Spring in Northern Maine

Pussywillows, Pines and Potholes

Pussywillows

Before coming into full flower, they are covered in a fine, greyish fur, leading to a likeness of tiny cats.

Pines

Native pines are all over the place up here in the northern wood. They thrive in the scenic wilderness, a land of towering mountains and pristine lakes and rivers.

Potholes

The bain of any driver! Up here in the northern woods, they are monstrous and the substance of vehicle torture.

Spring means the coming of longer days, yard work and lots more sunshine. Temperatures will range from the low 40’s to the mid 60’s, folks are still wearing a light jacket if they are going to be out and about.

Planting season has started, they’ve already been putting in seed potatoes in the Bangor area, and broccoli is going in around Caribou. I remember when they’d have to wait till after Memorial Day to get the potatoes in the ground round here, because the soil was too cold still. The winters have been much milder since I left home many years ago, a time when winter was long, cold, dreary and we could expect 220 inches of snow for the season. Trick or treating was done with our snowmobile suits on and costumes sized to fit over, Easter egg hunts were done searching for our treasures in snow boots and spring dresses, not so much anymore.

Went to see mum early today, lots of sunshine and a cerulean, blue sky with puffy white cirrus clouds. We found her in the nook off the dining room, sitting in the warm sunlight and visiting with a neighbor. She was pleased to see us, as always. We chatted about our plans for the day, and her plans; Friday’s a couple of lay men from the local parish come as Extraordinary Ministers of the Holy Eucharist, they talk about what is on the Liturgical Callendar and other musings in the local church. They may sing a hymn or two and then offer Communion to the Catholics who are here with mum, I participated when I had visited in January, and it was good to see her remember the “Our Father” prayer.

Alzheimer’s and Dementia is a terrible thing, you loose your loved ones every single day. Mum has progressed to the point where she kinda’ knows me, but she doesn’t remember my name, or that I am her first born, whom I’m married to or who my children-her grandchildren are. She eats a little less every day, not remembering that she’s hungry or thirsty. She does much better when someone is there during mealtime to que her, but staff just aren’t available to do that with her, so Karen, my sister, usually goes in at supper time to sit with her. She knows Karen, she is so happy to see her and kisses are always offered. Our brothers have found it too difficult to see mum go through this process and seldom visit with her. They are the ones missing out, she won’t remember if they came or not, but they will.

Yesterday I looked at momma’s hands, they reminded me of her mother’s and grandmother’s hands. Small, frail and thin skinned with the veins popping up. Mum still wears her wedding band and a mother’s ring with all six of our birthstones. “Pretty hands,” yes, you have pretty hands, I used to tell mum I couldn’t wash the toilet bowls because I had pretty hands, I’m over that now.

Momma’s Hands.

Mum has used these hands for 83 YEARS…

Mum had always been left-handed, even the sisters in the convent school couldn’t beat it out of her. She’d been born with a defect caused by the trauma of childbirth where her right collar bone was displaced and having been put in a cast as a baby, my grandmother could not stand to see it on her child, so she removed it.
These hands did hundreds of chores, caressed many babies and did many hours of needle work using crochet hooks and knitting needles. I believe my love for sewing developed when I was allowed to use her sewing machine-the thing was a beast! Heavy and installed in a reclaimed desk, it didn’t move from her bedroom, we went to the machine. She sewed almost all of our clothing in the early 60’s, from her old maternity tops came dresses and shirts for me. I sewed almost all of my clothing in the 70s, I still love to sew, and I’d rather make something from scratch than to repair something-I find it so tedious.