"The roots of coastal Maine apples are tangled deep in time. They hear the whale song of stone leviathans gliding through fields and forests, remnants of an ancient glacial tide." Whaleback Farm

No, this is not a whale but it is a creature in stone. I like to think that it is a dragon, long wandering the coast of Maine and turned to stone by some form of Merlin. My, Maine is evocative at this time of year. It has been an extraordinary summer, filled with color and garden splendor.

I took these photos at Dot's, a delightful spot between my house and Belfast, in Lincolnville. It is a gem of place but I was looking for short cake, home made for a peach short cake to take to a Labor Day Picnic on Monday. Alas, no shortcake...I do not have an oven in the summer so it will have to be peaches and cream....easy. This is an annual pot luck so there will be more than plenty at table.

Peaches and Cream

Ingredients:

• 4 fresh ripe peaches

• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon zest and 1 Tbs. orange zest

• 6 tablespoons granulated sugar divided

• 1 ¼ cups heavy cream cold

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• Pinch salt

• Cut the ripe peaches into half inch wedges. Gently peel off the fuzzy peach peels.

• Set out a medium mixing bowl. Add the peaches, lemon and orange zest, and 5 tablespoons of sugar. Add a pinch of salt and mix well. Set aside.

• Pour the cold heavy cream into a second bowl. Add 1 tablespoon of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Use a handmixer to lightly whip the heavy cream. It should be whipped and fluffy but still slightly pourable.

• All I have is a jar of cream from Beth's so I plan to shake it in the jar to the effect of of fluffy. Beth's a heavy cream that ends up looking like this:

Sinful...only no short cake and not so fluffy...We'll see what it does with peaches. ...This was breakfast or gabelfrustuck , the fork breakfast...so you don't die of starvation before lunch. ^^

It has been a rythmic week, calmer over all than the glorious week of music in mid-August, much calmer the Garden Tour week, in mid-July. For one thing, the heat has passed. It is luscious and warm but in my book, that tops 80 with life in the low 70's on either side of mid-day. It is glorious.

There was a field trip of stalwart gardeners. We went to Schleppinghurst, a private sanctuary that has been dropped in the middle of rural Lincolnville in Waldo County, about 20 minutes from my kitchen door. Could I find it again? probably not! The tamed acres belong to Ken and Evelyn Cleaves, a couple in their seventies who have given over their lives to creating this reverential, Shinto inspired paradise.

We started here with a Tang Dynasty quote:

The quote encapsulates the essence of this place. It is silent, vast and layered. You could get lost in the quiet.

It is a series of rooms and a rhythmic, repetition in nature. This is planned by Ken and his wife, who have done all of the work on this property. By definition-"The repetition of elements and the spaces between those repetitions create a sense of harmony and consistency. In music, notes and the silences between them create rhythm; in art and design, the repetition of elements and patterns creates rhythm." So, this pattern of plantings creates a layered harmony.

Can you see the almost "written" notes in the placement? It is visual bliss. There is a remarkable quarry from the early to mid-19th century. Only tombs stones were quarried here from an obsidian (black), igneous or volcanic glass. That is all well and good but all I could see was a production of Antigone since the hillside is surrounded by a natural amphitheater. What will happen to this remarkable place? I have to hope that it becomes a retreat of some sort or a children's theater study in the summer. The video I attached to this story is dated and does not begin to capture the soul of this place.

The intensity of it was so profound that it felt like a time warp. I wonder how these gifted people come and go from the everyday life when they need groceries or to go to the dentist. It was the most primal experience.

Twenty four hours later, we were having coffee at the Whistling Whale.

Here is Tom, the owner, who spends his winters in Portugal where he discusses coffee beans or that is story we are getting!

Its Windjammer Weekend. They all roll into Camden Harbor for end of summer festivities. It is still remarkable to see them together, still active on the water.

The Stephen Tabor, the oldest mercantile out there, built in 1871, has continually been in service for 153 years. We traveled on her, island to island for a few days with dear friends. I would do it again in a minute.

There are Rotary breakfasts, art sales, exhibitions, fireworks. Labor Day is very big. I like to hope that the merrymakers and sailors recognize Maine's own, Frances Perkins, the mother of Social Security, Workmen's Comp, the 8 Day Work Week, Child Labor Laws...This is part of why we celebrate Labor Day. "Labor Day is a federal holiday in the United States celebrated on the first Monday of September to honor and recognize the American labor movement and the works and contributions of laborers to the development and achievements in the United States.

Perkins was the only woman in the room, when she was the Secretary of Labor, under Roosevelt. She was maligned, criticized, mocked, had her sexuality questioned. No holds barred!

Her ancestral home in Newcastle, Maine, is a classic New England construction dating from the mid-18th century. Big house, little house, back house, barn...As family grew, so did the architecture. You can see it often in Maine. Her home stands as a National Historic Landmark. It can be toured and has a certain feel that surrounds the viewer...as though Herself just walked out of the room.

Not far from the Perkins Homestead is "Head of Tide Church," made immortal by Marsden Hartley, another son of Maine, born in Lewiston in 1877 and died in Ellsworth in 1943.

In the summer of 1937, Marsden Hartley returned to Maine, his place of birth and where he would live until his death six years later. He created some of the most powerful works of his career in this period, when he declared himself the “painter from Maine” after years of restless travel. By the late 1930s, the village of Head Tide was in decline and its Congregational Church had been deserted. Hartley emphasized this state of abandonment by depicting the church in the depths of winter, when its stark white exterior was nearly indistinguishable from the snow that surrounded it. Incised lines across the church’s sidewall and the downward strokes that define the facade evoke a sturdily built structure that is nonetheless vulnerable to the passage of time." Colby College Archives

Head of Tide Congregational Church Marsden Hartley 1937 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

It is right out of the Ethan Frome play book, isn't it! There is a Hartley exhibition at the Farnsworh Museum in Rockland, as I write...

A modernist, who studied with Picasso and Braque. These works are tame compared to his European days. My personal favorite is, The German Soldier. He was in love with a Prussian Lt. who died in WWI. His initials are bottom left. There is a lovely bit from the Met, should you be inclined.

Marsden Hartley, Portrait of a German Officer, 1914, oil on canvas, 173.4 x 105.1 cm (Alfred Stieglitz Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)

Robust, dynamic, powerful, a boy from Lewiston, Maine ends up in Paris and Berlin

rubbing elbows with the Abstract Expressionists. He became a part of Rockwell Kent's circle and spent time on an artist's island off the Port Clyde by the name of Monhegan. The breathtaking span of our lives, the oneness of us in this fortuitous time calls to me through this quote...and so...

"The roots of coastal Maine apples are tangled deep in time. They hear the whale song of stone leviathans gliding through fields and forests, remnants of an ancient glacial tide."

It all becomes one song, one rhythm, one moment.

Labor Day 2024 Be safe till next time...