicate piece, utterly beautiful.

“These are all hers,” Ross said, with an note of obvious pride in his voice. Dana felt a little stab of something that felt almost like jealousy. Stupid. Stupid, she thought. I’m letting everyone talk me into something that isn’t even there. She let out a long sigh, and Ross and Dorothy both turned to look at her.

“I wish I were this artistic,” she said, trying to hide the real source of her pain. She did wish she were more artistic. She would have loved to have done the work that Dorothy had done. She walked around the living room, family room, dining room and kitchen, and down the hall, admiring the elegant pieces. They were an eclectic work of posters, photographs, drawings and etchings, differing in style but with a common thread or "voice."

“You might not want to view the bedroom etchings, if they’re the same as they were,” Ross said.

“Certainly she would, they’re among my best,” Dorothy said, urging Dana forward. Dana wanted to turn and run, but she allowed herself to be propelled into the bedroom. It was a spacious room with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over Big Hog Island. A large circular bed nearly filled the center of the room, with a white Norwegian cover and fluffy pillows with matching covers. On the three non-glass walls were huge pieces each centering on the touching of a single naked body part. They were tastefully done. Dana thought they were of Dorothy and Ross. She felt blood rising to her cheeks and draining away again. She took a breath and stepped forward to examine the pictures.

Part 29

Sunset over the Dunes, The Pinery

2005-05-29T23:52:00.000-04:00

Sunset over the dunes, The Pinery. Photo by Mary Stebbins.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 27

2005-05-29T23:32:00.000-04:00

part 1, part 26

And don’t let yours always be too low,” Dorothy snapped back.

I shouldn’t have come here, Dana thought. She got the willies in the pit of her stomach. This is too much like home.

“Bucky was a wonderful father, a hard worker and a good provider, but don’t be getting interested in him. You’ll regret it, I promise.”

“I’m just here for a couple weeks doing some research. I don’t even live in Canada, never mind Nova Scotia.”

“Simon seemed to think there was some chemistry going on. I don’t recommend it, for your own good. Seriously.” Ross was studying his shoes. “He has a terrible temper and a fondness for the demon liquor. And tells stupid jokes, to boot.”

“I’ve never heard him tell a joke at all.” Dana said, not knowing how to respond to this conversational thread.

“He’s probably trying not to scare you off.”

Part 28

The Dunes, Pinery

2005-05-28T23:03:00.000-04:00

Dunes, the Pinery. We played in the dunes and hiked in the woods today.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 26

2005-05-28T22:49:00.000-04:00

"Why yes, that would be fine. I'd love to share my etchings, posters and photos with you. How about dinner tonight at 7? Bucky will tell you how to get there. Or better yet, Bucky, why don’t you come, too. The upstairs bathroom faucet is leaking again and could use manly touch.”

“That’s Billy Owens,” Ross whispered to Dana, pointing to a small black and white picture of a boy grinning at the camera, holding up a string of fish. Dorothy was out of the room getting them drinks. “Of course, it wasn’t there when I lived here.”

“Looks like Simon.”

“His Dad. I adopted him, of course.” Dorothy came into the room with a tray.

“And he was a wonderful father. To all four of our children.”

“Dorothy always did have supersonic ears,” Ross remarked.

“Four?” asked Dana. She imagined she shouldn’t, for some reason, but the remark seemed to warrant it.

Dorothy pointed to a picture where four children sat side by side on the steps of what looked like a museum or church. Boy girl boy girl, each one half a head smaller than the next. “Simon, Yllsa, Willie and Yvonya. Yvonya drowned in the same accident that injured Willie,” Dorothy said. Her voice was matter of fact, but a little flat. Dana looked up at her. Her face was pained.

Dana looked at Ross. He was studying the hands in his lap.

“Willie’s getting better, though,” Dorothy added.

“Don’t let your expectations get too high, honey,” Ross said.

Flotsam on Lakeshore

2005-05-27T23:01:00.000-04:00

Flotsam on Lakeshore, photo by Mary Stebbins. We walked along the beach tonight and looked at the stars.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 25

2005-05-27T11:56:00.000-04:00

Camping, The Pinery

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 25

Part 1, part 24

“There’s Dorothy,” Ross said, pointing. A sailboat, leaning steeply, turned toward them. A tanned woman hung over the upper side. She waved gaily, and brought the boat up, tossing anchor. She dove and was beside them in an instant.

“This must be Dana,” she said, extending her hand, smiling broadly. Dana held out her hand, surprised. The woman, who must have been Ross’s age, looked twenty years his junior, and hers. She was slender and strong, and there was no loose flab on her upper arms. She looked as if she had never had children, but if Willie was their youngest son, she had to have had at least two. Simon, she thought. Simon was also her son. He looked just like her. She would have guessed him to be younger than Willie, but he must be older. Must have inherited some of her youthful genes and vigor.

“Nice to meet you,” Dorothy was saying. “The boys told me of your unexpected arrival on Little Hog Island and your interest in the terns.”

Dana refocused her eyes. They had been slipping off for a moment.

“And they said that Glenn had shot a hole or two in your kayak, that must have been upsetting,” she continued, cheerfully.

Dana was thinking how to respond, but before she’d thought of something to say, Dorothy rattled on, “I’m so excited to meet you. I love biologists.”

“I’m not really a biologist,” Dana started, “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh, you’re a biologist, okay. I’m sure of it. I can’t wait to see what you learn about our terns.”

“I am not sure I will learn anything you don’t already know—you folks probably already know so much from all your research and observations. I am just a student.”

“So were we—and we were just in high school. And that was a long time ago. It’ll be fun to learn and discover anew.”

“Dorothy is selling herself a little short. She’s been an amateur ornithologist for years.”

“Now Bucky, don’t be putting any notions in Dana’s head.”

“You might want to see her etchings,” Ross said, smiling grimly.

Part 26

Sailboat, St. Clare

2005-05-26T23:46:00.000-04:00

Sailboat, St. Clare, photo by Mary Stebbins (all posted photos are by me unless otherwise noted).

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 24

2005-05-26T23:12:00.000-04:00

No retreat today. I’m jotting down a few words before I heave myself into bed. (I did walk to the shore at one point, in the evening, after dinner—almost at dusk. Alone.)

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 24

Part 1, part 23

“It was a small school, and ‘interdisciplinary’ wasn’t the buzzword it is now,” Ross said, “but suddenly the project expanded exponentially and the girls were in on it too.”

They were out in the kayak together, Ross paddling and Dana crunched into the cargo hold. Ross said that if the kayak would hold both of them in rough seas , it would be safe for her. The patches seemed to be holding and Ross’s strong paddling was taking them toward the spit end of Little Hog Island.

“Let’s see, not Phip Rellins, he was biology, not Mr. Brunelle, he was Physics, let me guess, any chance it was Raymie Wadworth?” Dana asked.

“You’re good, real good. How’d you know?”

“I didn’t. Shot in the dark—it was the only other teacher I remember your mentioning.”

“You remember that? I don’t remember that—you got a photographic memory, or tape recording memory?”

“Not really, just a sort of unreliable 6^th sense. It only works some of the time.”

“Yeah, Raymie got involved. Took the girls under his wing. We worked on the ecology and they worked on the history. It turned out that what they were doing was even more interesting than the terns. Speaking of which,” he said, waving his arm out. He had turned steeply and slid the kayak into a narrow sandy slip between some tall rocks. The terns flew in and out, doing their fantastic aerial dance.

“I didn’t bring my scope, my binocs or my notebook or recorder,” Dana mourned. “I didn’t know we were coming out here.”

Part 25

2005-05-26T13:30:00.000-04:00

Rachel Swings

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 23; May 25, 2005

2005-05-25T23:08:00.000-04:00

Today we had company. Neil, Neil’s wife Laura, and Rachel came to the house for dinner. I was busy all day preparing, and busy all evening with them. No time to write, as I have not had time for ten days, and I apologize.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 23; May 25, 2005

Part 1, Part 22, note*

“Did you guys know there were ruins on the island?” Ami asked, breathlessly, as she settled back into the bird-watching alcove.

Dorothy opened her eyes and stretched deliciously. “Ruins?” she asked, “Really?”

All three girls turned to study the boys. The surprise on their faces was clearly evident.

“Hah!” Ami exclaimed, “I figured you didn’t know, because if you did, you would have showed them to us.”

Part 24

*note: it has come to my attention that the links to previous posts don't open in all browsers. If you want to find an earlier post, go to the archives and scroll down. I'll fix them if I can figure out how.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 22

2005-05-15T23:27:00.000-04:00

Today I left Falmouth Foreside and drove through the Berkshires, enjoying again the backwards progression of spring as I climbed higher into the mountains until the leaves retreated into their buds, and watched them unfold again as I headed back down to the flatlands. I stopped and walked at Verona Beach and watched the sunset before I continued home.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 22

Part 1, Part 21

Ami brought a large wool blanket and the red and white checkered tablecloth. She spread the blanket on the little beach and then the tablecloth on top of that. She put down her famous egg-salad and a loaf of crusty pumpernickel. Peggy brought a huge green salad, Rheta had a homemade strawberry rhubarb pie and Dorothy had an ice cream maker with milk, sugar and ice carefully wrapped in aluminum foil and a blanket. Rude set down a galvanized pail full of ice and cokes. Glenn had hotdogs that he’d cooked on a fire and wrapped in tinfoil and a wool blanket to keep warm, Garrett had paper plates, napkins and cups Billy Owens had a bag of potato chips and a little bottle of Jack Daniels he’d filched from his Dad’s liquor closet. And ketchup and mustard. Rude’s Dad and Phip had each learned of their plan and insisted they not build a fire on the island.

They ate first. Everyone was hungry and the food tasted great. Then they walked over to the nesting area along the shore. Already, they had made a trail going back and forth with their notes and pictures. They sat in the bird-watching alcove among the rocks, a sort of natural blind that Simon had discovered on their second visit. It even had rectangular rocks at the perfect height for benches. They talked and laughed and watched the birds fly in and out. The shared binoculars, the spotting scope and the camera that Phip had loaned them from school. Rude has his Dad’s camera and Ami had her Mom’s camera with a long lens. Billy passed the bottle of Jack Daniels and they all took small hits on it.

Ami announced she had to take a leak and climbed out of the bird-watching alcove, carrying her camera. She headed for the trees, carefully skirting the nesting area. Fifteen minutes later, she had not returned.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Billy Owens asked. “Should I go look for her?”

“She probably found some wildflowers and is taking pictures,” Dorothy said, stretching her legs out in the sun and hiking up her shorts a little so the sun fell onto more of her thighs.

Rude looked at the white skin that had been covered by the shorts and something stirred in him. He had thought of no one but Ami for so long that he had forgotten there were other girls in the world. Dorothy was nice. Her hair was dark blond with gold streaks and fell in a page boy to her chin. The hair fell back away from her face as she laid her head back on the rock. She closed her bright blue eyes and Rude studied the line of her chin and neck and the flat tanned part of her upper chest and the way her chest swelled. The pale edges of her breasts at the V of her white starched blouse. Her breasts weren’t as big as Ami’s, but they were nice-looking, rising and falling as Dorothy breathed. She was wearing blue eye-shadow, which he never liked, but he thought maybe he could get around that. But would she like him? She seemed to like him as a friend, but so did Ami. And Ami just laughed whenever he asked her to the movies or to a school dance. She was happy to work on Biology homework with him or ride bikes, but nothing romantic. Maybe if they were alone together, he and Dorothy, he would invite her to the prom. Just in case.

Part 23

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 21

2005-05-15T22:39:00.000-04:00

Today was Rosy’s graduation, the reception at the school, and the graduation party. It was a long, exciting, busy, tiring day and no time to write. Brief entry:

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 21

Part 1, part 20

“Was there more?”

“No, but there was another dream.”

“And . . .”

“I dream Billy Owens, Garrett, Glenn and I each have a hold on one of Ami Wilton’s arms or legs and are pulling with all our might. She stretches like Elastigirl in the Incredibles movie. She stretches and stretches and then all of a sudden shatters into a thousand pieces, like silly putty if you hit it with a hammer. Each one of those pieces explodes like a grenade, we all are riddled with shrapnel and Ami is gone.”

“Ami, is that Glenn’s ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“Did you all like her?”

“Yes.”

“Was she really pretty?”

“We all thought so. She looked a lot like you, same red hair and green eyes. But her hair was oranger. She was smart and wild, loved motorcycles and music and poetry and cameras. She liked to climb trees and play baseball. At the time when we were just turning into teenagers, having a pretty girl that liked all the things we liked seemed like a dream come true. So many other girls are so hard to understand with their dolls and their make-up. None of us liked make-up, it made the girls look fake. Like a doll. I know guys who love girls in high heels and make-up, but I was never one of them. None of us were.”

“You liked her because she was more accessible?”

“She was nice. Well, not exactly nice, nice isn’t really the right word. She was fun. Pretty and fun. Exciting. Never a dull moment.”

“Sounds like someone I would like, too.”

“Maybe you would, but she’s changed a lot since then.”

part 22

At the Fish Market, Old Port, Portland, Maine

2005-05-14T22:31:00.000-04:00

At the Fish Market, Old Port, Portland Maine, photo by Mary Stebbins

Old Port, Portland, Maine

2005-05-14T22:19:00.000-04:00

The Old Port, Portland, Me. Rosy works at the Fish Market on the top right.

Little Hog Island, Part 20

2005-05-14T14:38:00.000-04:00

Rosy is working at the Fish Market at the Old Port! The very market I go to every year to take pictures of dead fish. The one they sell postcards of. We went there today and I took pictures of dead fish and of Rosy. I would like to post one as my daily picture, but I am not sure I can upload it here, and Rita is taking a nap so I can't ask her. She doesn't have Picasa so I'm not sure how to post pictures anyway. I think I will skip the pictures until I get home and then post them for the trip.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 20

Part 1, part 19

“Your research project is bringing up memories for me,” Ross said, stuffing his mouth full of the Fretta they were sharing. “I had a dream last night about Billy Owens.”

At first, Dana didn’t understand him. His mouth was full, and his words came out a bit garbled. She was about to say, ‘What?’ when she realized what he had said.

“Are you going to share it with me?”

“If I hadn’t intended to, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Well?”

“I dream I am in a bathtub and everyone is looking down at me. I am surrounded by people, and they are trying to get me out of the bathtub. I want to tell them to hurry, but I can’t speak. Someone knocks the drain release and the water turns into a huge whirlpool. I am sucked down the drain. The last thing I see are all these hands reaching for me, but they look like hands through a fish-eye lens. A through a big bubble.”

“What does that have to do with Billy Owens?”

“In the dream, I am Billy Owens.”

part 21

Wildflowers on Marsh Walk, NH

2005-05-13T23:41:00.000-04:00

Marsh walk wildflowers, NH (clockwise from top left): Jack-in-the-Pulpit, green form, painted trillium, sessile bellowrt, columbine

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 19

2005-05-13T23:31:00.000-04:00

Friday, May 13, 2005; 10:19 PM I am alone in the shed behind Tom’s house in Falmouth Foreside, Maine. The only light in the shed comes from the screen of the computer and a tiny flicker of firelight from the holes on the top of the stove. Tom built the fire for me. It’s cold outside. I might not have bothered, because I have a warm sleeping bag.

I left my headlamp in the house and my waterbottle in the car (and I’m thirsty!) I’ve been thirsty all day because of my cold.

This morning, in Hancock, New Hampshire, I walked with Heidi around the marsh loop trail. We were looking for interesting waterfowl but saw only mallards and

Canada

geese. And lots of sessile bellwort, red trilliums, columbines and other spring wildflowers. This afternoon I walked along the shore at the Town Landing with Tom, Rita and Oreo. Later, we watched part of Finding Nemo but first Rosie left, then Rita and the VCR quit.

I was hoping to “be on retreat” at least briefly while I was here, but I don’t have a copy of m story to review, so it will be impossible to pick it up exactly where I left off.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 19

part 1, part 19

Dana rolled over in her sleeping bag, looked up at the camouflage skin of the tent. The dappled browns and greens of the nylon were lit by dappled light. The sun, she thought, must be low to be coming through the few bushes ringing the site in the east. Mostly, there was just rock. She closed her eyes, rolled back into the bag, and opened them again. It had just occurred to her that she was in a different site, a site she hadn’t seen in the daylight. And there were footsteps outside. Male footsteps, by the sound of it.

She turned back over, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. She unzipped the tent and peered out. Someone was crouched over her crumpled kayak. She remembered it had been wounded by gunshot. The whole previous evening seemed like a dream The man turned toward her. It was Buck. He was rubbing the kayak material with sand paper. He glued on patches.

“Let me take you to breakfast,” he said. “Then we can come back and test the kayak after the patches dry to make sure she is seaworthy.”

Dana hesitated.

“And don’t even think of saying ‘no,’” Buck said. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

“No,” she said, laughing. She pulled on her jeans and crawled out of the little tent. She ran her fingers though her hair, splashed some water on her face, and staggered over to the outhouse.

“I brought a second helmet,” he said, “and another BMW.”

“Yours?”

“Yup.”

“You never mentioned having a bike. If you did, I probably would have tagged you for a Harley man.”

“That’s because you’re still thinking of me as Buck. Why don’t you call me Ross? Then it will be easier to remember I drive a BMW.”

“Okay, Ross, I’ll try.” Ross looked different than Buck. He was cleaned up, his hair was combed, and he was shaved. Dana worried that it might be because of her. Perhaps it was just as well they were riding separate bikes.

part 20

In a planter at Burger King

2005-05-12T00:27:00.000-04:00

Keith, Graham (waving) and I on Graham's birthday, March 1, 2004. (an old picture--I didn't have time to download today's work). Want to see a similar one in color? Click here!

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 18 (chapter 2)

2005-05-12T00:14:00.000-04:00

No retreat again today AND PLEASE TAKE NOTE: I am leaving later this morning for a trip to Maine for my niece’s graduation, so there may be no more entries until I return on Tuesday May 17. Or, if I have time and access to a computer, there may be.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 18 (chapter 2)

part 1, part 17

“Sure, Rude. Hi Billy, hi Garrett. Rude says you’re going out to Little Hog Island to study the terns. Can you come by my room?”

“Aw, Phip, we wanted to get going. It’s such a nice day and it’ll take a while to bike down and row out there.”

“Just a couple minutes, boys. I promise it won’t take long.”

* * *

The boys had stripped down to their shorts. The wave-tips glinted in the sun, but the wind was cold. Rude wanted to put his shirt back on, but didn’t want the other boys to think he was a wimp. They all had gooseflesh when they pulled in to the small bay on southeast shore of little Hog Island. Billy’s lips were blue and Garrett was shivering.

“This is stupid,” Rude said. He pulled his shirt back on, and then his sweater. The others hastily followed suit. Billy had the camera that Phip had lent them, Garrett was carrying the binoculars, and Rude had a spiral notebook and pencil. Phip had said to take their field notes in pencil. He’d instructed them to make careful notes and sketches but never to get closer than about 15 feet and never to stay even that close more than 3-5 minutes. Rude’s Dad had pretty much told him the same thing. They were ready.

They followed the faint path through the woods along the shore until the trees started getting warped and shrunk. Then there was the open rock, with withered shrubs and terns wheeling in and out. Nests everywhere.

“Dad said most of the terns are arctic terns,” Rude said.

“The book says we can tell the roseate terns by using a combination of field marks. It sounds as one of the easiest ways to tell is by the pinkish underparts, if you can see them. And paler grey upperparts, and its mostly black bill during breeding season. It says the Roseate Terns lack the dark trailing edge of the other species with only the outermost primaries having dark areas near the tips. Garrett, see if you can spot any,” Billy said.

Garrett was already peering through the binoculars at the flying birds. “There’s a lot of birds,” he said, “and they’re hard to follow.”

“Look at the ones on the ground,” Rude suggested.

“It says here,” Billy said, brushing his long blond hair from his eyes for about the hundredth time, “‘In contrast with Common Terns which usually nest in open or exposed sites, Roseate Terns usually hide their nests under some sort of protective cover such as rocks, vegetation, or washed-up debris.’ Look for the Roseates near some of the junky stuff, Garrett.”

Rude made a sketch of the Island, the way the long spit of rock curved out into the waves, the small bay-like area formed by the curve, the sandy spots in the mini bay, the birds wheeling and diving overhead. They were small and graceful, so acrobatic. He drew a couple birds close-up, so he could try to catch the long fork of their tail and the graceful curve of their wings.

Billy stuffed the book into his backpack and started fiddling with the camera. “How did he say to set the light?” he asked, brushing his hair from his face.

“Like this,” Rude said, showing him how to turn the controls for speed and f-stop. “He said if it was sunny to shoot at 500 speed and f 22, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

part 19

2005-05-11T00:23:00.000-04:00

Farm Field from River Road, late afternoon

Discovery at Hog Island, Part 17

2005-05-11T00:08:00.000-04:00

Well, today I not only did not have a retreat, but I also am sick with a somewhat miserable cold. And have had no dinner or shower. But now I feel compelled to write something.

Discovery at Hog Island, Part 17

Part 1, part 16

“Hi Phip. I said ‘Darn. Darn Barn Beezlewax.’”

“That sounds pretty rude, Rude.”

“It can’t be rude, it’s what my Mom says.”

“Oh, well, that settles it, then. Are you supposed to be peeking into Mr. Brunelle’s room while he’s lecturing?”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. How come he always runs late? Me and Billy Owens need to get going. Garrett too.”

“Billy Owens and I. And where are you off to, if I might ask?”

“You can ask—it’s for your Advanced Placement Biology Class, Phip. We’re going out to Little Hog Island. You said we could work on our Ecology project together. We want to study the roseate terns. Dad says they’re really rare.”

“You need to be especially careful not to disturb them. I wish you would talk to me about it.”

“Oh, he’s done, here they come. Can we talk to you right now? We want to get going.”

Part 18

Fruit Eating Bat at Cranbrook

2005-05-10T00:34:00.000-04:00

Fruit-eating bat at Cranbrook (for blue version, click here). Photo by me, on Saturday's visit to the Bat House.

Discovery on Little Hog Island Part 16

2005-05-10T00:23:00.000-04:00

I am posting my entry for today before I even go to bed from yesterday, May 9—it IS a new day, today, May 10, 2005. I am doing this because I did not get the lawn mowed or do any of the other chores I need to do. No retreat today. But here’s my retreat entry anyway. And a new chapter to boot. Yay!

Discovery on Little Hog Island Part 16

Part 1, part 15

“Absolutely. I hear on NRP today that just saying the word beer makes men view women with ‘beer eyes,’ seeing them as more attractive than they really are. I always wanted to be more attractive, but not by saying the word ‘beer!’ And . . . I have homework.”

“Okay, okay. I get the point. I will be stopping by your site to make arrangements to take you out to Hog Island to see the roseates and arctics.”

“See you then.” Dana revved her engine lightly and then swung out of the campsite and onto the road back North. She could see the dim lights of Buck’s Dingy heading slowly back toward Hog Island.

Chapter 2: A Project with Billy Owens

Rude waited for Billy outside Mr. Brunelle’s Physics class. He peered through a rip in the electricity handout Mr. Brunelle had taped over the window to stop kids from looking in while he was talking. Billy and Garrett were sitting together at the back of the room shooting spit-balls through a straw trying to stick them on the ceiling over Ami Whitehouse’s head. One of them came loose and dropped onto her head. Ami reached up and felt it, made a face, and looked up at the ceiling just as another came loose. She ducked to the side and it plopped onto her shoulder.

“Damn,” Rude said. He had been hoping it would hit her in the face. Ami turned and glared at Billy and Garrett.

“What did you say, Rude?” A familiar voice said. Rude turned. It was Phip Rellins. No one called him Mr. Rellins. He was Phip to everyone, teachers and students alike. “Did you want me to escort you down for a little talk with Mr. Harmond?”

part 17

Pink Tulips at Cranbrook, untweaked

2005-05-09T13:58:00.000-04:00

Tulips at Cranbrook. This is from Saturday, because I haven't been out yet today and may not get to. Mary to see a slightly tweaked version of this picture, click here.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 15

2005-05-09T13:39:00.000-04:00

No retreat today. I don’t even get a walk, probably, because I’m going to mow the lawn shortly. It's beginning to look like a hayfield again. Hope the mower will start.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 15

Part 1, part 14

Dana pulled over to the side of the road. Buck leaped off the bike and ran back to the cop car as it pulled up behind her. A moment later, he returned and told her to go ahead.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” So, with some trepidation, she pulled out on the road. The cop car pulled out behind her. She started to pull over again. “No, no,” Buck hollered, “he’s giving us an escort to the boat to assure my safety.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. I asked for the service, for emergency protection.”

It was only a short ways, and when they turned into the campground, the cop continued down the shore highway. Dana breathed a sign of relief.

“What on earth was that all about?” she inquired, when they stopped at her old campsite, now barren and dark. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“That was Byron, my older brother.”

“That was your brother? You have a brother named Byron?” Why, Dana wondered was she always repeating everything Buck said, like an imbecile.

“Buck’s not my real name, of course.”

“And?”

“It’s Rudyard Kipling Dennison. That’s why they call me Buck. Can you imagine me on my first day of kindergarten introducing myself as Rudyard?”

“You could have been Rudy. You weren’t Buck then, were you?”

“Bucky. I caught a lot of flack for that, too. The relatives called me Rudy. When I was a teenager, some of my friends just called me Rude.”

“I can imagine.”

“I was thinking about legally changing my name.”

“To Buck?”

“No, to Ross. Ross Robert Dennison. It has a nice ring to it. No bad connotations I can think of. Simple and easy.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?

“Yeah, I am, I think. Pretty much. I go around about it, but I think I’ll do it. Buck makes me sound illiterate, like some backwoods hick in the Ozarks or something. I’m no Einstein. But I’m not a dunce, either."

"I can see that. Were your parents really into poetry?”

"Yeah, my parents like poetry. A lot.”

“I guess that's a no-brainer. Well, Ross, or Buck, or whoever you are, it’s been a pleasure. Sort of.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a beer?”

part 16

2005-05-08T23:48:00.000-04:00

Rainbows at Niagara

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 14

2005-05-08T23:41:00.000-04:00

I drove all day, 412 miles from Detroit to Syracuse. I thought I was driving to a workshop, but it’s tomorrow—boy do I feel stupid. Stopped at Niagara, enjoyed the rainbows! Tired now.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 14

part 1, part 13

"I'm not used to riding a passenger," Dana said apologetically. "I almost never do. So trusting me may not be so smart."

Buck tightened his arm around her waist. He snorted. Sounded just like Glenn.

He directed her to the next Provincial park and had the camp reassembled exactly as she'd had it, with adjustments for the different site, almost immediately.

"You've done this before," she said.

"Yep. That I have. Want to have another beer?"

"Not particularly. I’m not a big drinker. One was enough."

"Coffee."

"Nah, it's too late."

“Ice Cream?”

“I’m allergic to dairy products.”

"Aiee! Well, will you drive me back to my boat, then?"

They hadn't gone a half-mile south toward the Hog Island campground when red lights started spinning and a cop pulled out behind them.

Part 15

A few notes:

2005-05-07T09:33:00.000-04:00

I've noticed that the pictures posted by Hello using Picasa and starting with a full-sized image have less resolution than those posted at the maximum of 400 pixels. (Compare this morning's picture sent full with yesterday's crayfish sent at 400 pixels.) I may, if I ever have time, resend them all after resizing them manually.

Please let me know if any of the links between posts, or any of the other links, don't work,

Thanks, Mary :-)

2005-05-07T09:32:00.000-04:00

Our morning so far on Mary 7, 2005: Keith reads the paper, early dogwood blossoms. The dogwood blossoms in our front yard are still small and the florets haven't opened yet. They almost look like thin, translucent terra cotta.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 13

2005-05-07T08:56:00.000-04:00

I'm doing a quick mini-retreat at home this morning while Keith drinks his coffee and reads the paper. We are going to Cranbrook today with Sam and Joan, so I don't know if I'll have time to write later.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 13

part 1; part 12

"Shot?" Dana asked, her voice rising with a clear note of fear and hysteria.

"He was using a gun with a silencer. Probably shot two holes. One going in, one out."

"A gun? With a silencer?" Dana repeated stupidly. Still sounding high and frightened.

"You fell when the kayak surged at the shot and hit your head on a submerged rock. I'll patch the kayak for you. It shouldn’t be too hard to repair."

Dana felt the back of her head. Her hair was wet and matted and under it was a large goose egg. It hurt, and her head throbbed.

Buck helped her out of the dingy and carried the limp kayak up the path to her tent.

"You could report him for damaging your property. I hope you won’t do that."

"How could he shoot out into the dark and be sure he wouldn’t hit me."

"He was in the marines in Nam. Ace shot."

"In the dark?"

"It wasn't that dark. There was a lot of ambient light from the moon. You were looking into the dark woods--he was looking out into the moonlit water."

"Of course, sorry. So tell me again why I shouldn't blow Glenn in for shooting a hole in my Kayak. For banging my head and half-drowning me?"

"Because. I am asking you not to. I'm hoping that'll be enough, if I fix the kayak. Will you let me move you to another Provincial Park? It's only ten miles north and there's a really good colony of arctic and roseate terns nearby. And I will assist you by making arrangements to give you a private tour of the colonies on Little Hog Island. They are totally undisturbed."

"What about Glenn?"

"Let me worry about Glenn. I know his schedule. Deal?" Buck held out his hand.

"Deal," Dana said, and they shook on it.

Buck had the sleeping bag rolled up and the tent down and folded and the cook kits stowed in their sacks. He moved around the camp like well-oiled machinery, like a man accustomed to lots of work. It would have taken Dana hours to do what he did in only a few minutes.

She watched him pack her BMW. He was leaving room for himself. "I can't take you with me," she said, "I don't have a spare helmet with me."

"That's okay; the cops are all at the donut shop right now. I trust you. We can make it there before they get off break."

part 14

2005-05-06T23:13:00.000-04:00

Crayfish on mini beach at mini retreat 5-6-05. (Dead).

Discovery on Hog Island, Part 12

2005-05-06T22:28:00.000-04:00

I finally make it to the little beach. Most of the vegetation has been washed away by winter storms. I take some pictures of dead crayfish and flotsam. No time left to write. I really should go back because I have to walk to the car and drive to the house. And we're going out. Aiee. Not that I don’t want to go out. I just want to sit and WRITE. Waves crash on the shore. A big boat goes by. I have wet sandy knees from kneeling to take pictures. I sit and work on Discovery at Little Hog Island. The next thing I know, too much time has gone by. I never should have sat at all. I'll be late getting home.

Discovery at Hog Island, Part 12

part 1, part 11

Dana was in Buck's arms as he scooped her from the black water. Her head throbbed, and she leaned weakly against his chest.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

"I guess so," Dana said, shakily. She felt like crying because her head hurt and she had water in her lungs.

"Let me take you back to camp," Buck said.

"And help her pack up and be on her way," Glenn's voice came from the shore.

Buck carried Dana to shore. She was no tiny damsel in distress. "You must be strong," Dana said.

"Pulling all those nets, hauling and all those lines," Buck answered. "You're not that heavy. You should see the barrels of fish I heft onto the docks every day." He set her in one of the dinghies moored off a log that jutted out into the water. Then, he dragged the deflated kayak and paddle over, squeezed the remained air and water out of it, and tossed that in the dingy. Then started rowing.

"Don’t come back." Glenn shouted from the dark woods as they moved out toward the still ocean. The moon made a crooked and broken path over the small swells. Bucked rowed in silence. He followed the route Dana had taken in. He rowed out, then south, then in and back along the shore.

"Billy Owens was Glenn's best friend." he said, as they neared the path to her tent. "And you are spitting image of Ami, his estranged wife."

"I'm not Ami, and I didn't kill Billy Owens. I had nothing to do with it. I've never been here before."

"You’re stirring up hard feelings. The fact that you know nothing about it, that you're a stranger, makes it worse. Like you're poking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I have this weird radar that seems to sense when things aren't quite right. I always want to know where the discrepancy is. I'm unbearably curious. I know it's a weakness. What happened back there?"

"Glenn shot a hole in your kayak."

part 13

A Little Note about Posting

2005-05-05T12:42:00.000-04:00

I am trying to make all my blogs so that anyone can post a comment--I may change that if I get inappropriate comments. Meanwhile, PLEASE let me know if you try to post a comment and are unable to on any of my blogs or websites. Mention which one. And please do dialogue with me!!! I am not always available, but I will read the posts and reply if a reply is called for. Thanks. Mary

How do I love Thee?

2005-05-05T09:45:00.000-04:00

"How do I love thee, Let me count the ways." Three hearts made and given to me by my son, Graham. I thought since I was retreating at home, I would show something from my home office.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 11

2005-05-05T09:18:00.000-04:00

I’m taking my “retreat” at home this morning. Unfortunately, even though it looks like a brilliantly sunny day, I may not be able to go out because I have so much to do. When I go out to Belle Isle or Metrobeach, I loose time driving there. An hour round trip to either spot. I’m worried about my work. WAHN! I want to go out. But it’s unlikely, so here’s today’s retreat entry.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 11

Part 1, part 10

Something rattled in the bushes. A soft bumping, a strange swish, then silence. Odd sound, she thought with a shiver. Familiar. Owl.

"An owl," Buck said. "Great horned, probably. So, are you sure you’re not a detective?" His grip loosened on her arm, but he did not release it.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher."

"Why are you studying shoreline ecology?"

"I may want to teach at the college level sometime, part or full time."
"Big jump from Kindergarten."

"Yup." He released her and they walked down the dark trail. Dana pulled her kayak from the bushes.

"Wow! Very well-hidden. Are you sure you’re not a detective?"

"Positive." She placed the kayak into the water and Buck gave the kayak a gentle shove. It glided a few feet out into the dark shining water.

"If you change your mind about the terns . . ."

"If you remember anything about Billy Owen . . ."

"You might just want to let that rest." Buck said.

"Yes. You do," came a voice from the shadows. It was Glenn. “Why don’t you move on to another campground? There are lots of tern colonies in the islands. We don’t want you here.” She heard Glenn’s voice, rumbling low in the darkness. He was carrying a huge flashlight, and he shined it right in her eyes. Buck knocked it to one side as Dana raised a hand to shield her eyes. She was blinded for a moment, and felt the kayak suddenly tipping. She fell toward the dark water.

Part 12

2005-05-04T22:42:00.000-04:00

Metrobeach canal: The view from my "retreat bench" at Metrobeach

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 10

2005-05-04T21:43:00.000-04:00

Today I am taking my Retreat at Metrobeach. It is free on Wednesdays. I am here by myself, and I have just completed my constitutional walk. I am sitting by the shore of Painted Turtle Pond watching a tern circle and dive. I haven’t much time, so I’d better get started. What graceful acrobatics! I wonder what kind of tern it is.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, Part 10

Part 1, part 9

"Why don't I just leave?" Dana asked, "Since I seem to be causing trouble here."

"Didn't finish your beer," Buck said.

"Didn't finish the poker game, either," Willie said, looking a little reproachful.

Dana tipped the beer up and gulped down the last of it. "Do you think you could finish without me? I have homework to do."

"Homework? Who'd go camping and bring homework with them?" Simon asked, sounding horrified. Willie nodded vigorously.

"I would," Dana said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn't get to go camping at all, and I love camping. I'm taking a postgraduate biology class in shoreline ecology, so this is a perfect place to do my research."

"Research?"

"Yeah, right now I am studying nesting behavior and ecology of roseate terns and their relationship to arctic terns. I found a colony of them just a few miles south of here."

"There's an undisturbed colony of arctics and roseates on the northeast corner of Little Hog Island," Garrett said.

"Really?" Dana asked, sounding delighted. "But," her voiced dropped an octave, "I was going to leave here and never come back. I feel like I’m imposing on you." She looked toward the door where Glenn had disappeared.

"I'm sure it would be okay if you wanted to study our terns," Simon said. Willie nodded vigorously.

"I probably should just leave." She sounded uncertain, but rose to her feet, pushing her chair back. It made a sound like fingernails on slate. Dana shivered.

"Would you let me walk you to your boat?" Buck asked.

"I guess so," Dana said.

As they left the room, she thought she heard Willie saying, "Buck and Dana, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," but she wasn't sure. No, it couldn't be.

"Don't mind him," Buck said. “He's a little under the weather right now.”

Just as the door was closing, someone yelled, "Watch it Buck, or you'll be out on your ear."

"Don’t mind him, either," Buck said, his grin showing in the lamplight that shone through the window. "He's just jealous."

Dana blushed. "Listen, Buck. About Billy Owens, I was just curious. What was strange about him? Why did he die?"

"Are you sure you're not a detective?" Buck asked. He grabbed her arm, and held tight.

Part 11

Geese on Belle Isle

2005-05-03T16:54:00.000-04:00

Geese at Belle Isle out my car window during my mini writing retreat

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 9

2005-05-03T16:47:00.000-04:00

I am now officially on retreat. I am having a mini writing retreat at Picnic Shelter No. 18 on B'l'Isle--Belle Isle. The sky is black and the geese on the lagoon are honking madly, the robins singing, and gulls screeching. Something smells like dung, like manure spread on farm fields. The woods are flooded with vernal rain. White trout lilies, cut-leaved toothwort, blue violets, and spicebush are in flower. Crows caw collectively at a distance, but here, the sounds subside to a soft woodsy silence.

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 9

Part 1, part 8

Buck laughed out loud, a deep hearty laugh. The others all laughed too. They laughed and laughed and laughed, doubling over, gasping for breath. "You're afraid of us," he finally choked out. "You think we're criminals or smugglers or something." And they all laughed again, even Glenn.

"You're not?" Dana asked, smiling weakly. "I don't get it? What's so funny?"

Buck laughed some more, and wiped tears from his eyes. He took a slug of his beer. The others all followed suit. "Glenn here," he said, waving at Glenn as if she didn’t know who he was, "is the president of the Little Hog Island Historical Society. We have a museum in town. Garrett is the vice president, I’m the treasurer, Willie is the recording secretary," Willie bobbed his head, "and Simon is the President of Development, our head fund-raising guy." Simon Smiled and nodded.

Buck continued, "We're trying to raise money to make Little Hog Island into a Living History museum. We want to restore some of the original ruins of the Fort. What we have stored in the stone shed and in this building, which was an old customs house, are artifacts. We have way too many artifacts to store just at little museum in town."

"Aren't you afraid someone will steal them?"

"A little. We keep them locked when we're not out here, and inventory them whenever we are here. That's what Glenn and I were doing earlier."

"The tides are in our favor, too," Garrett said. "After we lost a series of tourists trying to swim out here, people just started leaving the place alone."

"We lost a local boy, too, Billy Owens Jr. He didn't believe the ban on swimming to Little Hog Island and chose to try it just during the rip. He got pulled way out and they found him two weeks later in Nova Scotia," Simon said.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "he was our age. He was in my physics class with Mr. Brunelle. Mr. Brunelle passed a couple weeks ago. Only Phip Rellins is left."

"Your age," Willie said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, their age. Don't forget your history teacher, Raymie Wadsworth. He and Phip were just telling me about Billy Owens at Mr. Brunelle's wake. Said there was something strange about all that," Simon said.

"Mr Raymie, he's not all there any more, poor fellow. Touch of dementia, you know? Willie is my youngest son," Buck said. "He's got his own boat now, and his own crew."

"What did Phip Rellins mean about there being something strange about Billy Owens?" Willie asked.

"Why don't you all just shut up," Glenn said. "No one knows when to keep their mouths shut." He glowered at Willie, Simon, and Dana in turn. Then Buck. He stood, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the other room.

Part 10

A House on McMillan

2005-05-02T22:21:00.000-04:00

House on McMillan--We walked past this house tonight on our walk--it is just down the street from us. I thought it was pretty with it's spring-flowering shrubs. Mary

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 8

2005-05-02T22:07:00.000-04:00

No retreat today, and tired. Short entry:

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 8

Part 1, part 7

"I say she is," Buck said, drawing himself up and looking angrily at Glenn.

"Excuse me," Dana said, her voice sounding small and girlish again. "Would you mind telling me what’s going on? What are you talking about?"

"Look at our hands, all of them. Do you notice anything?” Buck asked, smiling. Glenn snorted. Willie nodded.

“You all work hard with your hands.”

“We’re fisherman. It is hard work. Anything else?” Buck asked. Glenn snorted again.

Dana studied the hands. They were all very masculine looking. The all had broken nails.

“Include your own hands,” Buck suggested.

“No rings?” Dana asked. That seemed silly. Perhaps they didn’t wear rings because they would get caught in the nets and equipment they used.

“Right, no rings. We’re the no-rings club. The no-partners club.”

“The No-Women Club,” Glenn said. Growling.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dana asked, shaking her head.

“No,” Glenn said, “and you can leave immediately and not come back.”

“But . . . but, what about the guns and grenades?”

The Mini-Retreat on The Way to Primitive Skills

2005-05-01T22:08:00.000-04:00

The Mini Retreat on the way to the Primitive Skills Party: (clockwise from top left) Keith drives to Phil and Diane's, Graham plays Gameboy in the car, flint-knapping at the party (starting young), the Psion palmtop that I used to write the entry. (The reflection of my hands and the camera (Olly) are visible in the palmtop screen!)

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 7

2005-05-01T20:39:00.000-04:00

My week of Spuddy retreats is over. I am no longer in NY, but in Michigan. I am having a different kind of retreat: a car retreat. We are driving on 696 on our way to a Cinco de Mayo party at some friends of Dale's, a friend of Keith's. Keith is driving, Graham is playing Gameboy, and I am having a mini-writing retreat. Very mini.

part 1, part 6

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part 7

Now all eyes turned toward Buck. Dana looked to Buck, too. She had no clue what was going on, but it was obvious that whatever it was, Buck was in charge. Buck sat with his hand flat on the table and the small smile on his lips widened slightly. He sat grinning and silent. The others looked toward him expectantly.

"Maybe we could initiate her," he finally said, very quietly.

"That's impossible," Glenn snorted.

"She's female." Garrett said.

"She’s a camper, and a transient," Simon said.

"We don’t know if she's eligible," Willie whispered, shaking his head.

Buck picked up a stack of blue poker chips and moved them toward the center of the table. Everyone stared. He set another pile out. "Fifty says she's eligible. Double or nothing."

No one moved.

"Don’t matter," Glenn said. "Even if she is she ain't." He turned and glared openly at Dana.

Oby Enjoys the Sun

2005-04-30T22:40:00.000-04:00

Oby enjoying the sun, drawing by me (Mary Stebbins).

Discovery at Little Hog Island Part 6

2005-04-30T22:24:00.000-04:00

No retreat today. I will make a very brief entry, because everyone else has gone to bed and I'm tired and want to join them.

part 1, part 5

Discovery at Little Hog Island Part 6:

Dana cringed and looked away. She looked at Buck's hands, and then at Buck. Buck looked calmly serene and strangely handsome in a rough sort of way. He sat looking at Glenn with a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth. Everyone waited without moving or speaking. They all looked toward Glenn.

Dana looked back at Glenn. He was still staring at her with utter malice. Then, in an exaggerated motion, he slowly lifted his arms and placed his hands on the table. His face darkened.

part 7

2005-04-29T23:01:00.000-04:00

Cat, by me (Mary Stebbins)

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 5

2005-04-29T22:55:00.000-04:00

Sharon and Frank are coming home tomorrow, and I am headed for Detroit today. It's my last visit with Spuddy, and I'm in a bit of a rush because I have so far to drive (412 miles). Here's my installment for the day:

This story is part 5 in a serial. to begin with part 1, click here.
To view the previous installment (part 4), click here.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part 5

"I gotta hand it to you, Simon said, "You're the first spy who penetrated our defenses."

"An unprecedented act of heroine-ism," Garrett added. They all laughed. Willie nodded.

"I'm not a spy. I'm a camper. I was just curious."

"More than curious," Glenn said. "Downright nosy."

"Now, Glenn," Buck said, "be polite. Dana is company."

"Unwanted company," Glenn snorted, "Unwanted and unwelcome."

Willie nodded. The others all nodded along with him. Everyone but Buck.

"Put your hands on the table, Dana, palms down," Buck said. Dana did as she was told. She looked down at her hands. They were not typical women's hands. They were tan and scratched, covered with cuts and bruises and reddened bumps of poison ivy. Dana liked taking pictures of wildflowers and was always crawling around in the bushes. She remembered an advertisement for some dish detergent, Dove maybe, or was it Palmolive, where a mother and daughter laid their smooth, lily-white hands next to each other. Their perfect unblemished hands. Dana's hands did not pass muster.

Buck placed his hands on the table beside Dana's. Buck clearly worked with his hands. They were thick and strong, tanned, scarred, and had as many cuts as Dana's. There were embedded with some kind of grime that looked as if Buck had tried to scrub out and failed.

The other men stared. Then Willie placed his hands on the table. They looked much like Buck's. Garrett followed suit. His hands were similar, except Buck's fingers were longer. Simon laid his hands down. The hands all nearly matched. They were sturdy, battered and dirty.

Everyone turned to look at Glenn. He stared at Dana. His eyes were black, narrowed, and full of hatred.

part 6

2005-04-29T00:44:00.000-04:00

Rabbit under the spruce.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 4

2005-04-29T00:33:00.000-04:00

Spuddy has knocked over some flowers and cookbooks; he’s friendly and hungry.

I have so much to do that I don’t want to stay too long.

part 1, part 3

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part four, continued from previous post

The men formed a semi-circle around Dana. "So," said one, who was tall, thin, angular, and scruffy, "We have a spy, do we?" His voice was even lower and more gravelly than Buck's."

"I'm not a spy," Dana started, her voice sounding high and nervous.

"Simon," Buck said. "Get our friend Dana a beer. Bring another chair, Garrett."

Two other men disappeared in opposite directions.

"Come have a seat," Buck said, pulling the chairs clustered around the table into a wider circle. You play Black Jack?" Dana took the seat he offered. It was the one he’d been sitting in. She shook her head. "Poker?"

"Well, occasionally, for fun."

Simon came back with a six-pack of beer. He was young and blond, sunburnt. His nose was peeling. Garrett came back with a chair. Buck took it and sat beside Dana.

"Deal us a hand, Glenn," Buck said. Glenn was the lean man who’d asked if she was a spy. He dealt out a hand, looking at Dana from under bushy eyebrows that were knitted together in the center like a bushy caterpillar. He glared at her.

Buck handed around the beers. "This here is Willie," he said, indicating the last man. Willie was a stocky man, slightly pudgy around the face. He had a bland dull look and unfocused eyes. He nodded at Dana, his eyes never turning toward her.

"Don’t mind Willie," Buck said, "he’s a little under the weather." Buck opened Dana’s beer and handed it to her.

Willie nodded slightly. Glenn snorted. He popped open his beer, took a huge slug, and turned to Dana. "So," he repeated, glaring at her, "you’re a spy."

part 5

Thanks for the Tasty Treat

2005-04-28T01:01:00.000-04:00

Spuddy: MMMMmmm--Thanks for the tasty treat! (detail from earlier photo) [This and all others by Mary Stebbins.]

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 3

2005-04-28T00:51:00.000-04:00

I just fed Spuddy, gave him fresh water (washed the dish), washed the cat food cans etc. He’s eating. The bad news is that my laptop seems to have died. It will not turn on and does not indicate that it is getting any power. The green power light was on when I got here and went off when I tried to turn it on.
This will make it harder to do my retreat assignment.

This story begins two posts earlier. Scroll down to read it sequentially or
Click here to read part 1
Click here to read part 2

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 3

He looked her up and down. "You don’t look wet," he said.

"No, I took your advice and did not swim out here." Dana heard her voice come out calmly and normally, though inside it felt squeezed with fear.

"Good choice," the man said, gruffly, his voice low and gravelly. "So what did you do, fly?"

"I paddled."

"At night? Why are you standing in the munitions shed? What are you doing here?"

"I was just curious. I wanted to look around."

"You could see better during the day. Name's Skillin. Buck Skillin."

He held out his hand. She took it gingerly. It was warm and dry. Hers was clammy with fear. "And you?"

"Dana. Dana Waznik."

"Wanna Beer?"

"A beer?" Dana heard her voice rise with surprise, almost incredulity.

"You a TEE-totaler?"

"No. I just didn't expect you to offer me beer?"

"Why not, seems like the polite thing to do when you have company. Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys."

Buck Skillin turned and walked back toward the stone building. Dana followed, still feeling nervous. She didn’t know if she should bolt for the darkness, grab her kayak, and paddle madly away. But she didn’t. She followed Buck. He held the door for her.

"Boys," he said, "We have company. Four faces turned toward Dana. They all rose to their feet. They did not look happy.

next installment (part 4)

* * *
I took a break for a second round of Spuddy petting and gave Spuddy a little more food. He seemed to want it.

2005-04-28T00:23:00.000-04:00

Spuddy Licks his chops, 4/27/05

Discovery on Little Hog Island, part two

2005-04-27T00:03:00.000-04:00

Spuddy was anxious for food again today, didn't even want any attention until after he had eaten.

This story begins in the previous post. (Click here to read the first installment first.)

Discovery at Little Hog Island, part Two

Dana crept along the tumbled edges of the ruins, carefully stepping over and around fallen stones. She pressed close to the wall, but if anyone came out with a flashlight, they would see her. There was nowhere to hide. This is really stupid, Dana thought, Why am I doing this? She was playing a hunch, and she felt compelled to find out if she was right. When she got to the window, she slowly, carefully raised her head and peered in.

Four men were playing cards by the light of a kerosene lamp. The one facing the window, was the man who had warned her not to swim to the island. He was looking at the cards in his hand and did not see her. Dana walked past the door and past the next window, which was dark. She climbed over the crumbled wall, walked along the intact wall, past three more windows, and turned to walk behind the building. She was hoping to reach one of the other windows where she could look in without being spotted by someone coming or going.

But someone was behind the building. Dana heard him crashing around, saw his light moving. She crouched in the deep shadows between the wall and some tumbled stone. There was another building out there. In the light of the man’s flashlight, it looked like a stone shed. The man went in, banged around a little, and then was silent. A little while later, he reemerged and went back to the card-game building.

Dana waited a little while, and then walked over to the shed. A rusty padlock hung on a hasp. She looked for a window, then realized the lock had not been pulled shut. She slipped it off, pulled the loop from the hasp, swung the door slowly open, and peered in. On the wall were rusty swords and bayonets. Footlockers were stacked on either side of the inside of the shed. Dana opened one. Guns. More guns. On the other side, grenades. Dana shut the lids and headed for the door. A light shown in her face.

“What have we here?” asked a voice. It was the man who had warned her about the tides.

Click here to read the next installment.

2005-04-25T23:59:00.000-04:00

Spuddy, preparing to accept his due.

Discovery on Little Hog Island, Part 1

2005-04-25T23:37:00.000-04:00

Spuddy was more anxious for food today than for loving. He ate all his supper and wanted more. After I lavished food and affection on him, I started a story:

Ruins on Little Hog Island

Dana stood poised at the edge of the sea in her bathing suit. A rough wind tossed and tangled her hair. She studied the island, its rocky shore and the tangle of dark hemlocks and spruces. Sweeping away, barely visible behind the trees, was a barren rocky spit with birds flying in and out. Her birds, terns, by the look of it. The island was wild, intriguing and tempting, as well as close enough to swim to. She stepped between the rocks into the shockingly cold water, and paused, shivering. A man coming up the beach waved his arm urgently. She considered going on, but decided to wait and stepped back onto the damp sand.

She was a little embarrassed because she no longer trim, but bulged a little in her suit. The man was fully dressed and did not look as if he would ever wear swim trunks. He was gruff-looking, weather-beaten and sported a two-day beard. He looked to be about her age, fifty-ish.

“You thinking of swimming out to Little Hog Island?” He asked. “Not from these parts, eh?”

“Yes, I thought I’d swim out and back. I like a destination, when there’s one nearby.

“I need to warn you it’s not safe. The way the tide comes in and out around the island, there are currents, and they get very fast. People have died trying to swim out there, visitors. Most of the locals know better. Ask anyone. Want to swim? Go over the dunes there and swim in the lake. It’s warmer, too.”

“Thanks,” Dana said, as the man turned and disappeared back down the beach among the rocks.

She went over the dunes and found a lake, picturesque amid the pines. After she’d swum, she lay on a blanket and half-dozed, thinking dreaming of the island until voices woke her. A group of teens set up a volleyball net and were playing, diving for the ball, leaping high. From their banter, she gathered they were locals.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “Has anyone drowned swimming to Little Hog Island?”

“Yes,” a girl said, “a couple people, three or four. I guess there’s bad currents there.”

“Have any of you been out there?” The kids all shook their heads.

“My Grandpa said he’d been out there, and kids used to go out when he was a kid. I guess the current shifted. He said there was some ruins.” one boy said.

“But you never went out to look?”

“Nah, never thought about it much.”

Dana couldn’t stop thinking about it. As soon as it got dark, she hauled her inflatable kayak out of the trunk of her car and blew it up. She felt like a spy or a criminal. If there were bad currents, she would avoid them. She paddled along the shore until she was well past the island, then out to sea, and then back around. She landed without incident on the far side of the island and stowed the kayak in the bushes. Then crept carefully up a narrow path through the darkness, shining her flashlight with a red gel on it low to the ground.

Did she think she was some kind of sleuth? Who was she kidding? She just had an overactive imagination, thinking that man was trying to hide something. And if he were, would she be able to find it? Then what?

The trail climbed steeply, winding between rocks, and then opened into a clearing. There were ruins dimly visible, stonewalls, foundations, a small stone building that looked intact. There was a light coming from the window—and voices.

To be continued, hopefully, at the next Spuddy retreat!

*(to read the next intallment, click here)

Monday, April 25, 2005; 9:06 PM

2005-04-25T01:12:00.000-04:00

Spuddy, lying in front of me at the entrance waiting to be carressed.

Spuddy Retreat Day Three: A Calico Wind

2005-04-25T00:10:00.000-04:00

Spuddy wants more attention than usual tonight. I sit on the couch petting him for quite some time. I feed and water him and then pet him some more. He’s lonely and needy. I have an agenda. I want to write a Spuddy retreat piece for day 3. When he gets off my lap of his own free will, I sit at the table to write, thinking, at least he has company.

Earlier tonight I lost not only today’s work, but also yesterday’s. It wouldn’t download last night, something is wrong with the program. I probably need to uninstall and reinstall it. I suppose I shouldn’t talk about these behind the scenes aspects of writing. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” Meanwhile, I am grieving the loss of two day’s work.

Today the muse is asleep. I prefer it when the muse speaks plainly. Give me something exciting, something tasty I can sink my teeth into. I think about the assignment for the contemplative writing group: to write from a dream. I had a dream to write from. In fact, I had several. And pieces already partly or almost entirely written.

When I come home from college, I find my father sitting on the livingroom floor in the small shack where we live. He is surrounded by newspaper and holds a scrub brush. He is scraping and scrubbing chicken poop from the floor. The floor is textured tin, like an old-fashioned ceiling, and the chicken poop is embedded in the textures. My father scrapes with a putty knife trying to remove the poop. There is one chair in the livingroom, a wooden dining room chair. I sit in the chair and tell my father about college while he digs chicken poop from the crevices. The chicken is still running around the room pooping. The newspapers don’t stay in place. It is my chicken. I feel deeply upset and guilty about this, but helpless to change things.

I wonder why the chicken is in the house, and why we don’t move it outside. I wonder if this is an allegory of sorts where the two or three characters in the story are parts of myself. There is part of me that goes around pooping and making impossible messes, part of me that tolerates this and doesn’t make an appropriate effort to change, and part of me that quietly cleans up. Or, is it poor Keith who is quietly cleaning up after me? And is the chicken Rocky the cockatiel whom Keith does not want pooping on Susan’s textured tile floors. He’d be quietly and patiently cleaning up while I’m gallivanting. Perhaps it is a message that I need to find a new home for Rocky. I am very torn—very torn—about that. I feel a responsibility to the bird, but I never really wanted it in the first place. I got it for Erin. Then Mom had it for a while. But he or she has become part of the family. And I would only want him or her to go to a new home if I was confident it would be a good one.

I am not sure I can make that dream into a story or poem. The fixer-upper part of me wants to get in there and move the chicken to a shed or coop with straw on the floor and access to the outside during the day. That’s hardly an interesting story.

I could write, like Russell Edson or Chris Kennedy a weird little piece, or I could make up a fairy tale about how the chicken is actually my twin sister under a magical spell.

This is a static image, fairly still. Very little happens. It seems to represent a condition or relationship or both.

I could write a prequel and sequel to the dream. Maybe. How and why did the chicken get there, and what happens next? Why do we seem to be living in poverty in a place I never lived in in real life? A hovel. My house is a hovel. Perhaps I’ve been neglecting the physical chores for the intellectual. But why would anyone build a floor out of textured tin or leave a chicken in the livingroom? The dream is too far-fetched to be real.

A story has to have action. It’s a sort of a mood piece as it stands, and brief, like a little flash piece.

I decide to stick with what I was given, only fleshing it a little:

A Calico Wind

My father scrubs chicken poop from the textured indentations of the tin floor in our livingroom. This is how I find him when I return for spring break. I walk from the train station up the series of muddy two tracks to our shanty in a wet, calico wind. Papa is surrounded by newspaper and holds a scrub brush. He doesn’t look up, or speak. He scrubs and scrapes with a putty knife trying to remove the poop from the crevices. I sit in the wooden straight-backed chair, the only chair in the room, and tell my father about calculus and physics. About the dorm, the sorority girls and their make up. The abundance of fancy food at the dining hall. All you can eat. Peg, my one-legged pet chicken, flaps her wings, scattering the newly laid papers, exposing the floor. I rearrange them, and go out for rocks to hold them in place. I bring in some groundnuts, too. As it gets dark, Papa leaves off scrubbing and stows the brush on the shelf under the washbasin table. The calico wind whistles in the windowpanes, rattling them slightly. The candle sputters, but doesn’t quite go out. In the pines around the cabin, screech owls quaver. With the one egg Papa left on the counter for me, I make us, for dinner, a groundnut omelet. It reminds me of the frittatas they serve for breakfast at the dorm.

Mary Stebbins
050424 Spuddy Retreat (3) Journal FLASH

2005-04-24T01:19:00.000-04:00

Spuddy Prepares for Battle!!!

Spuddy Retreat Day 2: Getting a New Job

2005-04-23T23:14:00.000-04:00

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Spuddy was pleased to see me tonight, eager and hungry.

Because I was a little late getting here, my "retreat" will only be about twenty minutes or less long—I’ve already been here a while, petting, feeding and watering Spuddy.

Getting a New Job

“I am thinking of quitting my job here and looking for a new job,” my mother says when I arrive at the nursing home. “I’m just not sure what else I can do.”

I don’t know how to respond. All day, my mother has been parked in front of the TV in her wheelchair in the lounge. I cannot guess what kind of work she thinks she’s been doing. “You don’t like it here?” I ask, somewhat ambiguously.

“It’s okay, I guess, but some of those other girls are so bossy.” She waves her hand toward the aides.

“Are they mean to you?” I ask, a little worried.

“Not exactly, but they won’t let me leave. I need to do some shopping. I want to go home. But sometimes, they make me spend the night.”

“You have a room here,” I say.

“Is it the one at the end of the hall, with the picture of Erin?”

“Yes, that one. You live here now.”

“I have two rooms. I have two rooms now.”

“Where is the other one?”

“I think it’s on Ellsworth Ave. In the house on Ellsworth Ave. Or did they sell that house? I’ve been wondering, are Mom and Dad still alive?”

“No, your Mom died before I was born, fifty-eight years ago. Your Dad is dead, too, and your brother John and his wife Roberta.” I watch her face to see if this upsets her. I can’t tell.

“How old am I, anyway?”

“You’re 81. You’ll be eighty-two in August.”

“That’s why I need a new job. I’ve been working here too long. I need to go back to the house on Ellsworth Ave.”

“They sold that house. More than 50 years ago. You have another house.”

“What house is that?”

“The one in Liverpool where you lived with Pa. The brown house with the birch in the front.”

“I don't remember that house. Where is Pa, anyway? The rat. He hasn’t been around to see me in a long time.”

“He died, Mom. Seven years ago.”

“That’s why I need another job. Because Pa’s not taking care of me any more.”

“Mom, you don’t have to work. Pa left you enough money to pay your bills. Don’t worry about it. No one is putting you out on the street.”

“I wish they would, so I could walk back to Ellsworth Ave. They won’t let me out.”

“Let’s go out Mom. I’ll take you for a walk. It’s nice out. The daffodils are open.”

“I can’t go. I have to work. I need to get a new job.”

“They said you could leave for a while. I’ll take you for a walk.” I push her wheelchair toward the elevators.

“Okay. I want to stop by my grandmother’s house and say hello to her. She lives on Ellsworth Ave, just down the street from Mom and Dad, remember? She might know where I can get a job. I’m getting tired of this one.”

Mary

After I write this, I get a heavy feeling in my heart. I realize that is because I had a dream when my father died, one of a series of dreams about him. In the dream, he left me (died) because he had gotten a new job (“in heaven” or in the afterlife). Getting a new job becomes a metaphor for death, in my father’s case. But my mother is her own person. She has her own set of metaphors. Her search for a “new job,” and for her parents and grandparents (who have passed on, of course) does not necessarily mean she will die soon. At the moment, she seems pretty healthy, physically .

Don't even THINK about it!

2005-04-23T00:41:00.000-04:00

Spuddy: Don't even think about it!

Spuddy Retreat Day One: Take Two

2005-04-22T23:15:00.000-04:00

Spuddy Retreat: Spuddy Poem One

This week, I am cat-sitting for Sharon and Frank’s cat Spuddy. I brought my laptop over and after loving him, feeding him and giving him attention, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote. I wanted Spuddy to have some company for a while. This poem is the result of my first Spuddy Retreat:

Take Two

You sip blue shadows from the gathering dusk. Bite
moon cookies, the cracked light shining sweet
on your tongue. We play in the heaving, honeyed void.
What passes for earth, falling water, thistles, ordinary
grass and wet leaves slips over us, chiffon and silk. I watch

my foot dip into undulating transparent layers, the solid gone
liquid, gone empty, everything shining, flowing. You slide
in and out between layers, luminous and translucent. I think we
are twins. I think we will marry. Perhaps I am the riverbed and you
the river. Together, the vast and crashing fall.
But if you leave, we cannot be twins,

can never marry. I shout and run
after you. I want to hold
this overflowing cup to your fingertips and lips,
touch your tongue to this ambrosia. I call and call
until you turn back
to me. A sip of nectar: your fingers twine into mine.

The earth settles into solid silence, shivers. Hunkers down
a moment before the shimmer song

begins
again.

Mary Stebbins
for Keith
Friday, April 22, 2005 Earth Day.

This poem is one of a series of poems re-envioning my miraculous first meeting with Keith.

Full Tilt Retreat

2005-04-22T22:58:00.000-04:00

I have been turned down for the Saltonstall Retreat Again. I am apparently not good enough. That's how I feel, rejected (again). I can only make my own retreats until I get accepted somewhere. Retreating is important to me. It allows me to focus on my creative work and set aside daily concerns. But I am very busy right now attempting to move, sell the house, get divorced, and so on--so my retreats are full tilt retreats, on the run.

red bubbles

1990-09-17T00:28:00.000-04:00