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Finding a Sense of Place While Everything is Changing
I left for vacation immediately after the Easter Sunday church service. Jeanne and I had packed the car, changed clothes in my office, and eaten hard-boiled eggs on the road. As the Easter morning sunrays reflected in Boothbay Harbor, it was a chilly 38 degrees. The only thing blooming in Midcoast Maine in April are lilies and daffodils purchased from the greenhouses at Hannaford's. We hope Spring reaches us by Pentecost in May, so our 9-day vacation was a jumpstart to our blossom-longing hearts.
After two hours, we saw the roadside greening on the I-495 beltway around Boston. A green halo emerged from the tree tops if you squinted just right. I've never considered the Mass Pike one of my top 10 scenic drives, but seeing leaves and a few blossoms around Ludlow felt like heaven as we emerged from the grayscale of Maine Spring. In New York, we got off the big highway to slower winding local roads. Yellow Forsythia and purple and white flowering trees looked like fireworks to our color-deprived eyes.
Spring travels South to North at the pace of 13 miles a day in the US1 (apparently, Spring is faster in the UK, traveling 1.9 miles an hour, or 45 miles per day. It must be the jet stream.). So, how many days of Spring did we cover if we set our cruise control at about 72 mph and drove for 5 hours and 30 minutes to Poughkeepsie, NY? My math says we jumpstarted things by approximately 30.46 days. Take note, Mainers. We should see green bursting everywhere about May 8 at 4:38 PM (give or take!)
The next day we tackled the New Jersey Turnpike on our way to DC, and the world opened as the hours passed. We shed our layers of clothes as the temperature rose to 80 degrees. We lost Spring when we went underground in the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel and emerged in midsummer. The cherry blossoms were already gone when we walked the Tidal Basin at the National Mall. We had to put on sunscreen, and it never occurred to me to bring shorts. We checked the weather daily, and Maine remained a balmy 50 degrees.
At the end of the vacation, we traveled the adventure in reverse. Colors disappeared as we crossed the bridge at Kittery, Maine. We stopped for lunch in Brunswick, foolishly wearing short sleeves. The day was a blustery 41 degrees. When we reached home-sweet-home, I chopped wood for kindling, and we built a fire in the wood stove.
I'm settling in now after a few days at home. It is still a rainy 41 degrees. The landscape is still bare trees and dried leaves, with the only green coming from the mossy rock ledge. Spring must be pressing northward toward Ogunquit Beach, and May 8 at 4:38 PM is on my calendar. I am feeling grateful for the foretaste of Spring, and this Easter trip may need to be an annual event to break up the long winters. But this is the cycle of my new home. I don't mind being last in line to see Spring. By July, the last shall be first, and the world comes up I-95 to Maine to escape the summer and wash the metro dust off in the still-cold coastal waters.
I am looking at our muddy yard and contemplating our future lawn. We moved into our just built home in October, so nothing is planted. I have vowed not to own a lawnmower and just got a bid for new loam and planting white clover. I have been reading about the value of native plants for landscaping, looking at our yard from the perspective of birds, bees, and caterpillars. I'm a vegetable guy, so this is all new to me. I'm picking out spots for some apple trees, a raspberry patch, and blueberry ground cover. My renewal notice for the Maine Botanical Gardens just came in the email. It's great to live 5 minutes from the most extensive botanical garden in the Northeast. (Yes, it's here in Maine!).
I'm claiming my home just as it is, learning to move in new rhythms. Feeling grounded and having a sense of place has always been challenging. I've moved many times, and I have no siblings. As a clergyperson, I feel the paradox of immediately being an insider in a new place but never entirely fitting in. Over time I've learned that belonging isn't only about being received and welcomed. Belonging is also a choice to engage in a new place on its terms. Life often brings me where I must let go of one thing to take hold of another. I miss our long bike rides in Western Mass, but I learned to sail in Boothbay Harbor last summer. Spring will always seem about a month late here in Maine. But I am welcomed by a daily view of the Sheepscot River from my living room. I've never lived somewhere I needed a tidal app on my phone.
Here is the truth that comes to me as I finish writing. The world is changing everywhere, all the time. Even if you stay in the same place all your life, it will change around you. Belonging is the art of sensing the tides of the moment and embracing what comes next. I see you coming, Spring. Better late than never!
Notes
1. https://www.birdsoutsidemywindow.org/2013/03/25/spring-moves-north-13-miles-a-day/
Pastor Todd
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