We asked Zoomies, where we board our dogs, to please share a report card and a couple of photos of the boys with us while we were gone, since we knew we would be missing our four-legged sons terribly. While boarding, they were to have groomings as well.
We had no idea they would be taking Christmas pictures while we were gone, so imagine our delight when we got these precious pictures of our three rescue schnoodles the day before Thanksgiving! We wanted to share them with you, too, so that you could see their expressions. (We’ll translate for you what each is thinking):
This is how it’s going for our boys at the kennel:
Fitz: “ I can’t wait for Santa! I’m a good boy, and he will have a treat for me. Let me smile big for my Christmas picture and show off these old teeth I keep losing before they’re all gone.”
Fitz, named for F. Scott Fitzgerald
Ollie: “Let me pose like the spoiled, dignified dog that I am, the kind that might have a jar of Grey Poupon handy in case anyone ever asks. I’ll behave just right for this festive Christmas photo, since I have just been groomed to perfection. Maybe someone will see the look in my eyes and want to throw my ball for me to chase. I’ll just go ahead and put my front legs in the ready position to run after it.”’
Ollie, named for the late, great poet Mary Oliver
Boo Radley: “This is b#ll$h!t!”
Boo Radley, named for a character in To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Cheers for the holiday spirit, and for all the Christmas pictures that will be made over the coming weeks, and a full license to embrace the truth of whatever the camera captures. We are still laughing at their personalities. Our Christmas Dogs. Oh, the joy they bring.
After traveling the final leg of our loop around New England on Wednesday afternoon from West Chesterfield, New Hampshire to Plymouth, Massachusetts, we visited the Plimoth-Patuxet Museum sites on Wednesday and Thursday. Our first stop was to Plymouth Rock, and our second was to the Mayflower II. At these exhibits, we learned a little more about the history of the voyage the Pilgrims made – the risks they took and the price they paid.
Realistic role-playing Pilgrim
On Thursday, we visited the Pilgrim colony and shared in the Thanksgiving Dinner right in the area where the first Thanksgiving dinner was held. We were pleased that a historian was sharing the history with us so that we could hear accurate accounts from primary sources. We were also impressed that the Pilgrim village was created with historical accuracy, with role-playing realistic Pilgrims who go about their village and house chores while inviting questions and observations from visitors. We even saw a real goose being cooked on a spit and a mother Pilgrim teaching her son some culinary skills.
A mother teaches her son culinary skills ~ note the goose fat dripping from the spit.
The Pilgrims spoke with the accents and language of their time, and answered any questions from those witnessing their chores and conversations.
This pilgrim is describing how they kept the fire burning.
I entered one of the homes to find a young man seated by the fire wearing a tan vest and keeping warm. It was miserably cold and raining on this Thanksgiving holiday as we walked outdoors bundled up with umbrellas, thankful we both had waterproof shoes. I told him I thought he had the best seat in the house. He asked if I had any questions.
“Just one,” I replied. “Did anyone ever feel safe?”
He rubbed his chin for a moment, considering this before responding, “What a question!”
After a pause, he replied that they did feel safe, because their strong faith in the Lord depended on their ultimate faith in him, and whatever consequence brought about was by His provisioning.
Satisfied, I thought about the 2-month voyage that they had taken across the Atlantic Ocean – risking it all in the name of religious freedom – and concluded that he was probably right. He seemed to be answering from the perspective of safety of belief, whereas my question was more from a physical context in terms of Native tribes and wild animals, having seen the guns and cannons in the meeting house that afforded lookout-level views outside the gated village.
“Did anyone ever feel safe?” is the question I asked of this colonist.
At 2:30, we found our table with our place cards and met the others who would be seated at our table. There were three other couples and two children eating with us. After some introductions, we began sipping our cider and passing the plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes as appetizers. Our meal menu was inspired by the 1863 Thanksgiving meal served to students at Harvard University. In the museum, there is a timeline and display that sequences the progression of the Thanksgiving meal from the 17th century to today, along with the types of dishes and utensils that would have been used at each meal.
Visitors have two options for the Thanksgiving meals served at Plymouth-Patuxet Museum. The choices include a buffet meal served at The Craft House or a plated meal with formal dining served in the Visitor Center. The formal dinner includes The Story of Thanksgiving, told by the chief historian as a narrative along with a member of the Wampanoag tribe and a Pilgrim descendant. This is the meal we chose, simply because with so much controversy often surrounding this holiday, we wanted to seek understanding of the facts from a historian’s explanation of what really happened. The reading of the land honorarium was a meaningful part of the meal, along with the customary toast given.
My plated meal before I added cranberry sauce to go with the dressing hiding under the turkey
The customary toast, given by the chief historian at Plimoth-Patuxet Museums
After a traditional toast before dessert, the museum had one more offering in store for Thanksgiving guests. Even though we had planned to get on the road back to Boston at the conclusion of our meal, we took advantage of the opportunity to see Wicked at the Linn Theater at 4:30 before making the drive to Boston to turn in our rental car and check into our room for the night.
The later arrival into Boston was more than worth making the time to see the movie! Already, we are talking about the next time we can go back and enjoy more of New England.
But nothing……nothing……not one thing……compares to arriving back home. A great vacation, for us, is one that we don’t want to end – while at the same time looking forward to being back in our own space, back in our own bed. It’s one that cultivates a deep appreciation for other places and people while at the same time making us more grateful for our own little corner of the world and our strong sense of belonging we feel in it.
So from my writing chair this morning, by my own fire with its modern gas logs that simply require me to push a button to feel the warmth and see the light of its flames, I wish you all the adventures of travel and the comforts of home.
Breakfast table at The Chesterfield Inn in New Hampshire
It’s my brother’s birthday today, so I’m wishing him a happy one! He’s a wonderful brother, and I’m so glad he’s mine! Happy birthday, Ken Haynes!
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We’ve said it so many times on this trip: we’d like to come back and spend more time in certain spots. The Chesterfield Inn in West Chesterfield, New Hampshire is one of those places ~ the historic inn feel, complete with a relaxing 16-year-old cat named Yoda who runs the place. He reminds us of how we feel like we’re moving about now on this trip.
Apples at Bolton Orchards
We stopped at Bolton Orchards to get some apples as a snack, and as we crunched on the crisp sweetness, we also said that as much as we say we want to come back, we have to make the time to do it. Travel doesn’t just up and happen on its own, because most of the time I’m feeling more and more like Yoda these days ~ just give me a chair and let me nap while I hope someone will come along and scratch between my ears.
So with firm resolve, we decided a couple of things:
We’ll plan for next year’s trip once we get home; and
We will make it less than a week (four days with a day’s rest on the returning end seems the sweet spot) ~ we are exhausted.
We also have figured out that we like to fly and ride. We’re less apt to cruise at this point, like we used to do. Cruising is nice, but it’s not what Chaucer described as the travel we like best. We like to see the landscape from the wagon and share the stories on the way to the Tabard Inn. Our next trip will involve a plane and a car, because the changing flavor from place to place (and mostly, in between) is not to be missed.
Here are a few photos from a more touristy spot, but one rich with history.
We’re flying home today, from Boston to Atlanta. I’ll share our visit to Plimoth-Patuxet for the Thanksgiving Dinner in a post over the weekend.
Us with The Mayflower II in the background
Plymouth Rock
Mayflower II
The John F. Kennedy Memorial on Cape Cod
Sangria at The Black Cat Tavern on Cape Cod. One of us needed it.
I wish you a reflective Thanksgiving with your family today ~ moments of deep thought to consider all that we have and time to be grateful for it. On days like this, where I have all the morning to write and a travel post from yesterday waiting to be shared, it seems I need the reflective rock time more than the writing today.
Perhaps you’d like to ponder on it today as well. Look closely – – at one time, it was broken. It has been mended. And it holds messages here for people, for hearts, for families, for nations.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Plymouth Rock in Plymouth, MA – photo taken November 27, 2024
After the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention concluded in Boston on Sunday, my husband and I rented a car and started a loop through New England so that we could see a little more of the northeastern United States. Since we didn’t take a vacation anytime earlier this year, we decided to take a trip this week and enjoy some time away to relax and recharge.
I might be a pain as a travel companion. I’m pretty sure I am, because there was frost on the top of the car and I urged my husband to get up and watch the sunrise with me. On the rooftop of a hotel. When the wind was blowing so hard the seagulls were forced into changing course.
I can’t help it. There’s something exhilarating and soul-renewing about the way the sun casts a glow at the top of the day, as if it’s pouring the world a glass of orange juice to serve up energy for all the day brings.
We woke up in Kennebunkport, Maine this morning and did some exploring in that coastal town before driving across New Hampshire to Woodstock, Vermont to do more adventuring in another state.
A pano my husband took in Kennebunkport
Sunrise picture
Christmas tree being decorated in the middle of the street
We’re enjoying watching places decorate for Christmas. We found some men with a ladder decorating a tree in the middle of the street right in the heart of Kennebunkport. There was another crew hanging garland over the bridge, and still more putting out a reindeer with lights and a sleigh and a Santa and a snowman. Snowflakes with lights were hanging at the tops of buildings, and the festive feeling of Christmas was in the air. Some homes had pumpkins on the front porches and wreaths on the front doors, and I feel like I learned something important from that.
On the bridge in Kennebunport (it was so cold I had to buy a hat for my ears to stay warm)
My favorite stop of the day was the U.S. Post Office. I’d broken my own rules by taking 17 books from NCTE with no plan whatsoever for how to get them home in just the carry-on and personal bag I brought along. So I asked my husband to find a Post Office, and one was right down a side street from the middle-of-the-road Christmas tree. I purchased a box, the kind that you peel the sealing tape off the side, scribbled my address in the TO space, and mailed these signed volumes home to myself at the book rate.
The fun came in the place and people, and I’m convinced that the actual Post Office is a character all by itself, with its very old doors that I wished had a register of all the people who’d ever entered and exited. I felt I’d stepped back in time to the 1940s. My next goal is to research the history of the building with its tiny mailboxes and the feeling of nostalgia here that had me wondering if ten thousand ghosts weren’t waving to me from the ceiling space. I saw live people coming and going, but the feeling of past was powerful here, kind of like mediums must feel when giving a fortune telling.
Then there was the man in line behind me, a gentleman of about 80, who was as kind and curious as humans come. He suggested I sit the box down when he saw me holding it so long, but by that time, I was next. He said it looked heavy, but I told him it was all books – and then he got interested……especially when I told him who’d signed them all. Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, Kate McKinnon, Bryan Stephenson, Ada Limon, Sy Montgomery, Matt Patterson, and more.
I kept wondering what was taking so long – – until I got to the window and figured it out. The Postmaster was a character, too – maybe the main one. He was about 70, hilarious with his jokes and fun. His piercing blue eyes and his mannerisms took ahold of me. He had to read the whole script, asking me if I had…..”anything perishable…..any batteries….anything liquid…” even though I kept saying no and had read the screen and pushed the NO button. He smiled a little and peered up over a raised bushy eyebrow atop the rim of his glasses so I would know it was a game. Then, when I asked for elves holiday stamps to mail postcards to the grandchildren, he told me they’d just gotten those in from Graceland, handing me two books. “You know, where all the Elv(i)s live!” I laughed the corny joke laugh, smiled what felt like the realest smile I’d smiled all year long, and wondered why every place couldn’t feel this unhurried and fun. Especially at such a busy time.
Then I stepped back out the doors into 2024.
Look closely for ghosts. I swear they are here somewhere.
My husband’s favorite stop of the day was the Bush compound, and we caught sight of three people walking. We couldn’t tell who they were, but we know someone was home since the flag was up to indicate their presence – plus, we saw several cars including the tell-tale Secret Service black SUV. This was an unplanned stop on the route, but one we both enjoyed. Even though we didn’t get that invitation to come in for a cup of hot chocolate that we stood there hoping for.
When we finally arrived in Woodstock, we went to The Vermont Flannel Company on the suggestion of a friend, who had been during her fall break last year and loved the place.
The bad news: I couldn’t buy a blanket because…… only a carry-on and a personal bag.
The good news: I couldn’t buy a blanket because…….only a carry-on and a personal bag.
I could live in their shirts and wrap up every night in those cozy blankets. And I see why the flannel is such a hit here. It’s freezing. And the Georgians? Yeah, we brought denim jackets and thin nylon windbreakers but no coats……that’s the other bad news. (I awoke early, and below is the forecast for today):
But onward we march, freezing and having a wicked good time.
The Vermont Flannel Company on Elm Street, Woodstock, VT
We checked out of our tiny hotel room Sunday morning to make our way to Kennebunkport, Maine as part of the slow travel loop we’ll make to see some of the northeastern United States as we push the pause button and enjoy some of the natural beauty of our country before the holiday season. We will bask in the silence, unplug, and enjoy some quiet time focusing on each other – without deadlines and rushed agendas. I’ll go to bed early just to wake in time to catch the glorious sunrise in these places.
First on Sunday, though, Ada Limon! She was the keynote speaker for the closing session of NCTE 2024 – our 24th Poet Laureate of the United States. She lives in Lexington, Kentucky and has written such spellbinding poems about place and moments. I love How to Triumph Like a Girl, and her books The Carrying, The Hurting Kind, and Bright Dead Things, which contain a variety of her poems. My friend Fran Haley of North Carolina and I led a book study on The Hurting Kind last April, and we had trouble deciding on our favorite poems to discuss. If you haven’t read any of her work, I recommend beginning with The Carrying. It’s my favorite collection ~ perhaps because those poems spoke to where I was when I was reading them, needing the deep cerebral massage of her words.
Next, we grabbed an Uber to the airport to pick up the rental car to drive through the scenic places we’ve picked to stay. We’re hoping for some leaves left on the trees so that we can see the seasonal burst of color, and Boston gives us hope that we will see these magnificent sights.
Ah, but as we drove, they turned out to be few and far between, with a pop of red here or a last smattering of yellow there. Most of the trees are bare, and then – just like that – we cross the Maine state line and begin to see the magnificent pine and spruce trees. I’m smitten with the landscape, and it takes me back to the part I loved most about Route 66 when we traveled it a year and a half ago: the changing landscape of America (and of each state – because it changes from border to border) that helps me feel like I’ve seen the fingerprint of a place more than one lone city.
The room is bigger, but not by much. But what a difference: a balcony overlooking the water and the boats! We’ll be able to see more in the morning.
We checked into The Boathouse in Kennebunkport – right on the water with a balcony view of the harbor. Although the room isn’t much larger than the one we left in Boston, we fell in love with its decor and cozy feel. The colors of nautical navy and white, with warm woods, gave us the vibe of New England hygge, when the wind is whipping cold outside but it’s warm and glowing indoors.
Since we’d skipped lunch, we were hungry for supper early, so we headed downstairs to the restaurant directly beneath our room and shared a pair of crab cakes, a bowl of New England Clam Chowder, and a lobster roll. It was the perfect way to cap off the day before getting a hot shower, wrapping in the luxurious bathrobe, and retiring to read and write.
New England Clam Chowder and crab cakesLobster RollView from our balcony at nightLuxurious bath robes
Tomorrow, we will piddle in town, try the lobster rolls at The Clam Shack that we have heard so much about, and then make the drive from Kennebunkport to Woodstock. We will share more of the journey as we go!
Even the front doors had me excited! This is a little slice of heaven on earth.
I often experience those spinoff tornadoes of excitement that NCTE brings – the conversations with others that aren’t officially a part of the conference but that take me further down avenues of thought – and occasionally, further down blocks of the city to explore physical places someone mentions.
Such was the case when I met Richard Louth, the creator of the original New Orleans Writing Marathon, whose NCTE workshop in Boston offered attendees the opportunity to participate in The Boston Writing Marathon. In this writing marathon, a large group met and wrote together for a practice session on all the exciting ways to center their writing for the hours ahead. They had a round of sharing with a protocol that allowed everyone to honor the writing of others. Then, they set out in small groups to write in various locations, capturing in words and worlds all that came to mind. When they returned, they shared their writing and experienced the essence of the collective experience.
I’d stopped by to meet Dr. Louth and expressed my disappointment that I would be unable to attend his workshop. My presentation time was overlapping the workshop – but I wanted to know more. He ran for his handout and encouraged me to write, even though I would be unable to be part of the group on the first day of the conference.
He shared more about Virtual Writing Marathons (VWM), explaining, “When the pandemic hit and physical Writing Marathons became impossible, I helped Kel Sassi of the National Writing Project create a VWM program in the summer of 2020. That summer, VWM writers virtually visited a different location in the country for an hour each week under the guidance of a local NWP site and ‘Storymaps’ that focused on different locations, and we wrote and shared in small breakout groups through Zoom. We did 10 weeks that summer, with each VWM attracting 50-60 people on average. The final VWM that summer was in New Orleans. The VWM continued each summer, and it even expanded into monthly Tuesday evening meetings during the school year. We had VWMs in Arkansas and Missouri this fall, and our next will be in January.”
He further added:
“For more information, Google NWP’s ‘Write Across America.’ It’s open to anyone to register…..also, check out the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival website.”
In our later conversation by email, I learned that Dr. Louth had gone to a place called Grub Street with a former student, where they had written together near Pier 4 for their Boston Writing Marathon location.
I had to check it out!
When we approached the doors, my husband shook his head and caught my eye in that fearful kind of way that husbands do when they realize they are about to go broke.
“Ooooh, Baby. This is all you,” he sheepishly conceded, reluctantly patting his wallet.
He was right.
From the moment we entered the place, we breathed life-giving air. Reading and writing particles flitted like glitter through the air and engulfed me in sparkles. In this place was some kind of magic for everyone. My husband took to a corner with a book by Paul McCartney entitled The Lyrics, which explains the backstories of songs. He got lost in a concert all his own, silent music flooding his soul, entering his eyes and exiting through one tapping foot.
Just the patterns of the floors and unique shapes of the light fixtures were captivating. Every now and then, I enter a place where the lighting illuminates the darkest parts of a searching soul – so much that I can feel it. I felt it here in Grub Street.
I was fascinated by the people – some working, some writing, some seeking, some reading. All engrossed in their moments. The winter wear sets a photographic temperature – a very Bostony cold with rain on the way, and winds whipping our faces. We were completely unprepared for the weather, but it added an element of survival to the experience just as any adventure book would reveal in the exposition.
And we were suddenly the coatless characters in this book store story.
I stood for a while and read the titles visitors had added to the list of books that made them feel grateful, a common theme word for the month of Thanksgiving. What book would I add? Mary Oliver’s Devotions, no doubt. And Billy Collins’s Whale Day, Sy Montgomery’s Good, Good Pig. I would run out of Expo markers before I could finish listing all the books that bring to heart a grateful spirit.
I wasn’t able to go upstairs, as the top floor had been shut down for the night, but I’ve added this to my list of places to visit when we return to Boston. What a unique concept – a writer’s haven.
I’m so grateful Dr. Louth shared this place, and thrilled I took the opportunity to visit.
Until we return, I’ll continue to wonder about the upstairs writing that happens at Grub Street.
And a part of me will secretly be grateful that I didn’t get to see it this time.
The wondering fuels the imagination and the dream. And the desire to return.
Water Taxi from Airport to Hotel – in Boston Harbor -it’s the best way to arrive in Boston in warm months (note to self: it’s cold and windy on the water in November)
yesterday we came
to the big city: Boston
but our hearts are home
Nothing grounds me, pulling on my rural roots and centering my belonging more than putting on my sweatpants, wrapping up in a jacket, and throwing on my dew-proof duck boots for a walk with the dogs in November on the Johnson Funny Farm, one hour south of Atlanta, Georgia but as rural as Little Red Riding Hood’s deep woods with all the mystery. I smell the wet earth of morning wafting up from beneath the pine straw, see the falling leaves and misty haze through the thicket, and hear the lone woodpecker overhead, calling to us from the towering Loblolly pines. I’ll carry the country silence of my Sunday morning walk with the boys close to my heart all week as we travel. I’ll miss them, and I will pull up these blog photos below many times while I’m away. The one with Ollie trying to be a stowaway will bring tears by the end of the weekend.
I know that there is much to look forward to in the city beyond the NCTE Conference, where I, along with my writing group, will be presenting our latest series of books for teachers on Thursday. We’ll see the nation’s history unfold along the Freedom Trail if the weather permits, and from there, following the NCTE Convention, we’ll explore several New England states and share Thanksgiving Dinner at Plimoth Plantation as we see The Thanksgiving Story come to life on stage.
As we share in our love of travel, though, there is nothing that compares to coming home. To being home. To belonging, and to feeling the sanctuary of our space here in rural Georgia with our three rescue schnoodles – Ollie, who walks with his nose up, sniffing the air all around him, Fitz, who walks with his nose to the ground, sniffing what has been there before him, and Boo Radley, whose nose and eyes are always directly ahead so that he doesn’t miss a thing. It seems silly, really, to have to walk these boys on a leash in all this space, but out here we never know what wildlife we’ll encounter, and they are prone to chase everything from deer to cattle and donkeys that get loose from nearby pastures. We don’t take any chances.
As we fly out on this work conference and extended adventure, it is comforting to know that our return ticket will bring us right back where we belong.
This is what country folks look like when we take walks on the farm.
Noses: on ground, in air, straight ahead
A few sounds of the country
Ollie confirms that his people are leaving on a trip and looks for space to fit in
Sharing dinner before the conference frenzy begins (From L-R: Tammi Belko, Dawn Lanca-Potter, Kim Johnson, Sarah Donovan, Leilya Pitre, and Denise Krebs at Layla’s American Tavern, Boston)
Sarah Donovan and me – Sarah’s writing group at http://www.ethicalela.com saved my life as I struggled with grief over the death of my mother in 2015. And we’ve been writing ever since.
Erica from Arkansas is our host today for the fifth and final day of the November Open Write at www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write story-poems that span from childhood to adulthood and hover on the brink.
She urges us to “record imagery that comes to mind when you think of that childhood experience. I encourage you to focus on concrete sensory details, but if you have to pull from memory or make something up that’s fine too.”
Earlier this week, we wrote 4×4 poems, featuring 4 stanzas with 4 syllables on 4 lines with a refrain. Today, I’m trying a 5×5 with those same parameters, but without a refrain.
On the last day of October’s Open Write, I shared this poem:
An Invitation
save the date: November 16
you may choose to arrive by stretch limousine
we’ll be gathering in style for a writer’s retreat
whether castle or cabin or on your own street
we’ll spend the day writing in fantasy places
day one: a packing list poem ~ what’s in our suitcases?
so gather your words ~ select them with flair
I’ll be the door greeter to welcome you there!
you’ll need your location and writing utensil
something to wear, and perhaps a spare pencil
we’ll all need a critter (think Hogwarts style)
and a snack to share to write all the while
and then let’s bring one thing – a gift for the group
something to make us all laugh, cry, or hoot
what’ll it be? oh, I can’t wait to see ~
here’s a basket of tickets – take some – they’re free!
let’s keep Donnetta’s theme words sparking and growing
return in November, keep writing ongoing!
I offered a glimpse of today’s prompt, encouraging writers to think of a fantasy writing retreat and these aspects: location, clothing, writing utensil, critter, snacks, and a gift for others.
Today, I offer this poem to inspire others to write poems about a fantasy writing retreat. Come join us, and share yours on the ethicalela website!
Location: I’m arriving by Oz-graced Yellow Brick Road
to this heavy oak castle door with just an armload
Clothes: wearing overalls under my farm-writing cape
this magical cloak of virtual escape
with shimmery amber-hued dragonfly wings
and chicken foot bracelets and beetle leg rings
just a suitcase, you see, for this week here together
with all of my writing pals ~ birds of a feather
Utensil: and speaking of feathers, I’ve brought my quill pen
plucked from the wing of a feisty owl hen
Snacks: I’ve sugar-spun cauldrony crinkles for snacks
shaved off curled spikes from chameleons’ backs
Critter Companion: made easier by Razor, my pink crocodile
I walk on a bling-leash, in true Funny Farm style
Group Gift: and one more thing: I bring a group gift ~
Common Threads 