Everyday Life in the Northeast Kingdom

In need of a salve for your soul in these depressing times?  Zip, zip, take a trip to the Northeast Kingdom. Fellow New Englanders know this means heading up to the tip top of Vermont to hug the Canadian border (which will feel good in and of itself). You’ll feel FAR, FAR away from urban madness and start to wonder just why it is that you MUST live in a city.

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My son and I pondered the reason why  eggs would be cheaper on Wednesday. We spent the better part of an hour discussing the possibilities.

 

OK, I said zip, zip, but if you’re reading this soon after I’ve posted it, in November, Vermont’s “bleak season” wait til summer or fall, which is when these trips were made.

I had the good fortune of being called up to the Northeast Kingdom this summer to mount an exhibition at Catamount Arts in St. Johnsbury. I packed my car and drove up there on the most auspicious of dates: the solar eclipse. After  a seamless day of installation (interrupted by a dash up the hill to the Fairbanks Museum for the eclipse viewing party), Catamount gallery director extraordinaire, Katherine French said, “Come let’s have dinner and then I’m going to take you to a little museum I  think you’ll like.” Given that we were finishing up as the sun was setting, I was a little doubtful that she could make good on her enticing promise. What museum would be open after 7PM? “You’ll see”, she said.  I was still worried as our lovely, leisurely dinner pushed past the hour that ANY museum would still be open. “Ok, let’s go!” And off into the starry night we drove further north and west to Glover. We pulled off the road onto a pitch black driveway. Ha! We had arrived at The Museum of Everyday Life.

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I knew right then and there I was going to have to return the next day to photograph in daylight. Here’s what I hadn’t been able to see as we approached at night:

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Katherine fumbled for the lights just inside the entrance

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and we found ourselves in the Raymond Roussel Vestibule

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where there was a nice little introductory assemblage of quotidian objects which set the stage for what lay ahead.

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Even though I have made a career of celebrating the cast away  stuff of our over stuffed world I was unprepared for the depths that are plumbed in the six or so exhibits in the Museum of Everyday Life. The museum is the brainchild of Intensive Care RN and Crankie enthusiast, Clare Dolan, who I had the pleasure of meeting the next morning when I came back for my daylight photos. She was racing around her yard mowing at a faster pace than I’ve ever witnessed.

“Let me go ahead'” Katherine French said as she opened the (beautifully adorned) door that lead from the vestibule to the museum and found the next set of lights.

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We were greeted by a curious and pleasing little tinkle of bells which continued tinkling  for our entire visit,  a sonic version of the starry night outside.

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You can’t be a reader of this blog and not know that I was utterly enthralled.

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Pencils to toothbrushes

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If you’re going to feature toothbrushes, you gotta throw in Toothpaste.

Toothbrushes to safety pins

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Safety pins to matches

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Violin, made by a musical prisoner,  entirely out of wooden matchsticks

Matchsticks to—wait for it—DUST! By far my favorite exhibit! I thought I had intimate knowledge of dust. (I can practically name the individual dust bunnies that live under my bed). But, no, apparently until now I had only the barest sprinkling of knowledge. Here is a bit of the  stupendous Dust display with accompanying label information:

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“Hanging for 10 years directly above the kitchen stove in the Chicken Hut in Brooklyn, This ornament is crusted in layers of grease-adhered dusts of all kinds. On loan courtesy of Gregory Henderson”

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“Cosmic dust from NASA’s ultra clean Cosmic Dust Laboratory, established in 1981 to handle particles one tenth the diameter of a human hair. The Laboratory curates thousands of cosmic dust particles… Cosmic dust grains…contain material in the same condition as when the solar system began to form…” And being NASA, the explanatory label went on for another three paragraphs.

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I was clever enough to photograph the label, so you can read it yourself.

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same ilk as the Chicken Hut grease/dust encrusted kitchen ornament above, this is a single paddle from a fan blade.

After seeing this exhibit your response will either be to vacuum the minute you get home, or never vacuum again! I just checked under the bed. The bunnies have multiplied, well, like rabbits. I am feeding them and they are happy.

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I reached the back of the museum and finally discovered the source of the tinkling bells. This were the very last display in the Bells and Whistles exhibit:

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I was too enchanted to remember the video function on my cell phone, and I really think it would be a spoiler to explain how this tinkling at the back of the museum was precipitated by turning on the lights at the front. I am sure by now you are clicking on your calendars and mapping out your visit. You’ll see for yourself.

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Stay here if you go: Rodgers Family Farm, Glover

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And get up just before sunrise to walk to  the beaver pond just a quarter mile down the road. I don’t like getting up that early either, but it was worth it!

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PS I foolishly thought I would cover every magical thing I saw during my three visits this summer and fall to Glover and environs, but I’ve barely scratched the surface. Stay tuned for Bread and Puppet, Red Sky, and other marvels in the Northeast Kingdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isolation breeds, well, QUIRKINESS

Just got back from my second visit to Newfoundland, affectionately known as “The Rock”. Get out your maps. This glacially scoured island lies halfway between Boston and Greenland. It’s got a tough-luck history that would leave most people bitter or at least depressed. But Newfoundlanders are survivors. (Just a quick note to say I’m using the word Newfoundlanders in this post, because there’s chatter online that the term “Newfies“, which the people of Newfoundland call themselves is thought of by some to be a derogatory term if used by outsiders. Outsiders, by the way, are called “CFA’s” or “Come from Away” ) There’s an amazing can-do, pull yourselves up by the boot straps mentality here that’s inspiring.

The reputation that Newfoundlanders have as the friendliest people in Canada (and that’s saying something, as I think Canadians in general are pretty darn friendly) and the funniest, is well deserved. There’s beauty abounding in the great expanses of space in Newfoundland which I’ll leave to the travel writers. Instead, I’ll focus on, what else,  the quirkiness, of which there is plenty.

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It’s a hard scrabble place that makes up in makes up in humor and friendliness what it has lacked in luck. And the humor shows up in all kinds of places, starting literally with geographical names.

There’s at least 5 different terms for coves and harbors, and they’re tacked onto place names in a way that make reading a map of the province sound like snippets of song lyrics: Witless Bay, Trinity Bight, Chance Cove, Conception Harbor, Random Sound. And that’s just a smidgen of the long list of curious and evocative place names. You just want to visit towns named Paradise, Blow Me Down, Joe Batt’s Arm, Spread Eagle, Come-By-Chance, Happy Adventure, and Little Heart’s Ease.

I doubt that any tourist has driven the Baccalieu Trail in eastern Newfoundland without stopping to taking their picture in front of the sign for the town of Dildo or their informative museum,the Dildo Interpretation Center.

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There are deniers among the town folk that the name has any sexual connotations, but really…

Dildo is just south of the towns of Heart’s Desire, Heart’s Content, and Heart’s Delight. It’s a happy peninsula.

This lovely gal is just up the road from the Interpretation Center, and I would say she does look content:

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Up the coast a stretch, on over to Fogo Island I encountered this more anxious looking duo:

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And there’s plenty to be anxious about in Newfoundland. First and foremost the disastrous collapse of the Cod fisheries in the 1990’s devastated the province’s economy and threatened the heart and soul of the Newfoundland culture.  The material signs of the collapse are everywhere–a terrible, poignant beauty:

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The Church above and collapsed fisherman’s shed below are side by side in the speck of a town of Clarke’s Head.     IMG_20140818_105311537_HDR

Looks like the prevailing wind blows the opposite direction in the town of Cupids:

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Abandoned boarding houses in the once thriving town of Port Union, the only union -built town in North America, birthplace of the  Fisherman’s Protective Union, the first labor organization for fisherman.          IMG_20140812_092742693

There was a Pompeii feeling to this deserted home in the village of Baraneed. Wide open at every orifice:IMG_3174   The collapsed roof filling the space of the stairwell,

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The tableware staying obediently on a shelf that is one rotten floorboard away from landing in the basement:                 

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Skeletons of beautifully handcrafted punts like beached whale remains:

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And fishing vessels dotting the landscape yearning to be ocean-bound:

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Yet amongst the collapse are beautiful signs of re-building:

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This may be a small thing, but I really love all  the hand painted signs one sees along the road.

You’ve got a board, you’ve got some left over house paint, you’ve got a brush, go for it:

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Elliston’s claim to fame, by the way, is as the “Root Cellar Capital of the World“. Do not even try to dispute this.

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This lovely sign for Mr. Bully’s Meat Room in Petty Harbor:

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topped off with this window above: (Could this be Mr. Bully?”)

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The next level up in signage: carve something that’s going to outlast anyone’s memory of what was not to be denied on “No Denial Path”:

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Or give the most talented guy in town a chance to flex his or her creative muscle:

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And hey, you don’t always need words to get your point across:

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Here and there I encountered folks making their mark on the landscape. Az in Hibbs Cove (shown here with his wife Lorraine) who made excellent use of the tree that died in their yard:

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And up the same peninsula, in Port-de-Grave we stopped to chat with Matt who was adding a fresh coat of paint to his impressive built environment.

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I did not sense one whiff of irony in this man so I don’t believe there’s a hidden message in the positioning of his cannon in relationship to the sign he made for his hometown:IMG_3302

An incredibly handy man, Matt fabricated all his own crab traps, which stacked up and stored away for the winter were a beautiful site to see:

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We were so pleased when Matt invited us to tour his fishing vessel: IMG_3313         IMG_3314

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Matt hired a Twillingate artist (sorry not to have caught his name) to paint this beautiful portrait of his father and himself on the bow of his vessel:

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Port-de-Grave was one of the only fully active fishing towns we saw–and it’s crabbing that’s keeping these fishermen in business.

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Speaking of crab, when Antoinette and I went to the Independent Fish Harvesters to buy crab for dinner, we discovered that the minimum order was 20 lbs, a bit much for two for dinner! When we expressed disappointment, Graham said, “Wait a minute ladies” ducked into the freezer and emerged with one of the twenty pound boxes which he promptly sliced open. Turns out he was breaking into his own box that he had set aside for his family for Christmas. Our protests fell on deaf ears.

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When we took out our wallets, Graham said “You don’t owe me anything”. “What do you mean?” we asked. His reply, “This is Newfoundland. All you want is some fish for dinner. Anyone in Newfoundland would give you that. You’re not asking for twenty pounds–just a little fish for dinner, You don’t have to pay for that.”

Ok, so, didn’t I tell you at the beginning of this post, Newfoundlanders have got to be the nicest, friendliest people on earth?

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And even their digitally printed signs are pretty great:

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