At Home On Piety Hill

Blueberries are native only to North America. Wild Maine blueberries, like Maine lobster, are the best — finest kind. They are small and full of flavor, unlike the larger ones that grow higher off the ground in places like New Jersey, Oregon and Washington. Our friends in Maine will sometimes eat the larger, inferior blueberries from away but that’s an anomaly. 

Blueberries are raked and it is difficult and back-breaking work. If you are good at it, you can make a big wad of cash during the season, typically the month of August. In the 90’s, that’s how teenagers in our town earned money to buy a car. Camille raked blueberries one day and that was enough. Sam did it for a while longer than that. 

Here in California, we have found wild Maine blueberries, as well as those grown in the Maritime provinces at Trader Joe’s, in the frozen section under their own brand. Generally, Denise uses them for baking and my personal favorite is a coffee cake recipe she got from the baker at a country store in Maine. She had a good rep in town and the gentleman was happy to share it with her, under the condition that she never used it commercially and with the understanding that we were heading back to California. The secret was the crusty, sugary, tart, blueberry top on the cake. 

You can buy blueberries in a variety of ways, but we prefer the roadside stand where you leave your money in a jar. By the way, this is a common practice in Maine for selling anything from camp wood to blueberries to pies or baked goods. Many of the stands will have a sign advertising blueberrys. Don’t be fooled by this marketing ploy — the obvious misspelling gives the stand or display a down-home, rural ambience.  Denise enjoys blueberries al fresco and one at a time.

I coveted. This watercolor was hanging in our motel room in Wolfeboro and I wanted it. I wanted it so badly. I was pleading with Denise to offer the owner 10 bucks for it. I even thought we might be able to trade Emma for it.

Now, I’ll need some help from all of you art afficianados. It is signed by one, Marty. It reminds me of a Maxfield Parrish, but I’m not sure why. I don’t think it’s his style, but I believe it may reflect his palette. 

Before I begin on this post, I have to make an acerbic comment. I just looked at my blog in Explorer and it doesn’t render properly. This is WordPress, for crying out loud. Why doesn’t Explorer play by the rules? I’m actually glad Google has come out with Chrome to compete with Microsoft in the browser battles. I prefer Safari now or Camino, the Mac version of Firefox. There, I said it and I feel much better now. 

As we moved south toward Portland, we found this wonderful place in Glen Cove Maine, the Oakland Seashore Motel. The cottages were cute, but we stayed in the motel.

I’m not sure, but I think we were looking across our little cove at Owl’s Head and the lighthouse there. The lodgings were simple, the way they should be, the grounds beautiful and the owners were very hospitable. We shared our blueberries with them and they were grateful. 

Denise and Emma passed the evening twilight reading and working on a needlepoint, of course. I sat on the ledge with my MacBook, taking advantage of the now ubiquitous wifi. 

The next morning we were out on the lawn and heard the familiar sound of a lobster boat coming around the point. Denise caught a few shots of the captain weaving his boat in and out of the buoys with the sternman hauling his traps.

Did I ever tell you about the time we went to our first lobster bake? We had just moved to Maine in August of ‘93 and were getting acquainted. Billy and Lorna took us out with about 20 people on their lobster boat at the end of the season, after Billy hauled all his gear out and cleaned it up real nice. We went out to Torrey Island and set everything up on the shore, including Ralph’s propane rig for making real french fries. That was wonderful. We had unlimited lobster, french fries that were salted and sprinkled with vinegar in a cardboard box, corn on the cob and red hot dogs for the kids. We left all the exoskeletal remains out on the shore and watched the tide recycle it all. Lorna showed the kids how to rake for quahogs that day. 

What trip to Maine would be complete without a lobster bake? And, why do they call it a bake, when you boil or steam everything? Well, that and other weighty questions of eternal consequence will have to wait until later. Right now, we’re talking about downeast cuisine.
We headed down to Brooklin to buy some lobsters from John Candage and found them for just over $5 a pound. 

We got together with Bruce and Terri, Paul and Mary, Leah and Emma for some lobster, steamers, fresh corn on the cob and, of course, pie. Mary made the best coconut cream pie, with a great whipped topping. 

It was Emma’s first taste of lobster and, oddly enough, she didn’t like it. Go figure! I prefer sea scallops, but I really like lobster, too. I’ve had lobster often, but learned a valuable tip this time. Clip the rubber bands off the claws, before you drop them, head first, into the boiling water. If you don’t do that, the taste of rubber will taint the delicate lobster meat. 

I also learned that:

Long ago, lobsters were so plentiful that Native Americans used them to fertilize their fields and to bait their hooks for fishing. In colonial times, lobsters were considered “poverty food.” They were harvested from tidal pools and served to children, to prisoners, and to indentured servants, who exchanged their passage to America for seven years of service to their sponsors. In Massachusetts, some of the servants finally rebelled. They had it put into their contracts that they would not be forced to eat lobster more than three times a week.

For those of you concerned about the inhumane practice of boiling lobster, consider it justice:

Lobsters like to eat a variety of fresh plants and animals like clams, sea urchins, and starfish. The four antennae located on a lobsters head along with the tiny hair that covers much of the lobsters body helps him to locate food; lobsters can detect motion but cannot clearly make out specific objects.   The lobster has two big claws and eight walking legs.  One claw is the crusher claw, which helps the lobster destroy something he wants to eat.  The other claw is called the pincher or ripper claw and is used to tear food apart. 

Before we sat down to our lobster feed, we needed to be sure the horses had something to eat and Leah showed us the correct way to feed a carrot to a horse. 

We decided to visit the Penobscot Narrows Bridge near Bucksport and take a trip up to the observatory at the top - 420 feet high, to be exact. Denise and I were vacationing and hunting for investments just about a year ago and happened to visit when the bridge was opened for the first public walk-across and Bridgefest. It was impressive.

While we were waiting, Emma was wishing she had brought her sweater. She did, however, bring a book along. It was one of about 8 she read in our 12 day vacation. Sidebar: Emma has always been a voracious reader. My memory of living in Maine is coming home to find Emma, dressed like a boy, sitting sideways in a chair, twirling her bobbed hair around one finger, with some sort of sucker or jawbreaker in her mouth, reading a book. Read, read, read… and, then, read some more!

The next photo is Denise and Emma from the observatory with Verona Island in the background and Blue Hill in the distance. For you history fans, the bridge overlooks the location of one of the most strategic towns in American history, Castine, and the site of the greatest single American Naval loss before Pearl Harbor. Paul Revere was court-martialed for his role in the debacle. 

Finally, we have a photo of me reeling after my trip to the top. I do not like heights and when you get to the observatory, you exit the elevator and the glass is about 3 feet from the door. So, if you are prone to vertigo, it comes on you all at once. After exiting the elevator, you take a couple flights of stairs, which are right up close to the glass, to the top. I was a bit wobbly until we reached the observatory, where I got acclimated and was able to operate the camera. Actually, I was fine by the time we got down and I am really looking towards Bucksport from Fort Knox, wondering where in town we would be able to find a decent whoopie pie, red hot dog or pizza. 

One of our favorite places to visit is Camden Maine, which most people know as Peyton Place. We know it as the home of Cappy’s Chowder House and the site of a wonderful webcam.

I love the library there. The town outgrew the old library, so they built a new one under the park out back, down by the harbor, and connected it to the original. Most of the holdings are in the new addition, while the original library provides a wonderful place to relax and read, as well as some wonderful views of town.

The first photo is of Denise and I in the underground addition, under the skylight that sits in the center of the lawn in the park. The interior of the original library is bright and airy. The views of the town from the southeast window are spectacular.

When you’re in Maine, there are a number of rare treats you’ll want to track down besides the best lobster in the world. Emma and I love two Maine staples, common to the working class downeast; red hot dogs and whoopie pies. The best place to find them in Hancock County are at the Eggemoggin Country Store or, as the natives call it, B&L’s (it was established years ago by Billy and Lorna… but, that’s another story).

Danny makes the best whoopie pies, bar none, anywhere in New England. He also has a recipe for the most righteous blueberry coffee cake ever, as well as cookies and other baked goods. Finest kind!

Red hot dogs are unique to Maine and they do taste a bit different. Authentic red hots are served in a split-top roll, the same as any good clam, crab, scallop or lobster roll. I like dogs steamed along with the roll, in the glass and stainless steel dispenser, common to any reputable Maine market or general store. Yes, red hots are some good!

Other mandatory items in a real, downeast Maine country store are pizza, Italians (the Maine name for a hoagie or sub), picked crabmeat, old VHS movie rentals and plenty of humor, laced with bits of town gossip. “Yes, deah!”

On one of our trips to B&L’s, we drove by the home of our friends, Don and Jane. They offered us their typical brand of downeast hospitality and we sat in the kitchen for a couple of hours, exchanging bits of news about family and friends in town, as well as our opinion of Obama’s choice for a running mate. When we left, Denise snapped this pose of what could pass for two Maine male models, whose bodies have been sculpted by years of hard work, red hot dogs and whoopie pies. 

When we moved to Maine in ‘93, our first home was down on Naskeag Point, site of the famous Revolutionary War battle. Denise and Emma’s passion for beach glass was born there. We ran straight down to Naskeag, as soon as we arrived on the Blue Hill Peninsula. Emma wanted to bring home a lobster buoy for a souvenir and immediately found a pink girl’s buoy on the shore. Unfortunately, the buoy she found is still an active, licensed color. It’s never a good idea to mess with someone’s lobster gear, so she left it at the shore. She didn’t find much beach glass this time, but plenty of clam shells.

I’m sitting in a very comfortable motel room in Wolfeboro New Hampshire, which I’m sure you know was the first resort town in the United States. We found a wonderful little place on the lake, where Emma and Denise are relaxing in a gazebo, on the lawn, watching some kids being delightedly dragged and tossed about the lake on some big rubber boat by their irresponsible parents.

We finished some takeout for lunch and two pints of hand-packed Morrissey Ice Cream, followed by a nap. Now, I’m ready to get down to some serious Bible study, following this post.

Ever since our first trip to New England, Denise and I have trained our eyes to detect each and every dairy bar along the road, in search of the best soft serve and homemade or local dairy’s hard ice cream. Maine abounds with the stuff, as does New Hampshire. The Morrissey mocha almond fudge was just right, but I think the peppermint stick was just a bit too sweet. I like the peppermint “hot.”

Last Sunday, I preached at a small church in Bangor. Following the service, pastor Joe, Tricia and their grandson Austin took us all out to Nick’s for lunch and we followed that up with a trip to the Gifford’s stand on Broadway, over by the Bangor Mall. They serve up some of the best hard ice cream I’ve had, in a variety of flavors. I’m a bit of a purist and go for something simple for evaluation and review. Their chocolate chip is a superb blend of rich, creamy vanilla and semi-sweet chocolate chips that are just the right size. They tend to be on the large size, which other chocolate chip fans will agree is the proper way to make it. As you can see from the photo on the left, Austin’s choice of chocolate lover’s chocolate was also an excellent choice.

Denise usually gets something with maple in it while we’re in the area and Emma generally goes for the peppermint stick ice cream. Gifford’s excels at both.  Dutch Treat, on the road to Bar Harbor, makes their own ice cream right there and it’s a Salisbury favorite. We all like soft-serve and found Lodie’s on Deer Isle for the first time. It’s creamy, firm and comes in a variety of flavors and swirls. Of course, we still love our Blizzards at Dairy Queen and even McDonald’s will do in a pinch.

So, we met some new friends in Sedgwick Me — Joanne and Doug. They told us that Pushcart Press, the world’s smallest bookstore, is in the building at the back of what was once Donny and Eleanor’s garage and auto dealership. We stopped by to check it out. The Pushcart Prize is a prestigious literary project, pioneered by Bill Henderson over 30 years ago. As it turns out, Mr. Henderson is now a resident of Sedgwick, where I once served as Postmaster and our family wintered for a year before moving up to Blue Hill. From the PP website:

The Pushcart Prize - Best of the Small Presses series, published every year since 1976, is the most honored literary project in America. Hundreds of presses and thousands of writers of short stories, poetry and essays have been represented in the pages of our annual collections. 

Writers who were first noticed here include:
Raymond Carver, Tim O’Brien, Jayne Anne Phillips, Charles Baxter, Andre Dubus, Susan Minot, Mona Simpson, John Irving, Rick Moody, and many more. Each year most of the writers and many of the presses are new to the series.

I’m sure you’ve all been wondering why the blog posts have dried up. In fact, I’m just sitting down to answer the backlog of thousands of email messages. We are winding up our trip to Maine and are finally relaxing on the shore of Allamoosook Lake. Emma is in a canoe, Denise is sitting in her Adirondack chair with a needlepoint and I’m doing what I like to do to unwind… writing. So, here are a few shots of the view from the lodge and a preview of posts to come.
There is a very picturesque island out in front of the lodge and it appears to have a camp with a dock out into the lake. It’s very quiet here, the loons and ducks are paddling by and there are only two boats out on the lake. I just heard some folks at their camp about a quarter mile across the lake discussing supper plans for the evening — Chinese food in Bucksport.
Emma is really enjoying her vacation and is now out in a canoe, trying to find an anchorage, so she can stop to read her book. I’ll plug away on a few posts about the house we let go out in Sunshine, the one that interests us in Lamoine, lobster supper, whoopie pies and, best of all, good friends.

Hey, kids! Let’s have a sock hop at the Salisbury’s pad! I bought each one of these albums at the same yard sale for 25¢ apiece — much less than the original owners paid. They threw in the album stand for free! The entire display goes well with our entertainment center, don’t you think?

Bo had the Box Tops album, when he was in the sixth grade. The Fontaine Sisters and Herman’s Hermits were before our time.

I’d like to introduce a new feature to our tens of thousands of readers. Krazy Kitsch serves to provide you with a virtual tour of our Home on Piety Hill, which Denise is transforming into a varitable museum of off beat, kitcshy kollectibles and questionable art, furniture, kitchen utensils and, well, just about everything else. Now, mind you, some items will not actually be kitschy at all, but we’ll use that as a sort of catch-all label for just about anything we think is cool. Here’s a good definition of kitsch from Wikipedia:

A term of German or Yiddish origin that has been used to categorize art that is considered an inferior, tasteless copy of an existing style. The term is also used more loosely in referring to any art that is pretentious to the point of being in bad taste, and also commercially produced items that are considered trite or crass.

Because the word was brought into use as a response to a large amount of art in the 19th century where the aesthetic of art work was associated with a sense of exaggerated sentimentality or melodrama, kitsch is most closely associated with art that is sentimental; however, it can be used to refer to any type of art that is deficient for similar reasons—whether it tries to appear sentimental, glamorous, theatrical, or creative, kitsch is said to be a gesture imitative of the superficial appearances of art. It is often said that kitsch relies on merely repeating convention and formula, lacking the sense of creativity and originality displayed in genuine art.

Take it away, Denise…

This collection now on our bedroom wall was started with finding one of the ballerina prints at a garage sale. I found the two wall pocket ones on Ebay which were being sold by a lady who lived real close to my daughter so I was able to drive over and pick them up instead of paying shipping! The largest one is a paint-by-number that is so sweet.

March 4, 2008, at The University of California, Berkeley

Tiimothy Keller begins by stating the concern that belief  in religion and Christianity, in particular, is  ”too divisive in a free democratic society…” That people with strong religious convictions, “feel impelled… to impose those beliefs and… to really oppress and marginalize people.” He concedes, “I do think that religion is part of the problem with the world,” but goes on to state that robust, crunchy religion is on the ascendancy, so we must find a way to deal with exclusive truth claims. Get a drink and snack, settle in and give him a listen.

Okay, so I’ve been a little nostalgic lately and I scanned some old photographs of our family. When Denise and I began dating, she had long blonde hair… naturally blonde. I had long hair, too. 

Denise also bought a brand new Landcruiser FJ40, which I loved to drive and she snapped this photo, as we drove by the 76 station at the corner of Painter Avenue and Lambert Road in Whittier.

In the Spring of 1974, after Denise graduated from Sierra High School, we drove north to pick up Denise’s brother at UC Davis and brought him home. We stopped in one of our favorite destinations from our desert days, Virginia City NV, and I took this photo of Denise. Wow!!! 

UPDATE: The video has been removed from YouTube, but I hope it will be back. Rep. Wexler and Chris Matthews double-team Rep. Wilson, hoping to beat up on a girl, but get their lunch handed back to them. Here’s the transcript.

Wouldn’t it be refreshing if Americans had the opportunity to vote in 2008 for a presidential candidate with strong convictions, who is able to articulate them without stuttering and stammering or flying into a rage, whenever challenged?  A military veteran and legislator with some depth in foreign policy and international business relations, who seems to have a grasp on history, would certainly be a positive addition to the slate of candidates already put forward. You know, the republican convention is still over a month away. Perhaps they may want to take a look at Congresswoman Heather Wilson. 

How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God! Hebrews 9:14

I was preparing to preach through this passage last Sunday and I stumbled upon this unexpected gem. I found it in the the original edition of The Interpreter’s Bible commentary on page 692. This is a fairly liberal reference and the scholarship, though cutting edge in the mid 20th century, is now dated. This exposition by Quaker New Testament scholar Alexander C. Purdy is refreshingly orthodox and disturbingly insightful:

This verse marks the turning point in man’s salvation. As long as he loses himself in the crowd, submerges himself in the forces that play upon him, blames his failures on his circumstances, finds his purification in external rites that do not touch the self, he is not a person. He has not encountered God. But when he meets God and sees himself, his inmost self, as the source of his misery, he begins to become responsible: i.e., he begins to be a human person. He now knows that no sacrifice will suffice unless it purifies his conscience.

But with this new knowledge comes a new despair. He cannot save himself. However heroic his moral effort, he cannot remove his own self-contradiction, i.e., his alienation from God. However long he may live, however he may multiply good works and penance to “make up for” the evil deeds that he has done, he cannot succeed. For it is not merely his deeds that were wrong, but himself. Not merely his trespasses need forgiving: he himself needs cleansing.

Nor can any easy forgiveness satisfy his conscience. The forgiveness must cost a heavy price, must leave him dwelling in the land of moral reality to which he has just become awake. This despair is the human last, beyond which the divine first begins. Completely humbled, he is finally prepared to receive the divine forgiveness. Only in the eternal self-giving of God can his conscience be purified from dead works. Only in God’s own sacrifice can the believer be restored to his rightful place as a child of God, to find his life, his destiny, his joy in serving the living God.

This is Denise about one year after we were married on this day, July 10, 1976. Yes, that’s 32 years of marital bliss (not 31, Sam). This photo was actually taken the day before Sam was born on September 5, 1977. I remember this day - It was hot, I took time off work for the birth and we went to walk around the Mission San Juan Capistrano and I caught Denise in front of this big, beautiful Bouganville.

Happy Anniversary Denise!

Did I ever tell you that Denise can make excellent tamales and carnitas? ¿No? Well, then… About the time Denise and I started getting serious, she worked at a deli and meat market, owned by Jess (Mexican) and Julianne (Polish). So, while I was off surfing every single day during the summer of 1974 (I couldn’t get a job, because I wouldn’t cut my hair — Idiot), Denise (Anglo) learned how to make carnitas, tamales, tortillas, menudo, peirogi, golumki and fresh/smoked kielbasa. Yes, she was always good in the kitchen, but this experience turned her into a serious culinarian. 

Denise is not threatened by others, with more sophisticated or advanced skills. A few months ago, we dined at Las Pupusas, a Mexican/Salvadoran/Costa Rican restaurant on El Camino in Sacramento (please read the reviews). I’ve only had Mexican tamales, so theirs were a new treat for me. As one reviewer noted:

Their tamales remind me of my grandma’s cooking, had she known how to make tamales. What’s a bit strange (but it’s a good strange,) is that they put potatoes in their tamales and they wrap the whole tamale up in a banana leaf instead of a corn husk. You can definitely taste the difference and the essense of the banana leaf is in the maize.

However, it was their carnitas that really grabbed our attention. When I was paying, I asked the young woman at the register if they marinated their carnitas and told her it was the best we’ve ever had. She said “no, but my grandmother cooks it in Coca Cola before she roasts it.” Denise looked at me (like Joe Friday), nodded and knowingly remarked, “I’ve heard that before. I’ll have to try it.”

So, this weekend we looked on line and settled upon this recipe. Oh, blessed carnitas!!! It was wonderful. I would have to compare side-by-side with Las Pupusas, to determine the champion. But, really, who cares? It’s all good. Denise whipped up the salsa fresca, we rolled the pork up in corn tortillas and ate it with some rice on the side (Denise makes great rice, too).

Oh, yes. You were probably wondering what happened to Denise and the deadbeat surfer. Well, actually I had worked and saved a bunch of money up to that point. When I got home from the waves and she got off work, we went to a rock show or Dodger game or a movie almost every night of the week. I finally cut my hair and got a job in September (actually 3 part time jobs) and we got married and have been eating Mexican and Polish/Slovak food ever since.

I just got my copy of the new 77s CD Holy Ghost Building and it’s as good as advertised. It’s raw, gospelbluesrockabillyroots. When we saw Mark Harmon and Mike Roe perform some songs from HGB a month or so ago, I got to speak with Mr. Harmon afterwards. He assured me that they had chosen songs, which would be appropriate for me to play along with on my harmonica. Oh, yeah… 

Favorites, so far? Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burnin’, City of Refuge and… well, they’re all wonderful! My advice? Buy it now.

I found this video of Mike performing City of Refuge from the CD in someone’s dining room, playing on what looks to be a vintage Kay guitar. He’s accompanied by Matt Slocum (Sixpence None the Richer and Love Coma), Jimmy Abegg (Charlie Peacock, Sixpence None the Richer, Fleming and John, Rich Mullins), Phil Madeira (everyone, everywhere) and Steve Hindalong. Oh, and be sure to check out Mike playing Ache Beautiful with Matt Slocum on a cello or something like that.