So Long, Summer

 

 

The waning days of summer took us to Grand Manan Island in New Brunswick, Canada. One can see its towering cliffs from the northern coast of Maine. The ferry from Blacks Harbour takes about an hour and a half, adding to the remote allure of this beautiful, non-commercial place.

We rented an old-fashioned cabin, nearly 100 years old, near the southern community of Seal Cove.  One had only to walk a few yards to be standing on the rocks overlooking many other islands in the Bay of Fundy.

The cabin had all the necessary modern amenities, complete with fairy lights in the kitchen. In a cabin such as this it's always a hunt to find a pan with a lid that fits or a sharp knife. So I simplified my cooking and we managed to eat quite well-a good thing as there are very few restaurants.

Our cabin was built by an entrepreneurial local woman who also happened to be a marvelous potter. This shelf in the living room was filled with her work in the colors of the island and the sea. It felt good in one's hand and I loved using it and being connected to the maker. I'm guessing most people that rent the cottage only admire it, but I was very careful!  There were many books on the numerous shelves throughout, including what could be called an American classics collection. Excellent foggy day reading. Bill took a look at Don Quixote for several days.  The walls of the cottage were lined with old prints and paintings, much like it has been for decades.

Of course there was a sunny screened porch where we had tea, read books and simply listened to the waves. This was a trip to simply rest and relax-for an entire week!  We had absolutely nothing planned. Most days we ventured out to experience the Grand Manan culture- the library, historical museum, art gallery and Anglican church. We found a few bakeries that made for a nice coffee break and discovered that the nearby convenience store made a first-rate haddock sandwich. We heard an interesting talk by a Passamaquoddy man and went to a toe-tapping, sea shanty concert by an a cappella group. 

Less than a mile from the cabin was this magnificent sandy beach. How I loved walking there! One day was wonderfully, densely foggy and I had the beach to myself. It was like prayer-no, it was prayer- alone with the music of the waves and wind.  I confess that our back porch is now home to a number of the stones I picked up here-these talismen take me back to that day

Sunsets are particularly beautiful on Grand Manan from the southern tip of the island, where one can look across to Maine.. Here you'll find folks quietly soaking in the beauty or taking photographs. It is a lovely way to end the day.

Until next summer, I hope...

Why Play the Piano?

There’s much talk these days about the demise of a liberal arts degree. We seem to be living in a black and white world full of the importance of practicalities and making money. Although I certainly have my long list of all that needs doing and am always aware of the checking account balance, I have never lived in that world.

When I was in high school I had the opportunity to learn the family automobile business.  Both my dad and grandfather were prominent Lubbock businessmen and would have been thrilled if one of us kids wanted the business. But when it came time to go to college I went another direction and became a piano major. Thankfully my parents never questioned this seemingly impractical choice and I never looked back.

Sure, I haven’t made a lot of money, but I’ve always had what I needed. And yes, I’ve had to cut some corners and accept a few more students or wedding jobs than I really wanted. But working in the arts has simply fulfilled and fed my soul in a way nothing else could.

Being a pianist and organist has allowed me to communicate joy, compassion, concern, sympathy and love without needing to say a single word. Just the right music at a funeral service brings comfort and a sense of not being alone in grief. Had I needed to speak at my dad’s and mom’s funerals I would have broken down…instead I played a single piece on the piano that said it all. And at Emily’s wedding reception my toast was Debussy’s The Girl with the Flaxen Hair. She and I were both in tears when it came to an end.

On a lighter note there’s an old, beat-up piano at the gazebo on the village green in Bar Harbor. It’s there for anyone to play. Walking by a few days ago I sat down and played a couple of rounds of Greensleeves. Despite a goodly number of notes that didn’t work and the piano being terribly out-of-tune, a young man caught up with me as I walked away. “Thank you, thank you so much! You have just made my day. I loved hearing the piano.” He went on to tell me that the music reminded him of his father, now deceased, who filled the family household with piano music. I left feeling that I had made a small difference for the good.

On our recent vacation to Grand Manan Island we decided to visit the Anglican church on Sunday morning. It was the anniversary of my mother’s death and it seemed like a meaningful way to honor her. When we arrived everyone was in a tizzy, including the priest, because there was no power. A number of church members thought there was no church, including the organist. You probably see where I’m going here…when the priest announced that we’d be singing a capella I timidly spoke up and offered to play. Something so easy, so natural for me…and the congregation was grateful and happy.

So was I...