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Oh My Spice. Oh My Yummies. Old Dutch. Old Spice. By the mids he determined to return to his New England roots, first in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and then Maine. In fact, Hartley, in a essay titled, "On the Subject of Nativeness: A Tribute to Maine," declared that he wished to be known as the native painter of Maine. Many of his paintings and drawings from the 30s and 40s focus on the Lovell area, Mount Katahdin, and the coast and fishermen of the Corea area. In addition to being a gifted artist, Hartley was also a poet and essayist.
By , his writing had become an important part of his creative life. Like many other writers, he was first published in little magazines such as The Little Review , The Dial , Poetry , Contact , and others. Since , Hartley's work as an artist and poet has gained increased attention from both the art and academic worlds. Garden mystery writer Corrilla Hastings, who grew up in Maine and attended Wellesley College as a botany major, ran Brick Farm Nursery and Garden Center in Skowhegan for 30 years with her husband before recently retiring.
Katharine Butler Hathaway was born in and grew up in Salem, Massachusetts, part of a wealthy family. She suffered from spinal tuberculosis, and was confined to a bed for most of her childhood. Though her treatment was most advanced for the time, she was left disfigured.
After attending Radcliffe College, she purchased a house in Castine in and began a life of her own. She traveled and lived in New York and Paris. In , she married, returned to Maine and settled in Blue Hill. Klose is the single parent of Alyosha, adopted from Russia when Alyosha was seven, and Anton, from Ukraine. Horror and suspense writer Hautala was born and raised in Rockport, Massachusetts.
Many of his stories have Maine settings. Rick Hautala died March 21, of a heart attack. Robley Wilson, Jr. He graduated from Bowdoin College with honors in English in receiving an honorary degree from same in and earned an MFA with distinction from the University of Iowa in Hawkes was born in Sherman, Texas. Growing up in a military family, he lived in a number of places in both the United States and Europe. After receiving his B. Kevin and his family moved to Maine in and live in Gorham. Hawkes has written several books but is primarily an illustrator of picture books and novels.
Hawthorne also lived in Portland in and in Raymond for a few years around He was a writer of novels and short stories, a member of the American Romantic school, specifically known as a "Dark Romantic. Novelist, Margaret Deland was born in Allegheny, Pa. They lived in Manchester, Pa, which she transformed into the fictional "Old Chester" of her stories. She was awarded an honorary degree from Bowdoin College in The Delands became involved in the plight of unwed mothers and took into their home about 60 women and infants in the space of 4 years.
During this time, Deland began writing for greeting-card companies. Deland's first published work was a poem, "The Succory," which appeared in Harpers magazine. She was elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters in Tamra Wight was born in Charlton, Massachusetts on 7 Dec. Tom DeMarco born Aug. In addition to his business and writing careers, he's also a certified emergency medical technician. He was later responsible for distributed on-line banking systems installed in Europe, and he has lectured and consulted throughout the Americas, Europe, Africa, Australia and the Far East.
Christopher Willard, born in Bangor, Maine, is a writer, visual artist, and instructor who lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. His art appears in collections worldwide including the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He has published over 50 articles in art magazines, journals, and books, and had a monthly column in American Artist. He spends much of the year at a rustic cabin that he built himself in the woods near Weld, Maine.
Many of his books focus on the natural world just outside the cabin door. Heinrich has won numerous awards for his writing and is a world class ultra-marathon runner. Tom Desjardin was born and raised in Maine. He received his bachelor's and master's degrees from Florida State University, and did his doctoral work in American History at the University of Maine at Orono. He's worked as a National Parks interpreter, giving programs on the Gettysburg battlefield. His interest in the topic grew from a visit to Gettysburg as a boy, and his is also based on the same. He received a B.
After college, New York and Miami commercial art firms and newspapers employed him as an art or creative director. After the war, he did graduate work in painting and sculpture at Rollins College in Florida. Dibner was awarded a Breadloaf Fellowship in Two years later he was a Huntington Hartford Foundation fellow.
In the late s, Dibner was appointed the first director of the California Art Commission. In the early s he moved to Maine where he had vacationed for many years. Dibner entered a new phase of his creative career when he became a mentor and teacher to many Maine short story and novel writers who studied creative writing with him. A native Mississippian born Macon, MS, 7 March who spent his childhood in Ohio, Williams graduated from Dartmouth in , worked as a reporter for the Boston American from , and went on to live outside of Boston, summering in North Searsmont and Blue Hill.
He wrote over 35 novels and short stories, many set in the mythical village of Fraternity, Maine similar to his home in the Searsmont area , as well as some histories and other non-fiction works. Dietz, born in Pittsburgh, a graduate of New York University and a long-time resident of Rockport, lived in Maine for more than 40 years. During his early working years, he was a foreign correspondent in Paris and a copywriter in New York.
In his middle years he gained recognition for his many magazine articles on fishing and hunting for Coast Fisherman , Outdoors Maine , and Down East , which he helped establish. In the s he published the popular Jeff White series in which the action was also focused on hunting and fishing. Michelle Dionetti has lived in York, ME, since She's a touring artist, teaching in schools throughout the state and at writers' conferences throughout northern New England. Joanne S. Williamson was born in Arlington, Virginia. Before moving to Kennebunkport in , she was employed as a writer and editor for several newspapers and magazines in New York City and Connecticut.
In , her first first novel was published; it was the first of Williamson's eight young adult historical novels. She is a graduate of South Portland High School and a graduate of the University of New Hampshire with a degree in hotel administration. She was previously employed as Vice President of Credit Services for a food industry credit reporting agency, as a bank commercial loan underwriter, and as the credit manager for a major seafood importer located in New York. She has taught at Univ. Dodd is also co-editor of the Journal of Maine Education. Jim Dodson was raised in the Carolinas but moved to New England in the s to become a senior writer for Yankee Magazine.
Previously, he had been a reporter for the Washington Post and a political journalist and a Sunday magazine writer at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Dodson earned his reputation as a sports writer as contributing editor and regular columnist for Golf magazine and golf editor for Departures magazine, winning the Golf Writers of America Award in Dodson now lives in Topsham, Maine. While writing, he has worked in a lumber mill, bar tended, drove a mail truck, owned a rock music booking agency, picked fruit, operated a forklift, assembled farm equipment, and assisted released prisoners to maintain their terms of parole.
A showcase of his monologues was produced off-Broadway at the Westside Theater. Stewart Doty earned his Ph. A professor of history at the University of Maine from and chair of the history department from , he taught Modern French, European, and Franco-American History. Granted emeritus status when he retired in , Doty now resides in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Freelance writer Vicki Doudera grew up in Norfolk, Mass. From , she and her husband Ed operated the Blackberry Inn Bed-and-Breakfast in Camden, Maine; they live now in Camden with three children, two cats, a dog, and a rat named George.
Jane Gerow Dudley, writer and naturalist, was a New Jersey native who lived in Maine from the mids until the early s. She contributed to numerous publications as journalist, columnist and poet, including the Maine Times , Yankee magazine, Reed Poetry Annual of Maine , and the Boston Post. She was longtime editor of the Schoodic chapter of the Maine Audubon newsletter. She was also president and founder of the Alexander-Crawford Historical Society Alexander, Maine and wrote its newsletter. Sandy Dunn is an artist, arts educator, and children's book illustrator who lives in Chelsea, Maine with her husband, photographer Steven Dunn.
She has a BFA and a B. She's worked as an art instructor in public schools for more than 15 years and also offers private lessons and workshops. Her paintings watercolors and acrylics have been exhibited in shows around Maine. Children's book writer, poet, and essayist Sandra Dutton was born in Springfield, Missouri, grew up in Norwood, Ohio, and moved to Boothbay Harbor after many years as a summer visitor.
Her sea captain ancestors settled in Bath in the s. Dutton has a Master's in Creative Writing and a Ph. Her parents were both professors, and her father was also chief of the fine arts division at the Library of Congress. Holland attended Smith College, and went on to earn a B. Doris Anne Holman born 18 Oct. In she moved to Wayne, Maine and taught in the Monmouth school system for 27 years.
Although her education and career focused on teaching and reading, art is her passion. Holman published her first book, Come With Me to the Sea , as a way to introduce her grandchildren to the ocean. She received her M. He was a lawyer who is considered the most important nineteenth-century Portland historian. In , he began a twenty-year partnership with William Pitt Fessenden.
In he edited the Journals of the Rev. Thomas Smith and the Rev. Samuel Deane.expanditnow.com/rehab.php
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Their journals record their experiences from and provide an invaluable view of 18th-century social and political life. Willis's political career included a term as state senator in and he served as Portland's mayor in Bowdoin College Willis papers collection. Dorothy Clarke Wilson was born in Gardiner on 9 May Wilson in August of that year. Elwin served from then called the Maine Christian Association was named in honor of the Wilsons. In , Wilson began her writing life when she sold a play she had written for the church she and Elwin were serving in Scarborough.
Many of her books had Biblical themes or were focused on the lives of missionaries. He best known book, Prince of Egypt , won the Westminster prize for the best religious book of the year and was also one of the sources for the film The Ten Commandments. Despite the Academy Award it won, Wilson did not like the film and has been reported to have used the word 'flimflammery' to describe the scene in which Moses parted the Red Sea.
Among the many honors Wilson received were honorary degrees of Doctor of Letters from Bates in and the University of Maine in The University also honored her with its Maryann Hartman Award. A large collection of her manuscripts, papers, letters, etc. Hazel Wilson was born in Portland on 8 April She lived on Munjoy Hill and attended Portland schools.
She returned to Portland where she was employed as the librarian at Portland High School from to Later, she was a librarian at the Northeast Missouri Teachers College , American Library in Paris , and at Bradford Academy , and was supervisor of Denver school libraries in and Although her library career ended when she married, Wilson's knowledge of children and books helped her create characters and plots that make her books appealing to both child and adult readers.
She was also a book reviewer for publications in the Washington, D. Wood born 2 Sept. She continued at the institution, with its myriad name changes, until her retirement in In retirement Wood published four books, all of which focused on the social history of the Blue Hill region. Her dedication to teaching history has been recognized in a number of ways.
In addition, she received an honorary doctorate from Colby College. She began her writing career in her late 20s as a short story writer. Her stories have been included in a number of anthologies, including Pushcart Prize Anthology and Best American Short Stories In addition to writing fiction, Wood also presents workshops in which she teaches beginning writers how to improve their short stories and novels. She also has published a writer's guide as an outgrowth of these workshops. Sally Sarah Wood is considered Maine's first woman novelist and America's first gothic novelist.
She was born in York on 1 Oct. Until she was 19, she, her parents and her siblings lived with her grandfather, Judge Jonathan Sayward, one of the most affluent men in Maine. At 19, she married Richard Keating, a law clerk in her grandfather's office. When he died five years later , she had two young daughters and was pregnant with a third child, a son. Wood's first novel was published in It was a melodrama set in France and focused on the activities of the Free Society of the Illuminati. She published her second novel in A fictional account of the real Yazoo land frauds, it tells the story of the schemer Dorval's role in the Georgia land speculation that involved bribes to state legislators.
Wood, desiring anonymity, wrote and published under pseudonyms. On the title pages of her first four books, she was identified as either "A Lady" or "A Lady from Massachusetts. She now lives in Phippsburg, Maine and Cambridge, Massachusetts. Stephen Costanza, author and illustrator of children's books, lives in Belfast, Maine.
He spent some of his youth in Cherry Hill, New Jersey studied music theory and composition at Syracuse University, and is a University of the Arts Philadelphia alumnus who is also a musician. Some of his other jobs have included graphic artist, ragtime and classical pianist, and designer of merchandise for sports teams. His artwork has appeared in magazines, newspapers, advertising and text books. His work has also been exhibited at the Farnsworth Art Museum in Rockland. Costanza is active in the arts community in the midcoast Maine area. Cote Robbins was raised in Waterville, Maine, attended the Univ.
She lives in Brewer with her husband. Robbins was raised speaking French and English at home and has spent her adult life studying her Franco-American roots. She is the founder and director of the Franco-American Women's Institute, and she teaches courses at the Univ. She is also the author of numerous essays, poems, and book reviews in over 20 journals, newspapers, and anthologies. Much of her childhood manifests in her poems, some of which explore the physical and sexual abuse inflicted on her by her mother's male companions.
Laux worked as a gas station attendant and manager, sanatorium cook, maid, laundry attendant, and doughnut holer before moving to Berkeley, California, in , where she began to write seriously. A single parent, she graduated with honors from Mills College , B. English when her daughter was nine. Laux received a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts as well as a Bread Loaf Fellowship and a Pushcart Prize , and one of her poems is included in Best American Poetry Cape Elizabeth resident Claudia Finkelstein, who was born in Montreal, Quebec, was a Colby College graduate, majoring in psychology and American literature.
She earned a master's degree in clinical psychology from the University of Maine. She was from until her death employed as school psychologist in the Portland School Department.
She was well known as a jazz vocalist, performing throughout New England as a vocalist for the Joy Spring Jazz Quartet and with many other groups. Retired in , Coursen lives in Brunswick. Coursen received his B. Highlights of his career include teaching various years from to in the Upward Bound program; serving as director of the National Endowment for the Humanities summer seminars, ; and, consulting editor in Shakespeare at Princeton University, Bucknell University and the University of Georgia.
Her books are all set in the Nightrunner World. She has completed basic and advanced courses at the Institute of Children's Literature. She has published over 50 stories and articles in children's magazines such as Highlights , Cobblestone , Faces , Jack and Jill and Children's Digest. Cowan makes presentations and leads workshops for elementary school groups, and she also speaks to community groups. Jane Cowen-Fletcher's children's picture books have been recommended reading for many groups of children, from those who have a parent with a physical disability to those whose parents want to assure them that they are protected.
She was a Peace Corps volunteer in Benin from Jonathan Fisher preacher, artist, inventor, scholar, writer was born in Braintree, Massachusetts, and was a Harvard graduate. While at Harvard he developed his own method of shorthand that he continued to use in most of his writing. His first house, which he built with the help of his congregation, was completed in , with a substantial addition in This later became the ell of an addition that still stands and is open for tours.
Although he was noted for his quiet personality, Fisher had strength of character and direction that made him a force in the town. He was one of the founders of the town library and was also involved in obtaining a land grant for the town academy. He was one of the founders and long-time trustees of the Bangor Theological Seminary. The seminary has an endowed chair, the Jonathan Fisher Professor of Christian Education, in his honor.
Poet and playwright Hortense Flexner, called the "la grand poetess du Maine" by her friend Marguerite Yourcenar, was a thirty-plus-year summer visitor to Sutton Island, the third largest of the Cranberry Isles, off the coast of Mount Desert. Although she made only brief visits to the island after her husband's death in , her emotional attachment to Sutton was so strong that both she and her husband, noted cartoonist Wyncie King , are buried in the Sutton Island cemetery. Hortense Flexner was born to a prominent Louisville, Kentucky family.
Flexner attended Bryn Mawr College for one year, then transferred to the University of Michigan from which she earned a B. The University of Louisville KY awarded her an honorary doctorate in For a brief time after college she was employed by the Louisville Herald. After marrying Wyncie King, she and King moved to Philadelphia where he was a cartoonist for the Saturday Evening Post and she was an editor. From to she taught at Bryn Mawr and later taught at Sarah Lawrence College from which she retired in She spent her childhood in Orono, but moved to Port Deposit, Maryland, where she attended high school and served as class president all four years.
She entered the University of Maine, attending classes there for three years until her marriage to Lester Warner Jacobs. Flint's husband's work for the Army Corps of Engineers took them to Norfolk, Virginia, where she obtained a roll-top desk that served as her writing center. The family, which eventually included six children including daughter Eleanor Jacobs Mitchell, who died in , moved to Bay St.
Louis, Mississippi, and Slidell, Louisiana. Her first novel, The Old Ashburn Place , earned a national prize for best novel of the year in Flint's success was severely offset by the loss that same year of her husband to the long-term effects of WWI gassing. She renovated the former Pequawket Inn in West Baldwin, in an area which had been land-granted to her father's family after the French and Indian War. Eight more novels and a flood of newspaper articles followed, but she never achieved her goal of self-sufficiency as a writer. People of all ages and backgrounds were attracted to her quiet hospitality, usually afternoon tea before the fire or bean supper on the porch.
Her correspondence to and from these five children in the armed services formed the novel Dress Right, Dress. Flint was active in social and civic affairs, taking notes for characters and dramatic scenes during town and Grange meetings. Some of these sketches are among her papers preserved in the library at Colby College in Waterville, Maine.
As a novelist, her forte was psychological insights into family and neighborhood relationships. She was also noted for her ability to convey the speech patterns of the small region between Sebago Lake and the New Hampshire border, the setting for most of her stories. Her essays on family life, the character of Maine, and on national events as they impacted local life appeared regularly in several Maine newspapers and in The Christian Science Monitor.
A life-long member of the Christian Science church, she also wrote inspirational articles for the church's periodicals. Flora grew up on a poultry farm in Union, where her mother, A. Carman Clark, lived until her death in They have two sons, Max and Jake. Flora has written 15 mysteries, including her Thea Kozak series. Flora has taught mystery writing at the Cambridge Center for Adult Ed. She frequently speaks on panels and to library organisations.
In fact, her brother John Clark is a Maine librarian. Foerster was editor of Chelsea literary magazine from to and currently edits Chautauqua Literary Journal. She was a freelance writer who published novels and short stories. The Rev. She earned her undergraduate degree from Hofstra University.
Mystery writer David A. Crossman is a Vinalhaven native, born in An advertising and television writer, producer, musician and composer, he and his family currently live in Nashville, TN. Crossman published his first book in Unlike his other mysteries which have a Maine island setting, his first novel was set on an academic campus. Crossman is also the creator of Winston Crisp, a retired National Security agent and crime solver. Having obtained his M. His primary works are poetry. Born in South Paris, Cummings attended the Univ. Her stories center on Maine's Finnish community. She won first place in the Maine Arts Commission fiction chapbook contest.
Carolyn Gage, a lesbian-feminist playwright, performer, director, and activist, was born in Richmond, Virginia, and now lives in Portland, Maine. She received both her B. She has taught Playwriting and Lesbian Poetry in the University of Southern Maine Continuing Eduction Program, and since has toured regularly as a lecturer, workshop presenter, and resident artist at colleges and universities. She was visiting professor at Bates Collegein and adjunct professor at the Univ. Gage tours in her award-winning, one-woman show, The Second Coming of Joan of Arc, which has been the subject of a feature on National Public Radio, and was produced in Brazil in He attended Columbia University, studying journalism and earning an M.
Gallant, called "one of the deans of American science writers for children" by School Library Journal has had many jobs that involve both writing and science from staff writer for Science Illustrated and Boys' Life in the late 's to directing the Southworth Planetarium in Portland. In the early s, Gallant returned to Maine to live in a large house on a lake near Rangeley. He has written a number of articles about his travels in to Siberia, where he became the first American ever to visit the Tunguska site of the meteorite catastrophe; he's also visited the Sikhote-Alin, Chinge, and Pallas meteorite sites there.
Besides his books, he contributes articles to magazines and encyclopedias. Froncek grew up in Wisconsin, among other places. Garfield, who moved back to Maine in after living 16 years in San Diego, grew up in Blue Hill, spent a year at the University of Maine, and had his first writing job at the Ellsworth American newspaper. Besides writing books, he's also a part-time teacher at Unity College. He's a great-great-grandson of U. Margaret Lawrence writes historical fiction; three historical mysteries were set in fictional, post-Revolutionary Rufford, Maine.
She grew up with her grandmother in a year old house surrounded by the history of her ancestors. She is a trained researcher, has been a professor of English, a Woodrow Wilson Fellow, and has been a finalist for the Edgar, the Agatha and the Anthony and for the Blackburn Prize in Drama. In addition to being a book author, she has worked off-Broadway and for network television. Doctor, playwright, and poet Andrew J. Andy Gay, Jr. A neuro-ophthalmologist, professor, and researcher, he was an editor of Clinical Concepts in Neuroophthalmology and was one of two writers of Eye Movement Disorders He was president of the New England Ophthalmological Society for five years.
He and his wife Jeanine moved to acre Fern Hill Farm in Belfast, Maine in where Gay practiced medicine until his retirement in She completed her internal medicine residency in Honolulu, Hawaii along with her husband, Jacob, also a physician. Gerritsen retired as an internist to Camden, Maine, to spend more time with her family and to write. Colin Woodard, a Maine native born 3 Dec. He is also the author of three non-fiction books. Woodard graduated with a B. He has traveled extensively, living in Budapest, Zagreb and Sarajevo for more than four years.
He is a recipient of the Jane Bagley Lehman Award for Public Advocacy, given by the Tides Foundation for his global reporting on environmental issues. She and her husband, Kent Ancliffe, and their dog and cats live in Corinth VT in a solar house on acres. Since they have spent several months of the year on Matinicus Island. She is also the recipient of the Katahdin Award , a lifetime achievement award presented by the Maine Library Association in recognition of an outstanding body of work. Wormser is a poet, born in Baltimore on 4 Feb.
He lives in Cabot, VT. He then worked as a librarian in Maine and taught at the University of Maine at Farmington. He won Poetry magazine's Frederick Bock Prize in In , he was named Maine's second Poet Laureate, his term ending in She began her career writing fiction for children and young adults under her former married name, Dorothy Gilman Butters.
She is best known for adult mysteries, particularly the series featuring Emily Pollifax, a retired widow turned CIA agent. The Mystery Writers of America selected Gilman as the Grand Master for , an award which "represents the pinnacle of achievement in mystery writing. Material from Maine State Library files. He is the author of several non-fiction books for children.
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Gold received a degree in zoology from the University of New Hampshire and is also a graduate of journalism program. He was a reporter and wire editor with the Journal Tribune in Biddeford and has contributed to many publications, including Business Digest and Commerical Fisheries News. He is a principal of Custom Communications and lives in Saco. Gold is an acive member of Saco Bay Trails, a nonprofit group dedicated to preserving and maintaining trails open to the public.
Susan Dudley Gold, a Maine native who lives in Saco, has written numerous books for children and young adults. She worked as a reporter for a daily newspaper, as managing editor of a statewide business magazine, and as a freelance journalist. She and her husband, John Gold, own and operate Custom Communications, a web design and desktop publishing business in Saco.
In , Gold received a Jefferson Award for community service in recognition of her work with a chronic pain support group, which she founded after being diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in Fantasy novelist and artist Terry Goodkind was born in Omaha, Nebraska. In he moved to Mount Desert Island where he built the house in which he and his wife Jeri live. Prior to the publication of his successful series word of Truth , Goodkind was employed as a carpenter, violin-maker, hypnotherapist, wildlife artist, and artifacts restorer.
His first novel, Wizard's First Rule , was auctioned in for the highest price paid for a first fantasy novel to that date. The central characters of the novel and all other novels in the series are Richard Cypher Lord Rahl and Kahlan Amnell Mother Confessor , a strong female character whom Richard first meets when she is fleeing assassins from her home country. Throughout the series, Richard, who learns of and accepts his wizard heritage, and Kahlan fight the evil forces that threatened their land and people. The series has been adapted for television as Legend of the Seeker.
Henry Henri Gosselin, of Harpswell, Maine, is a veteran journalist and author of two historical novels reflecting his Franco-American heritage. Gosselin, who received degrees from St. Gosselin has received Catholic Press Association awards as well as honorary degrees from St. Anselm's College, his alma mater, and St. Joseph's College in Standish, Maine. Grant was born in Norfolk, Va. Grant has two children with writer Elizabeth Hand. He is a faculty member of the Watershed School in Rockland and lives in Rockport.
She and her husband bought a dilapidated sea captain's house and their hands- on renovation provided background for her mystery series, Home Repair is Homicide. Gray was born on November 23, , in Bar Harbor, Maine. She lives in the small fishing village of Birch Harbor Gouldsboro , is married, and has two children. Gray has been fascinated by scary tales since grade school.
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She has written several novels and numerous short stories and often uses the Maine coast as a setting. Greenlaw, a Connecticut native born 22 Dec. She is the author of several bestselling books about commercial fishermen as well as a mystery series set on coastal Maine. Her ocean fishing career began as a summer job while attending Colby College. After graduation she worked her way from cook and deckhand to captain of a swordfishing boat.
Her role in a boating incident was portrayed by Sebastian Junger in his book The Perfect Storm , which was made into a movie in Junger described Greenlaw as "one of the best captains, period, on the entire East Coast. After her mention in Junger's book, Greenlaw was approached to write the book that became The Hungry Ocean , a story of one month-long swordfishing trip east of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.
Greenlaw left the swordfishing business in the late s to lobster from waters near her Maine island home but returned to swordfishing briefly -- as evidenced by her recent book Seaworthy. She received the U. He graduated from Amherst College and received his Ph. Desert Island, Hancock County, Maine , is an ethnography incorporating economic and ecological studies of fishing communities.
Grossinger and his wife, the poet and novelist Lindy Hough, co-founded Io , an alternative college literary magazine in A forerunner of Whole Earth Review , New Age , and Gnosis -- it was a counter-cultural mix of literature, science, and history. Grossinger and Hough also co-founded North Atlantic Books, publisher of alternative health, martial arts, and spiritual titles. James Otis Kaler, born in Winterport, wrote adventure and patriotic biographies that had great appeal for his boy readers. He wrote more than children's books, many of which were in series and intended for classroom use. He used two pseudonyms, James Otis for most of his books, and Amy Prentice for books written for young readers.
At 13, Kaler left home to become a reporter in Boston. When he was only 16, he provided news coverage of Civil War battles and events. He continued in the newspaper profession as a writer and editor and then in published the book for which he is best known, Toby Tyler or Ten Weeks With the Circus. The book has remained in print and is available as a book on tape and was also produced by Disney as a movie in In , Kaler returned to Maine to become the first superintendent of schools for the city of South Portland that had just separated from Cape Elizabeth.
The city later named an elementary school in his honor. In the early s, Kaler's sons and grandchildren presented the city with a collection of Kaler manuscripts, books, and letters. The materials are located in the South Portland Public Library and can be viewed by scholars and interested readers. Extracts from the letters were extensively quoted in Joseph B.
Portland-born Elijah Kellogg, Jr. After graduating from Bowdoin in and Andover theological Seminary in , Kellogg led churches in Harpswell and Topsham and, in fact, there's an Elijah Kellogg Congregationalist Church in Harpswell now, named for him. Kellogg didn't begin writing children's books until he was over 50 years old, but once he started, he was prolific! His books are considered "boys'" books and were written in several series.
Pink and aquamarine bricks of wax and irons cooling and drying sweat. Beth climbed on his stomach, too, same bed three winters later, sophomore year for him. That first time she could pin me, not like Sissy. Beth flunked history. They had a class together and she came over to study, year older girl with brunette ponytail and ski team lips chapped. She pinned him on the bed. He pretending not to try, going limp, she holding him and saying, Get up now if you can. Months of this until he was strong enough, history lessons learned, strong enough to unwrench her from his frame, then kept on.
Sweating against each other, the first time mouths met. Her on his back. She demanding the same. That was fifteen, the first memory. This was new. In Holcombe home. This was wet touch no chap kiss, cheeks cold kiss, red pinned down under parents but not. Sweater sleeves inside out on dirty workout clothes next to the bed, hers on his, plum dyed wool while she in small brassiere kissed him no fish in mouth. Remember the first memory and want her to touch the same. Two years winters and more, history and soccer and skiing, then gone the Beth body to college in Duluth. Northing town heavy under harbor mist.
Make out in freshman dorm room on weekend visit. He wanted her in his room, in the same bed. Thanksgiving, that came again. Then gone, and him the body sweat no shower after skiing, pasta dinner then to sleep in long underwear. Static on arm hair. No motion. State championship third place, ski scholarship to Anchorage.
She transfers from Duluth the next year. First floor apartment without patio, windows half buried under snow, all their stuff together for once and the bed. I brought the bed from Holcombe. Ryan and I were watching tv. Dad came out of the den and pulled me aside, nodding toward the back porch, and I followed him. Father and son talk about the Beth body. We know. We respect that. Our house. Your room. Just be careful. I like her a lot. I see that. Mom song echoing through the wood box of the piano, the wood box of the house, out to him on the patio, playing her own choices once students left, him listening again, that night, and after the swing, the daylong sun warm parkplaying with her pushing, at night, listening from the stairs, arms dangling through the banister and then up to his old room, Ryan shared room, before the basement was done, mom enjoying her own music until she came up to put him and his toddler brother to bed.
The last time at the Lutheran church was the funeral. So no, he would not like to go back for a visit this Sunday morning mr. Pews were sharp under sore legs after an hour of sitting. Hated the sitting, the stillness. I looked up at the ceiling, the long tall beams that arched overhead, the temple where they Wood plank set into wood into wood into cement.
Plaster groined at obtuse angles, smoothed bumps and dents. His fingernails dug into his palms as he mapped the Lutheran hall. Father mother ice bodies absent until spring, no caskets up front by the minister. Wood house, new house, empty. Yes, dad had made good on a decade of drawing. Dream house built. I came back from Europe and they were about to move in, mom and dad.
He traces the inside of the house, shoulders slumping in shirt and tie after the service, marking and melding fixtures until the house runs together. Beams meet near stairwells, join together in doorframes and meet in mom and dad room. Then others started moving in. He invited them, brother Ryan, friend Tim and then Jon, too, after his divorce.
Doog would stay, Doog who followed from Alaska. All the rooms full, so he took that one, at the end of the long hallway upstairs. Their bedroom, slept in only three months. He took up the reins. Building people houses, his. Their house, his. Could not go unlived in. The house was only his. First time was different than the first memory. Started with her sweater off, winter custom now, his ski warmup unzipped, blue with furry collar and Holcombe Nordic on the back, white tanktop underneath.
Tug tussle wrestle, fast and provoking. Ponytail down. I was sure it would happen that time. Everything undone and Elizabeth murmurs the soft phrase with pointed middle. Will you fuck me now. He laughs at the half question, the dare. Sheepish look away and grinning stupid queasy, wondering why she said it like that. I want to do it. I want to too. At fifteen he ran hands down downed legs, doubled over, still looking. This was not that. Pushed grip flexed up like arms grabbing fierce bones. All hair pressed back and knees up cotton feet. Flipped down ass aired and that was her brown hair fanned out on the pillow, while his hat head clumped on his scalp.
In the old hilled Holcombe home. Air rush in drafty winter basement on all sides.
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The draft hit us again, and I heard Ryan on the stairs. He leapt up to shut the bedroom door. She was on her side facing Moment of stillness then they moved again. She left Anchorage when he drank himself out of his ski scholarship. The team cut him and he called his dad. What are you going to do? I know the guy who runs it. You drinking much? Not much. Snow trail. House with them all in the spruce woods. House away from campus, move away. Cut loose from Anchorage and find hunting trails.
Ski the dim gray daylight. I wanted things to be as simple as possible. Long weeks away from town, as long as he could stand it, unelizabethed then.
Liquor and banjo practice. Shed for carpentry and ski waxing. Bluegrass riffs. Long lung stillness in eighteen hour dark. Twenty one hour dark. Dark dark. Built built keep building built. Lake Reed frozen thick. Perfect for diving during summer. I could see it was a sloped curve leading down to the bridge that did it. Summon the image. They plunging through, hard water rush, a mother loosed gasp. Keep it there. Bubbling surface for a moment where the thin ice Overnight the temperature drops and seals them in until spring.
The channel deep for boat traffic, deep enough to swallow them no problem even along the cement abutment. Policeman told a reporter from the local paper that he could see the car through the ice the next day. No way to get to it safely. Stay with the image. Back seat. Dry palms facing down. Cold gush over legs arms chest head. Push shoulders into jammed doors. Final breath against soaked ceiling fabric.
So silent. So few feet to the surface. Then the water solid, nothing in or out until March. A week after it happened, fishing houses and heavy trucks dotted the ice plane, snowmobiles dodging here and there, everyone eager to trust the lake. Golf courses turned to ski trails. Gripped cotton in hot pits and shushing wind past pants. Push, strong lean, plant and follow through, pole release. Snap back. Lunge down. Balls of feet. High school pastime, body built with Tim and others out in the woods on the settled snow of gentle slopes.
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Glove flick sends iced snot away from face as he hurtles down among barren maples and cold cattail marshes. Still air. No nothing empty, empty like a ghosting, empty like the rush rushing outward into a void. Skis slip frozen toes farther and farther from the clubhouse where hot cocoa and granola bars wait.
I never felt more at peace than in those Holcombe woods. Winter afternoons as the sun starts to set. He courses through. Deep exhale stomach clench, jaw tightening grunt bend. Double poling around buried ponds. Snap up. The simplest motion carries him forward. Stomach pull. Finger pinch. Chains on the swing jerk as he drops his head back to see pebbled playground beneath him, legs higher into the air and higher and then almost all the way around, toes rigid and pointed as the chains shoot taut.
Feels the bounce. Lunge again. Phone dropped carefully in its cradle in the sled dog office, watching old Olympic ski races while his boss jots notes behind the counter. Who was that? Dogs yip in kenneled background. Boss Steve drums fingers on the countertop. He slept sometimes at the training center, but still made it out for bluegrass and bear meat most days.
The legend had only grown around Anchorage. A party any time they wanted. Taking the team out? The fuck for? Get this. She wants us to go. Move there. Run things for her.
I can take two people. Next month. You doing it? Why not? Airplane to Bern, pushing him back in his seat like the swing hold, like the finger pinch lips dried. Motion oh so familiar. Sing song head swim back and forth back and forth. Parents yes. Elizabeth no. Dogsled yes. Holcombe no.
Always home tired like the ski season, hair matted good, aching legs waiting for a hot bath, feet and finger bones chilled. Two running dog winters, summers free and paid for. He drank Europe. Then dad called. The plans were done, the house half built. He wanted me to come home and work for him. Said I could take over the company some day.
Seven months until the ice gave. Yes, the swing. Yes, soccer. Yes, snow forts and hill sledding and back back before, dad hands with tools and mom fingers mezzopiano. But this is the first In bed in old Holcombe basement, hands on the map. Drawings in the den. Dad upstairs and mom at a recital, he only needing to occupy his room, no more. Ligaments, joints, knobs. Right on the tops of his legs, the strongest tendons, the fast knitted mass. Had seen his father come in from the snow an hour before, ice crusted to the arm shoveling shirt.
Pulled it off over his head in the entryway from the garage, slapping out the snow. He laughed. Sure is a mess out there. I wondered when that would happen. The shoulder flourish had come, but his arms remained spindly. He watched his father as he slung the icy fabric into the drier then trudged upstairs to get a new one. The well crafted frame. Dad headed up to their room and later he went down to his and that was the first memory, the new mapping. By soccer coach and soccer mom. They had done this, this here. Then gone around the bend. Ski trail push past ponds and out onto the open lake, hip sliding sway, back in knots and toes a rigid balance.
Night skiing on the lake. Dogsled trails in two hemispheres. And the not soft Elizabeth moving away from him in Anchorage like the push pull arm flex, yanking him upward like the swing, the long inescapable pendulum. Where will you go? Get a job. Get life started.
Move back in with your parents? Anything but watching another night of drinking and bad guitar so I can drag you to bed and have you throw up as you try to climb on top of me. Go on then. Go on. Really, do something. I tried not to think about it. The landscape of her. I just wanted to keep in motion. In the bed. All toward the house and then away, swinging in the park across the street from the old Holcombe home on the hill.
Into the house and out, in and out. Up stairs out back down steps in hand past touch unclenched leg lift. Mom pushing from behind at the small of his back. I wanted to jump. I looked backward along the arc and saw her upside down. I saw the house. Dad coming out. Pullup drained arms straining hard.
He came out of the swing. Up and up. Down, the full air pulling him toward pebbles. Fingers pinch the yes house up stairs all his. Keep in motion. What is to be done wont really cut it at this point of no return with all the pointed. Floating through the back yard carrying a basket pulled from the line, and how she bent down to put it on the grass, and how when she looked up I smelled lilacs.
Or maybe it was her mouth of honey and myrrh. When she opened her legs, and I sucked the shucked oyster of her sex. Or maybe it was her contented purr, when she was alone, and I was not there, how I knew the night was enough: her hands knitting a sweater for her mother, the cows still looing in the distance that grew between us. Or was she that wind, that insomniac wind pushing over trees, combines, harvesters, the way I felt my skin lift off when she was on top and I was inside her, and all was storm, and rain and wet.
She was plain and beautiful as a bowing field of wheat. She was bright with lipstick. She was honey and apricot jam when she opened her thighs. When she moved she was the beat of jackhammers against the hulls of ships. She was carts of anthracite hauled out of the mountains just south of us, where the night is dead steel mills and children high on meth hang from the highest rung in the barn. Dusk drifts like a terrible scream. My friend Jolie is now a skull, or is she ashes? The one I never knew. This is where she finds me, alone and wasted on too many Vodka martinis.
J died of cancer. A rare form. At thirty-three. You need to be direct sometimes. Pull out your tooth and count your griefs. Or do we call them losses? There is no translation for the bees, only the blossoms. In the neardark of my stool I close my eyes. Jolie was nearly blind. When she met you, she would say, without irony You look good. She felt us as a place in the air. The transitory obligattos of Being. The unfolding act of never being afraid. The way she reached for the chords on her guitar, their ecstatic Braille, the way her music made us raise our fists. I want to wake up before falling asleep and step into the lonely shower.
The setting sun rises, reflecting off water swirling up from the drain. My careful hands wipe soap from my body and rub it onto the bar. I massage my hair, and water runs into the spout at the top of the tiles. Drops climb my legs as the drain quits spurting. I reach down to spin the faucet, and I am dirty once more. Old clothes jump as I fling out my hand. I am on the phone speaking nonsense to my mother.
Droplets condense on my shirt and rise into my eyes. I dial the numbers before I hang up. Downstairs, I sit next to my husband. Now calm again, we stare at the carpet. Then we cry backwards, and we both sob and cling. We stand an hour earlier and walk to our car, locking unlocking the door behind us. We drive in reverse without looking backwards. We stand in a room with cruddy white couches, clutching each other after hearing bad news. Our shirts dry out as we cry more and more. A doctor speaks to us, and we pace the room waiting for him to come. We spit coffee into cups which I place in a machine.
Arms locked together, we travel to the desk. The receptionist phones the doctor, and we exit enter the building. We are hopeful now as we tread to our car. Looking back on this, we will feel so relieved. My clothes repel dust, and I pray. A nurse wheels you into the operating room. A white sheet is peeled back, and the scene picks up speed. Gloved fingers press your neck, and your heart starts squeezing. Calm nurses become frantic as the electric line jumps. Doctors untie arteries that suck up your blood. Needles pull stitches from your head, neck and arm.
Cuts open up to collect what came out. Nurses crumple your scalp, making it dirty by wiping it clean. People flash through the room and steal equipment from your body to jam onto shelves. Two men wheel in a bloody stretcher and place you on top. The ambulance alarms through the night. The moon gazes down at backtracking goblins. I take candy from kids before shutting the door. They ring the bell and walk down the driveway.
Ghostly clouds slip over trees. You are lifted from the ambulance, and the cart is now clean. Under flashing lights, men place you at a tree. Ronnie is now in a crinkled red car, and Sandra rests with her face in the road. The men check your pulses before backing away.
You lie there and stare at the slick, oily mud. Teasing ants creep from roots to your neck. A deer pads nearby, and you wish it could care. Mist cools your skin and you close your eyes shut. Suddenly, the tree shakes hard. Leaves spring from your body and flutter up the branches. Sharp bark slides from your sealing skull. Broken roots release your neck, and you retreat through the air. He is pushed into place. Sandra flies through the air in a torrent of glass. Her neck whips into the headrest as the car jolts backward and races down the road.
Ronnie accelerates. You stick your head out of the window and brace to spin the curves. Sandra turns the music down. Wheels breeze past a bottle that flips into her hand. She regurgitates into it and pops the lid on. Without any lights, you back into a cemetery. You think about putting on your seatbelt, but no one else has. The moon is a sponge soaking up light. You open the gate to erase scuffs in the dirt. Tombstones lean in the shifting sand. Ronnie sits down near a crumbly grave, and crickets hop towards his jeans.
Ashes form cigarettes that Sandra picks up. They smolder near her lips. You lie on your back and look at the sky. A gray bird sings near a squirrel placing acorns onto branches. The cemetery house illuminates sheets like phantoms ruffling on a line.
Related Through The Meadows Go: Wee, Wicked Whispers: Collected Short Stories 2007 - 2008
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