Where's it coming from?

The winds have been raging for three days now. I was just lying on my sofa, resting the aching neck and shoulder that are apparently never going to stop hurting, and watching out my front window the great tall trees across the street bending and swaying in the wind. An impressive show of force (as if we needed any more displays of Nature's strength, after the recent earthquake and tsunami in Japan); but the wind wreaks havoc with my T.V. (could hardly watch Fringe on Friday evening, the cuts in and out were so bad), and makes it feel much colder than the mid-30s temps we've been having. This is nobody's idea of spring, and Mainers are reading for some spring.

There's also the fact that the wind is blowing around all that sand left over from snowy days when the public works guys would be out making the roads safer. Now they're safe, but dirty; driving through the airborne sheets of dirt you feel like you're in a sand storm out west.

Still, the Kennebec is a river once more, rather than a snow-covered sheet of ice. We did not have an ice jam like we did last year (see Note of Jan. 31, 2010); I guess the melting was more gradual all up and down the river this year. They've pulled in the smelt-fishing huts that line the river across the way in Randolph all winter. They appear as soon as the river is frozen enough to do ice-fishing, disap-pear when the ice ceases to be safe.

There are still patches of dirty snow on the ground here and there -- indeed, we had a dusting of snow last week -- but we cling to the hope that, as every year, it will get warm, and beautiful, soon.

A few moments of peace

Last Sunday afternoon I drove down to a favorite spot of mine on the river. It's at the far southern end of South Gardiner, which is an unprepossessing spot in the road a few miles south of the real Gardiner, where I live. There's a fork, where you veer slightly to the left, rather than staying on the highway that curves to the right. This puts you on a road with, first, an old church, and then several large old houses on your right, the river on your left. I drove down to my favorite large old house, which has a wonderful front porch, with both a swing, and rockers, for sitting and staring out at the river across the road. I always park on the grass verge there, across from this house that I'd live in in a moment if I had someone to live with me (I get too afraid living in a big house by myself. Crazed ax murderers, you know.)

I sat there for about half an hour, watching the occasional boat go by on the beautiful, serene river. The Kennebec is everything a river should be: wide, but not too wide, gently meandering, with the occasional small, tree covered island in the middle of it. The banks are heavily forested. Indeed, looking across the way from where I sat, and down in either direction, I could not see a single sign of humankind, just a mass of green trees. It undoubtedly looks exactly the way it looked when the Indians were creeping around searching for dinner.

I love living close to this river, driving beside it every day on my way to and from work. A beautiful river is a gift from the gods. Like ripe nectarines, beautiful music, and great sex.

Mother Nature has her say

Gardiner, Maine, along with neighboring Farmingdale, is currently experiencing its 15 minutes of fame, thanks to the fact that the border between the two towns is where the most impressive, mile-long Kennebec River moving ice patch has gotten stuck. This ice jam, which was caused by unusually warm temperatures and heavy rains combining to loosen ice upriver and start it moving down toward the sea, plowed ruthlessly through Augusta, a couple of miles from Hallowell, where I work, and seven miles from Gardiner, where I live, on Tuesday, January 26th. The ice jam caused sudden, abrupt flooding, with water pouring into the ground floors of stores all along Water Street. It's called Water Street for good reason, running right beside the river with the buildings, and the parking lot behind them, all that separates it from the water. The parking area completely disappeared, and the news was full of shots of the one car that didn't get moved in time (people had about 15 minutes warning), with just the top of its roof showing.

The ice jam proceeded to cause the same inundation in Hallowell, right next door. Lucky Gardens, the Chinese restaurant that I and the rest of Hallowell frequents, wasn't so lucky; they paid the price for being right on the river, with lovely views from the windows that run all around the dining room. Their basement (ground floor) was flooded, burying their furnace and oil tank under water, resulting in no heat. When I went by to pick up my lunch on Wednesday, I discovered that the restaurant was open for take-out only, because of the no-heat situation; and the very strong stench of oil, as the oil company was trying to drain the basement. I stood for a few minutes at the windows, staring in amazement at the great blocks of ice that had been thrown up beneath the windows, where there would normally be the narrow, unpaved road that runs behind the buildings on Hallowell's Water Street. This road serves as a parking area for the people who work and live in the buildings, but there sure wasn't anybody parked there now.

While the owner and I were chatting about the situation, a bedraggled young woman from the Bangor television station came in with her cameraman, and asked Jack if she could interview him. He was hesitant, because his English, as with so many Chinese working in Chinese restaurants in this country, is awkward at best (and why is that? Is it that Chinese is so different from English, it's especially hard to learn, or is it that these workers spend so much time with their fellow Chinese, speaking that more familiar language, that they don't get sufficient practice?) The reporter and I both assured him his English was fine, and when I saw him later on the news, effective editing had saved him unnecessary embarrassment, while making clear the plight of his and so many businesses in both Hallowell and Augusta. He was going to have to get a new furnace, a huge, unexpected expense.

But for the rest of us, this has just been a fascinating experience, watching Mother Nature assert herself, watching this blanket of ice -- not smooth, but covered with huge white shards and blocks -- make its sluggish way down our river. And now it's "parked;" since it's gotten extremely cold over the last few days (0 degrees at night, the teens during the day) it's anybody's guess when it will move again. Both yesterday and today people were parked all along the very busy corridor that connects Gardiner/Farmingdale/Hallowell/Augusta -- the road I drive every day, twice a day -- and were standing on the embankment, gawking at the sight, taking pictures with their digital cameras. Melody went down late this morning with her undigital camera -- disappointed to see she had only four pictures left on her roll of film -- and gawked, and took her four pictures. A little excitement in our humdrum lives.