Winter In Maine By Jessica Marie I have lived in a lot of places. I grew up in Florida, lived in Wyoming for 14 months, our family accidentally traveled 42 US states for 14 months and then we settled in Colorado for about 13 years…until last year when we moved to Maine. Safe to say I have experienced my fair share of climates, places, and winters. While I am grateful for the experience of a full and complete northeast winter, I am not entirely sure it’s my favorite thing. First of all, when the family decided to move, my first vote was back to Florida. But we didn’t have enough votes for going south, so we went north. It wasn’t land-locked, which was on my list of requirements, and it was in a different place than I had ever spent much time in before. Since I was ready for a change, I decided to tag-along on the move to Maine. Maine is pretty great 2.5 if not 3 seasons of the year. Summer is bounding with events and activities and there is a lot to explore. Not just in Maine, but in the surrounding northeastern states. The fall is a stunning rainbow of colors as the leaves change. Spring is great because it means the end of the dreaded winter…but it also means inordinate amounts of mud and black flies. Though, if you ask a Mainer, they will tell you there are only two seasons, winter and preparing for winter. I thought having lived in Wyoming and Colorado that I knew winter. It was a pest, sure, but I knew what it was like and could handle it with the same relative ease I had been for most of my grown life. A northeast winter is different than the west. Winter truly starts to feel as such around the winter solstice, the temperatures drop to freezing and well below day or night sun or clouds and the snow begins to fall regularly. By regularly, I mean 1-5 inches every other day and at least one big snow storm of 1-4 feet every week or so. That 1-4 feet is on top of the 1-5 inches every other day. So…a lot of snow. And it stays…because the temperature is literally freezing every day and night. While the snow is incredible and even beautiful for a time, it quickly becomes a nuisance or worse. Snow, sleet, and especially ice coat everything on a regular basis making roads dangerous to treacherous. It was not uncommon for us to not leave the house for 2-3 weeks at a time (we work from home and have a business warehouse on our property). Then we would re-stock up on food and supplies and begin to hibernate again for an indefinite amount of time. I am lucky to be a writer, blogger, podcaster, and general creative (working also for our camping gear business) that allows me to work from home. Though, I would be lying if the winter dangers didn’t also factor into why I don’t/can’t look for an in-person job. But the time spent indoors has given me a lot of time to reflect. To think about my past and what I want my future to look like. Much like the seasons we cannot always be in the same state of life. We cannot always be on the go as it robs us of our time and ability to slow down, be introspective and intentional about everything we do. It allows for the reading of a lot of books, listening to a lot of podcasts, and becoming a master at keeping a fire. Our home is heated by a wood burning fireplace that I tend to manage. When we first arrived, I thought it would be easy, I was good at starting campfires, but low and behold a campfire and a wood-burning-stove fire are not the same. They require slightly different skills and levels of patience. I’ve come to learn the density of wood and how long a log will last. I have seen the full cycle of a tree falling in the forest on our back-80, sawing and splitting it to the right size, and perfectly curating a fire to keep it burning day and night for months on end to keep the house warm. So, how is winter in Maine? It’s cold. You learn to never leave the house without a hat, scarf, and gloves. And not just cute ones, the warmest you can buy. You learn to drive slow or when to not drive at all. You get a bit of cabin fever from staying inside and not leaving the house. Even if you did leave, not much happens unless you can snow-shoe, ice fish, or snowmobile…but I am not warm-blooded enough for those activities. Though I do want to try more snow-shoeing and even cross-country skiing next winter. But you also catch up on your indoor crafts, you appreciate the days you can leave the house and go to church or out to dinner. You read more, pray more, and spend more time thinking about how much you really wish winter was over. Just kidding…sort of. You slow down, you don’t get in a hurry. I can’t make winter end any more than I can prevent its coming. It is a cycle. The wheel of the year keeps on turning and I learn more every day the importance of each moment and to embrace it for what it is. Do I wish it was summer? Yes? But does a small part of me appreciate the slowness and inner work I have been able to accomplish during winter? Also yes. I am considering traveling to the south next January and February in my car, doing some van-life…but in my Hyundai Elantra. Take some time to explore a new place and escape the worst of winter in the northeast. We’ll see what happens. That’s my winter time fantasy at the moment, but nothing is written in stone. I’ll take what comes, follow my intuition, and see where the road ahead really leads.
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Leaning in to Growth
By Jessica Marie As, in the past year, I have spent more time reflecting on the past, times and memories of my life, both good and bad. Wonderful and regretful. I am piecing together what makes me who I am and what doesn’t. Here’s a take on some personal growth I am working on at the moment. When looking back at younger versions of myself I can feel regret, guilt, nostalgia, joy, and every emotion in between. And while the more cringe-worthy versions of myself may make me wish I had never been that way, it was through these pieces I was able to become who I am today. Without those rougher, less polished, and more naïve versions I could never have become who I am today. I wasn’t born with all the wisdom I have today. I earned it, I gained it, sometimes I bled for it. Like math or writing, you must learn the basics before you can do geometry or write a book. To have greater perspective, to have faith in myself, in the Divine, and distinguish the difference between a disaster and an inconvenience, I have to live through it. Like building a library, I have built a library of experiences that have taught me how to live. How to react. While I may never be able to fully let go of certain guilts or mistakes of the past, perhaps that isn’t a bad thing. Perhaps that pain also serves a purpose. It reminds me to not act too rashly, to balance passion with patience. To know when to speak, or act, or when to sit back and let the emotions pass so I can react in a calm and respectable manner. I try to learn from others as much as I can, but some lessons I have had to learn myself. I have had to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, experience the consequences first-hand to know the true depth of actions having reactions. To expand my mind into being ever more kind, considerate, loving, and understanding. I am not perfect. I will continue to learn every day. But that is also the very nature of being human. Right now, I am working on my snappy temperament. It truly bothers me how much or how quickly I can snap at something or someone. A large part of my snappy nature has fallen to the wayside in my fully embracing each moment as it is. Changing what I can, but finding as much joy and contentment in each moment and day as I can. This helps so much slide off my back that would once have ruffled my feathers. Though, just yesterday I was tested. Someone’s tone hit me wrong and sent my mind into a space that I have always responded with sharpness. I felt the tension between who I wanted to be, kinder, snap-free, and rolling with the waves being railed against by my 29 years of snappy responses. I clamped my mouth shut and let the battle rage in my mind but did not let it escape my lips. “Stay calm, this is truly not an issue. Would speaking improve this situation?” I asked myself over and over. No matter how I analyzed it, I knew I was fighting a toxic trait of mine. After a few minutes the battle was over. The emotion passed and I have one victory over my toxic trait. Slowly, I can strengthen this habit until it is second nature. But it is years of living and making mistakes that guides me towards the light. Towards the direction of who I truly want to be, what I would rather offer the world and those around me. In my life I have lived and grown through a lot of situations and changed in so many ways. I have become more and more proud of who I am. It isn’t always easy, but it does always feel good. Experiencing The Blizzard
By Jessica Marie For days the NOAA weather alert radio had been sounding off with its pitched alert tones and humanoid computer voice warning of the impending blizzard. We watched the national weather radar as the storm crept up the east coast. Each day it inevitably marched closer and closer to Maine. We stocked up on goods then hunkered down, preparing for three feet of snow and wind that gusted over fifty miles per hour. Winter in the north looks like a perpetual winter wonderland, once the snow begins to fall it becomes a permanent resident until the spring melt. We gazed across the snow-covered January landscape. It was calm and unassuming, no hint that this serene scene would become a frozen tundra of blinding snow and ice in a matter of hours. The wind began to rail against the house as if warning us to stay inside. The first snowflakes began to fall and we knew it was here. The turbulent winds blew the snow in every direction simultaneously. The gales seemed to rail their angry fists against the house, as if the structure stood in the way blocking a route that the wind claimed was his. We watched the snow pile in drifts. Dead grass nearly poked through the barren spaces and in others the snow stood so deep you could dive in and simply disappear beneath feet of powder. The snow piled high against the door, trying to barricade any way out. Our house stood in a meadow of mankind’s making. Snow swirled off the roof, whipped around solitary trees, and piled on decks, wind shook the house and whistled viciously past. We silently thanked the builders for using two by six construction. I looked to the nearby forest, though I could only see it through momentary lulls in the blinding blizzard. I watched the trees shudder under the storms assault. Trees larger than buildings bowed and bent under its power. I wondered how the forest fared in a storm, did the wind whip past its trunks or did the trees halt the storm from penetrating its depths? The wonder would not leave me. I bundled up. Layers upon layers, my biggest, furriest hat, warmest scarf and gloves, I strapped snowshoes to my boots and took up my trusty hiking stick and set out for the forest on our property. Though to get there I would have to brave the onslaught of the open landscape where the wind and snow reigned as king. I marched towards the dark nearby horizon, the forest looked as such through the storm. Trees and finally a forest became distinguishable as I approached nearer and nearer. The deep whoosh of strong winds through large, sturdy, olden trees filled my ears. Slowly I stepped past the perimeter and trudged deeper and deeper into the forest and watched as the scene around me transformed into a sanctuary. The snow fell faintly and softly to the ground as if it were nothing more than sprinkle. The only clue to the ranging winter storm were the waves of wind that crashed over the canopy. A deep and distinct rumble as strong winds and strong branches fought over who ruled the sky. I walked aimlessly through the forest enjoying the calm and even warmth. The protection from the wind and falling snow made the forest feel like a warm oasis. I watched the thinner, younger trees slowly move and bow under the wind hassling their tops. Even with snowshoes my feet sank several inches into the snow and flakes had begun to invade my boots. At the first twinges of cold threatening my toes I decided it was time to head back home. I followed my tracks back to the space where the forest begins to thin and the clearing starts laying its claim. Here I found the wind fighting for dominance. In the forest my tracks remained untouched, as clear as when I first made each step. In this space in between two worlds the snow had begun to pile into my tracks; making it look as if it had been hours or days since my passing when, in reality, it had been merely minutes. As I broke from the warmth and safety of the forest, I found the snow as pristine as if I had never passed through. Left or right not a track in sight. I knew the property and I knew my direction. I carried on with confidence. The wind began to press me one way and then the next. The condensation in my breath had built up on my scarf that wrapped around my face and neck. The wind carrying its bitter cold bit through the scarf turning the water to ice on my face. Ice so cold it burned my skin. This quickened my pace. Following nothing save for my knowledge of my direction I fought the wind as it tried to batter me. Blowing first from the left then the right, my cheeks burning from the cold. As if from a void the house appeared and I quickly trekked inside. Taking my layers off and hanging them to dry I watched the blizzard rage outside with a new appreciation. Knowing its power and biting cold made me appreciate this home even more. Though I kept in the back of my mind the knowledge that if I ever found myself unlucky enough to be trapped outside in weather like this, I would take refuge in the nearest forest. Then I took to my computer and wrote down my notes on my experience in this truly dangerous storm. As a writer every experience can be used in a book, and I had an upcoming story in the tundra where I could use this knowledge to my advantage. As the wind continued to shake the house and the snow piled itself higher and higher, mocking me as if knowing I would need to shovel it tomorrow, I tossed another log onto our wood burning stove. I carried away on my laptop with my steaming mug of tea, glad to be back inside. MarieHow I Wrote the first draft of my novel
By Jessica Marie As the title may suggest, I have finished the first draft of my novel! January 25th, 2022 is when I wrote the last words of the first draft. April 1st, 2021 is when I started writing the first words of the novel. The title is, The Shadows of Dawn and it is a science-fiction and fantasy novel about; Magic goes through 2,000-year cycles on Esnevaria. When magic returns it plunges the planet into chaos, war, and political upheaval. That is my rough snippet. I am working on a further developed synopsis and some character break downs. But that is what I have for now. Now, I know a first draft is only one step in a long process that progresses from concept to published book. But it is an accomplishment and I am allowing myself to celebrate that win. One step down with a million to go. I am currently sitting down to really flesh out issues and details that I know are missing from the story and what I might do to remedy those. Deeper character development, POV’s, plot holes, etc. These are issues I know exist and that’s just based on what I remember. Before I dive into re-reading and adding more description and further flesh to the bones I have laid out, I wanted to help you get to this achievement too. How did I get my first draft done and how can you get your first draft done too? First, I’ll tell you how I did it and then give you some ideas to try. What I Did Find My Time I found I had the most creativity and drive to write in the morning. Not 5am, simply after my morning routine but before I started any other work for the day. I found that if I tried to write after I had worked for the day I was too tired to muster the energy required to put words on the page. Writing isn’t easy. I love this story and my characters, but it is a draining process. It takes a lot of repetition and effort to figure out what is happening and what needs to happen in the story to keep it moving forward. I need to see progress I need to be able to see my progress. Seeing the word or page count go up in the bottom left corner of my word document doesn’t motivate me very much. I prefer to be able to see it all laid out for me. I found a google excel sheet someone made that tracks your writing progress. I can write down my energy levels, my time spent writing, my word count, and more into this sheet. Being able to see how many words I wrote that day really motivated me. I also found putting a sticker on my calendar also helped motivate me. I could see exactly when I did and didn’t write, and I had the satisfaction of giving myself that sticker. Gave myself grace I gave myself grace to work at my own pace. I did not write every day. On average, I actually only write three days a week. I also generally only write for one hour a day. There are some weeks I wrote more than three days, and there were days I wrote more than one hour. But nine times out of ten I write three days a week and only one hour each session. That’s it. And I still wrote over 96 thousand words in less than one year. No Comparisons I didn’t compare myself to other authors or writers. Some people say you must write every day. Some people write in sprints, for 20-30 minutes at a time and they do that several times a day. I looked at those people, cheered them on, and continued doing what worked for me. I knew I couldn’t write more than once a day or for (generally) more than one hour. It just doesn’t work for me. So, I don’t even try. I don’t let any comparison or competition get to me. I let them do them and I do me and I carried on. And while they may get to their goal faster or slower than me, I didn’t care. I had my goal, to write the first draft within a year, and I beat that goal. I am happy! I worked at my own pace and still got here. I found encouragement where I could I let more experienced writers and authors encourage me. Not literally. I didn’t seek or have any experienced writers or authors telling me good job or to keep writing. But I did look at the things they said or did and let them guide or inspire me. For example, if they said they struggled with something I would take that into consideration and remember that when I got to that point and give myself grace if I too struggled. Or I would read their inspirational quotes and not let my inner critic get me down. For example, there were times I thought about how messy and absolutely terrible this first draft is. It is truly a dumpster fire at this moment in time. That is true for many, many writers and authors. So, I knew I was in the club, the boat, the same situation as many others. But they also said things like, this is the worst the book will ever be. It will only get better from here. My first draft is bad too. You will be so proud of holding that book in your hand one day. These words encouraged me. I wasn’t alone. I am only one step down. I can’t compare my first step with someone’s 500th step. So, I took those inspirational quotes, hung them (literally) on my wall and let them encourage me on days my inner critic was being extra mean. Just kept writing I just kept doing it. Despite all the inner criticisms, despite one month I didn’t write a single word, despite being unsure if I was actually going to be a good writer, despite all this and more. I still kept writing. At my own pace, in my own time, in my own way. I kept doing it. Putting one word in front of the other until I had sentences, paragraphs, chapters and now an entire first draft. Ideas for you When Try different times of day and see how you feel, see what days or times work best for you. Maybe everyday in sprints is your jam. Maybe once a week for 10 hours is your jam. There is no wrong answer. There is no one way to be a writer. Find what works for you and do that. Once you have your method, put your blinders up and don’t compare your method to someone else’s. Find your motivators What motivates you? Is it stickers, word counts, sharing your favorite quote or progress on social media, snacks, something else? There are so many things people use to motivate themselves. Find what makes your motivation increase and do that. I don’t care if it’s silly, I use stickers! I literally give myself a sticker when I write. It works. Do what works for you. Find Your Friends I don’t have a group of people that I talk to about my writing. I don’t have content groups or critique partners. I have in the past and these all helped me grow into the writer I am today. These trained me to know my weaknesses and to prepare for them. For example, I am great at plot and world-building. But I am not good at character development. Who are these people and why should we care about them? Yeah, I suck at that. But I know I have to work harder at that. I am hoping in time to build a team around me that we can all give aid to each other’s writing in the future. But I don’t have that right now. But I did join writers’ groups on Facebook, and I follow indie authors on Instagram. I see what people are saying and draw information and encouragement from them. No Comparisons Allowed There is a fine line between gleaning ideas from someone and comparing yourself to them. You know the difference. Draw ideas all day until you have something that works. You can tweak as needed. But don’t compare once you have your system. Just Keep Writing The hardest part of all. Just doing it. You can’t never write and expect the book to write itself. You do have to write sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. Little by little you will progress. Hang up those inspirational quotes and then write at your own pace. There you go! That is how I got my first draft written and my ideas for how to get your first draft written! I hope this has been helpful and I hope you are excited and brimming with new ideas on how to get your first draft finished as well. Like I said, I am now in a second round of plotting. Figuring out even more nitty-gritty details of my story and characters so that as I edit I can add these details in. There are many drafts and edits to come but each draft will take me one step closer to holding that finished, published novel in my hands. Much Love, Jessica Marie Finding Community
By Jessica Marie This is the first move I have made as an adult. And while the move was made with my parents and both of my brothers, it is still the first time that community has been difficult to attain rather than a given. I grew up in Florida and had friends at our church, at the stable I volunteered and eventually worked at, and many other places. When we moved to Wyoming all of us kids were homeschooled, so we joined homeschooling groups which led to friends, acquaintances, and a sense of community. When we traveled the US for 14 months in the mid 2000’s I joined online forums and felt a sense of community there. Though that was a temporary venture as was my online forum venture. Once we reached Colorado in 2008, as we were still being homeschooled, we found a homeschool group, a drama troop, and a sense of community quickly followed. And while that circle was wide it never quite stagnated as I made new friends when I attended University. But there is a theme here, something that innately involves you with other people, school or work. These two foundational elements in most people’s lives are what help them ground into an area. To feel like they belong and feel willing to explore their new home. All of us have attained the level of education we wish to hold at this time, so no school to join for meeting people; and getting work here has been difficult. I personally am trying to build a business from home, one I can take anywhere and I don’t have to leave home if I don’t want to. There are inherent upsides to this, but it also has its downfalls. By working from home, on my own, just me and my phone or laptop (and my family) it is difficult to integrate into the community. Those we meet are polite and generally welcoming, but there are few normal situations one can find themselves in where they can organically build a network of acquaintances that could become more. I haven’t attended church in many years, preferring to study on my own. Yesterday we were invited to a local church’s social event and it was both refreshing and anxiety-inducing. Most of the people I talk with are either family or friends I have known for well over a decade. How do you introduce yourself to people? How do you go from strangers to acquaintances? In my younger years I was quite extroverted, as time has gone on I’ve become more and more introverted. This is made ever more difficult in our increasingly polarizing world. If you say the wrong thing, express the wrong sentiment, you can infuriate someone where they write you off forever. This is not a one side or the other issue, it is both sides. I don’t take sides, I flow down the middle preferring to see the merits of all. Willing to peer through the grey middle to find the truth and reality that resides there. All this to say, community and integration into an area is a daunting and slow process. One that is ever more hindered the less and less you prescribe to the norm. Be kind to the people you meet, you never know what they may be going through. I am blessed to have my family, but it’s important to have people to see and visit outside of family too. I’m excited and nervous to put myself out there and hope not to be rejected. I feel hopeful and guided by the Divine that this is a positive step into making Maine our home. I love being in new places and exploring new terrain. Yet this is part of exploring, the community that exists within a place. Much Love, Jessica Marie Mist Over the Lake
A Story from My Life It had been a warm day over the lake, despite the sky having been overcast. I had just finished my dinner at the small little cottage, and quickly washed up my dishes. Laughing at the lake water that flowed through the pipes for dishes and showers as this was only water source for the various cabins and cottages that lined it. Under normal circumstances one would never consider soap and lake water to be clean, but when on vacation one can set aside such considerations and simply enjoy the simplicity of life. I set my plate on the drying rack and looked down at my little dog. He was standing at my side, looking up at me with playful eyes. I looked from him out to the lake The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, but a dark blue and grey sky continued to light the landscape. It would be dark within an hour. “Do you want to go on the kayak?” I asked my little rescue pup, Holmes. His permanently erect Chihuahua ears perked up even higher. I knew he didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘kayak’, but he knew the phrase ‘do you want –‘ as that always meant we were going to do something. I smiled and grabbed his leash. He spun in excitement, half chasing his tail and half trying to dart towards the door. I managed to clip the leash onto his harness and we headed out the back door. I put the yellow kayak in the water, set little Holmes on top and we were off. He is my little adventure pup, he loves to go anywhere I go. Glued at the hip you might say. He liked to sit atop the kayak’s bow and watch as we went along. He knows how to swim and I keep his leash attached to me so as to not lose him should he fall in. I turned the kayak around and began to paddle south. The lake was silent, ducks and geese didn’t call or cackle from overhead, loons made no wails, not a single wave rippled the glass like surface. The most pure and peaceful silence had befallen the lake. The only sound was my paddle dipping in and out of the water with each stroke that propelled me forward. The sky was still overcast and retained a dark blue that faded to gray with every passing minute. It was raining on some nearby mountains. The temperature dropping as the light continued to fade. The sudden shift from warm to cool raised a mist that hovered just above the surface of the water, the mist swirling and parting as I floated past. I paused to take in the sights and silence. The mist still swirling from my passage. It rose no taller than the width of my hand above the water’s surface. The gray began to overtake all other colors. The mountains turning to various shades of grey, the trees seemed to coalesce into one singular mass upon the shore and beyond. I watched the rain storm move from mountain to valley. The lights of occupied cabins began to dot the shore. Though they could be a mile or more away, their light pierced bright and true across the ever-darkening scenery. Holmes turned his head to look at me, seeming to think the very same thought, we should start heading back. I nodded in agreement and slowly paddled the boat back towards the cottage. We passed a group of four loons. Whether they were enjoying the view or preparing for an evening of fishing I couldn’t be sure. Each stroke of my paddle creating a small ripple that propelled my craft forward with little effort as the surface offered no resistance. The subtle swoosh of water under my paddles the only sound breaking the silence. The bottom sliding over the gravel as we made landfall pierced the air. Little Holmes jumped from the bow onto the shore and wagged his tail slightly as I got out of the boat. I carried the kayak further onto the shore then stood to look over the lake as the last of the light disappeared from the sky. It would be an even darker night as the clouds overhead would block the moon and stars. But this lake held no malice, it was peaceful and beautiful no matter the conditions. We stepped back inside and started the fire. Few things are better on a cool and cloudy night on the lake than a reading a book beside a warm fire inside a cottage while your adventure pup snuggles close. Tame the Flames A story from the life of Jessica Marie It was a cool August afternoon out on the lake in my kayak with my little dog Holmes. He was perched on the front of the kayak, sitting atop my life vest. The lake was fairly calm, the occasional strong breeze would push me in a direction I hadn’t quite planned to go. But it was otherwise fairly smooth going. I paddled by a rock marker. I stopped paddling and peered over the edge, like I always did when I paddled over a hazard marker, trying to catch a glimpse of the boulder just beneath the surface. It was massive and only a few feet from the surface of the lake. A larger boat could damage their bottom or propellers if they passed over this rock. I couldn’t begin to imagine how large this boulder must be. I was a fair distance off shore, the water here was deep. Considering at 5 feet and less I could easily see the bottom, here the water was dark and murky, showing no bottom to its depths. But this rock somehow stretched from the unknowable depths of the lake to be mere inches from the surface. I looked in awe of the rock and felt perturbed by the murky depths of the lake. Even knowing it is devoid of any predators or other hazards, my mind often creates flashes of danger in place of any real threats. I looked up from the rock and across the lake. My ceasing to paddle had stopped my momentum and I was now simply floating. The aforementioned breeze had slowly spun my kayak to face the direction from which I had come. I gazed across the overcast waters to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from the opposite shore. I followed the plume to its source. Orange lapping flames taller than the hundreds of cabins that dotted the lake front. A cabin had caught fire. I quickly pulled my cell phone from my pocket. The lake was typically devoid of cell signal, but to my surprise I had one bar. I dialed 911. I could hear someone on shore in a nearby cabin on the phone with 911 as well. Sound carries well and easily over water. The aflame cabin was near the marina. I hung up the phone with the fire department and began to paddle towards the fire. Wary of getting too close as most homes used propane for heat and cooking. Should that tank explode, the blast and shrapnel could be deadly. From several football fields away, I watched the flames lap at the cottage and slowly ignite the cottage beside it. The backside or the backyard must have ignited the blaze as the cottages themselves showed no sign of fire from my vantage point on the lake. The flames growing and towering tall above the roofs and the ever-enlarging plume of smoke were my only cues. I could hear the sirens of the fire department as they made their way down the road towards the lake. I could see the four fire engines stop on the road. No one knew the address. We had told them it was near the marina, but we didn’t know the street or house. Dispatch called me to ask for directions, I quickly gave it to the best of my abilities. Being new to the area I didn’t know my cardinal directions yet or any street names. They found the fire. It was an out-of-control brush fire. Relieved that they had found it and that no one had lost their home or cottage I quickly began to paddle faster towards the flame. Now that there was no danger, I wanted to see the fire closer. From the lake I could observe without being a hazard or impediment to the fire department. As I paddled full speed towards the flames several motor boats and jet skis came from across the lake, like moths to a flame, we all convened not far from the shore. I overheard someone on a jet ski with three occupants talking to a group on a motor boat, relaying the information about the fire being a brush fire. But many of the observers hadn’t seen the fire or the smoke. They had heard the call on the county radio about a structure fire by the marina and had quickly clambered into their boats and hastened over to see the damage. The fire department managed to tame the flames so as to keep the fire from spreading and creating a true structure fire. As all the cabins and cottages are so close, if one when up, slowly they could all go up. Then they rolled up their hoses and headed back to the station. Little Holmes had moved to sit on my lap as bits of white ash began to fall over the lake. The plume of smoke now even larger than before. As what had been a larger flame moments ago had been diminished to a more manageable size. It almost seemed to be complaining at having been knocked down a peg or two. Having used up a lot of my energy, as I wasn’t accustomed to paddling so fast. I slowly made my way back towards our camp. I counted the cabins on the way back. Twelve structures stood between ours and the brush fire. I brought the kayak aground, plucked Holmes from the boat and entered the cottage. Grateful that the fire had been contained and hadn’t damaged anyone’s property Up the Where the Road Bends… A story from the life of Jessica Marie I hopped in my little red car, my Mom tagging along as she enjoys little marketplace excursions. We hit the road for a nearby town. We chatted about the usefulness of the supplies we were about to get. Sure, they were sheep supplies, and we didn’t have any sheep, but there were other supplies in the box that could prove useful in the future no matter what livestock we may get. We found the home with a beautiful, large, red barn just like the ones you see in pictures. I parked under a large, low hanging tree that reached over the gravel driveway. I walked up the front steps which showed signs of age as well as a lack of use. Clearly the occupants used the garage or barn entrances over the front door. After knocking on the blue door I could see movement on the other side of the glass panel in the door overlaid with a white lace curtain. A kindly, elderly woman named Janet answered as we exchanged pleasantries. She held a small box in her hands. She set the box on the porch and pushed her shoulder length white hair out of her face. She showed me everything in the box that she had owned for her sheep. She informed me that nothing in the box had been used in about fifteen years. But that didn’t bother me as most of these tools were metal or still sealed in original packaging and would last even longer than that. We chatted about sheep and goats, my research on trying to decide which manner of livestock would work best for us. She told me her story of how she came to own sheep. When she and her husband had first moved into the neighborhood they had held a housewarming party. A neighbor had come and Janet told this neighbor that she and her husband were considering getting sheep. The party ended, a month passed and this conversation was almost forgotten by Janet. Until this neighbor called unexpectedly to inform Janet that her sheep were ready. Surprised, as this was not her plan, she went with it and took the three sheep in. This led to her keeping and breeding sheep for several years before retiring from the sheep keeping world. She had found this box of supplies in the barn the other day and decided they would do someone else more good than collecting dust in her barn. I told her she was right and I greatly appreciated her time. As I was descended the three steps down the front porch she asked if I knew Dana Moore. Dana bred goats for both cashmere and milk. I told her no, omitting the part of my having only moved to the area in February. She told me just up the way where the road bends, just past the post office and near the local farm was Dana Moore who raised goats. She said if I happened to be driving by, I could stop in one day and talk to Dana about goats. I thanked her for the information. Half of owning livestock is knowing the right people and having knowledgeable associates in one’s corner to call for advice or stock if needed. I took my box of newly acquired materials and knowledge to the car. As we pulled out of the driveway, I told Mom about this Dana Moore. Mom and I took a look at each other and said, ‘let’s go find her.’ We turned left at the stop sign instead of right and set off to try and find Dana. We followed the road and sure enough the road did curve to the left. We found the post office on the right. We drove for a way past a place that looked like a local farm but couldn’t tell where Dana and her goats lived. I pulled over in a nearby driveway to turn around. Saddened at not being able to find this woman as it felt a bit like a quest at this point, when a neighbor walked down his driveway. I called out to him from my car, asking if he knew where Dana and the goat farm was. Sure enough he did! He told us we had passed it and gave us directions to her house. I wrote down her address in my notebook for future reference. I didn’t have any specific questions just yet, and I didn’t want to show up unannounced without at least a proper list of intelligent questions to inquire about goat keeping. But when the time was right, I would be able to say that Janet sent me. We then headed back for home. Laughing about our little quest to find Dana with the goats and the turn of events that led us there. We pulled up to another stop sign in the small nearby town. Directly to our right on the corner was the town library with a sign boasting of a book sale. They were open for another 30 minutes. Mom and I looked at each other and immediately agreed to check it out. I promptly turned into the parking lot. Having made no disruption to traffic as not a single car was on the road in any direction. We ascended the steps to the small, white, traditional style library building. In the foyer were about a dozen books not apart of the library, we assumed this consisted of the book sale. We paused to peruse the modest selection as the librarian approached. She informed us the basement was full of books for the book sale and we could acquire a library card if we wished. Libraries are one of the best resources so we quickly joined the town library that is but fifteen minutes from home. The small-town library did all record keeping traditionally, on paper. The library card is hand filled out and each item checked out is recorded manually into a card box. Mom is a fan of Karen Kingsbury and found she had a new book recently released and quickly collected it for check-out. I descended the stairs to the basement and found it was in fact filled with books for sale. As well as projects that the local youth were working on as part of the libraries’ summer program for kids. I moved through the aisles soaking in the presence of so many books both here and above. It was small, but the fact that libraries exist and service even this far out is a beauty in my eyes. I found a book to purchase and quickly ascended the stairs to pay before they closed. The librarian was friendly, helpful, and happy to have more members to look forward to their return. I took one last look around the single room library. Adults’ fiction and non-fiction on one side, childrens’ on the other, movies and new releases in the middle, the librarian desk in the center of the room. Taxidermy geese and owls of local species dotted the walls. One owl was decorated per season. As it was summer, he wore sunglasses and a hat. Come fall he’ll don a scarf I was informed. I paid for my book while Mom finalized her check-outs and we strode out the screen door and down the steps with the library closing in but a few minutes. A few cars slowly rode by on main street as we walked to the car with our newly purchased and borrowed goods. A convenience store across the street boasting several patrons as we pulled out of the parking lot and continued our ride home. We began to laugh at the turn of events of the evening. A better or more entertaining hour and a half we hadn’t had in awhile. Going for sheep supplies then searching for Dana and her goats, finding a book sale, and joining the library. I felt like I had found a new town with side quests to complete and enjoyed every moment of it. We are learning how to settle into a new place, making connections and finding new places to visit is part of the adventure of moving. It takes time to truly become embedded into an area, but evenings like this made the process that much more enjoyable |
AuthorJessica Marie Cunningham - Intentional lifestyle blogger, aspiring author, and podcast host. All things Slow Living, Books, Writing, Art, creativity, Christianity, and personal stories. Archives
March 2022
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