Mom - Two little known facts

Birth Announcement

 In honor of my mother’s birth I want to divert from the story of Mason and Wells in South Lubec to tell you about “Mason” as an adult. There is so much to tell that 250 words will not do justice, but I will restrain myself from boasting too much. Here are two little known facts about mom, which I find immensely interesting and I hope you do too.

First off, did you know that my mom couldn't sing when she was a child?  An elementary school teacher told my grandmother “I’m sorry Mrs. Scott, but your daughter didn't inherit your voice.”  Well, my mother was given a Gene Autry guitar and taught herself how to play and sing. After getting married, she and dad started the family singing group “Hum & Strum.” That picture of me as a child was taken when the family was performing. Mom’s done really well for a kid that couldn't sing.  FYI – she got me started on playing guitar.

Mom and her Dad

Secondly, mom wrote for the Willimantic Chronicle (the local newspaper.) She did weekly human interest stories, some of which I still own copies of.  I remember sitting at her feet while she typed the stories and then going to the newspaper office to deliver them. The sound of the newspaper machines was impressive to a young child. I fear however, I may have been responsible for the early end to her newspaper career when I dropped her typewriter. Mom tells me I get my creative writing skill from her mother (my grandmother) but I beg to differ.

One of the articles mom wrote for
"The Chronicle."

I've included a bunch of photos I have of mom over the years. This is just a drop in the bucket and a small snapshot of her life.  I’m taking the liberty of using my favorite shots. Happy Birthday mommy, I’m so glad you were born!!

November 23, 1946
Windham, CT

South Lubec

Caribbean Cruise

 South Lubec

Titanic Party

Roosevelt International Park,
Campobello Island, New Brunswick, Canada

No Snow days – Part 2

“Your uncle was a whole grade ahead when he went to Connecticut.” Mom related as we spoke about going to school. “I think it had to do with having four grades together in the same room.” 

Wells stood straight and tall as he led his class.  Holding the American Flag high the younger children marched behind him as they circled the perimeter reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Wells was always happy when it was his turn to carry the flag, but tomorrow he would go to the back of the line, as the child currently behind him carried it. Returning the flag to its holder, Wells sat down and readied himself for today’s lessons.  As he practiced his penmanship he could hear Mason’s class reciting the times tables.

 “Two times two is four, two times three is six, two times four is eight.” Mason’s teacher stood at the blackboard, pointing at the numbers with her stick, “six times six is thirty six, six times seven is forty-two” on the recitation went until finishing with “twelve times twelve is one hundred forty-four.” Then came the three major rivers in Maine, the class repeated “Penobscot, Kennebec, Androscoggin” followed by the counties. Having completed the morning lesson with Mason’s class, it was time for the teacher to move on to the lower grades. Mason pulled out her English book and began to read quietly.

The morning progressed with the teacher moving from grade to grade, instructing and reviewing the work of her students. Before Mason knew it, it was lunch time. The glass canning jars set on the stove in the morning were carefully, so as not to burn your fingers, removed and opened. Had it been spring Wells and Mason would have taken their lunches to the big rock beside the school that overlooked a tidal stream. While blowing on her soup, Mason dreamed of warmer weather, sitting on the rock and going to the beach with Grandma Scott. She thought of walking to the lighthouse to play with her friend, the keeper’s daughter, of riding her bike and picking wildflowers to bring home to her mother. A sudden gust of winter wind rattled the schoolhouse windows, shaking Mason from her revelry.  Holding the warm glass jar closer, Mason remembered in a few hours she had to walk home.

A weekend at Bog Lake

Family History Writing Challenge – Day 14 & 15

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

The sounds of children’s voices could be heard echoing across the lake as campfire smoke drifted overhead. Splashes and laughter mingled as Mason and Wells played in the waters of Bog Lake. Yesterday, after Daddy and the neighbor man had gotten out of work, the two families loaded up their cars and headed to Bog Lake for a weekend of camping.  Being the summer, the sun shone bright late into the evening allowing time for the campsite to be set up before dark, even after driving from Lubec to the lake outside of Machias. While Daddy made a mattress out of spruce boughs, Mom set about making a fire. The neighbor man strung a rope from his Stutz Bearcat to a nearby tree and hung a lantern as his wife (mom’s best friend) brought blankets and other gear from the cars.

In the morning, as soon as was possible, Mason and Wells took to the water. It was so much warmer than the saltwater they swam in at home. Mason let her body relax and float in what felt like the temperature of a bath. She looked up into the clear blue sky, and even with her ears submerged she could hear her brother running toward her “Mom says it’s time for lunch.”  Mason was hungry, but she didn’t want to get out of the water.

She loved to swim and knew if she went up on dry land to eat it was going to be over an hour before she could get back in. Mommy was very strict about waiting an hour after eating so you “didn’t get cramps and drown,” very strict.  Wells stepped closer and spoke again “Mason, mom says it’s time to come in for lunch.”  Mason lowered her feet to the sandy bottom, keeping everything but her head underwater. Looking at Wells she said “but I don’t want to get out, I like it in here.” Mason looked at her fingers; wrinkled like a prune she had been swimming for hours already.  “I’m hungry too” said Wells, “and I want to stay in the water, what are we going to do?”  Mason thought for a minute, “what about we eat lunch IN the water?”  We can tell mommy we promise we won’t swim, and stay near to shore.  Calling to their mother and posing the question, the two waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was only a minute of thought, Mommy allowed the two children to eat in the water, with the promise they would stay close to shore, feet on the ground and NO swimming for an hour. The fish chowder tasted wonderful! Cooked over the open flame of the campfire, since early morning, and hand delivered, Mason and Wells relished the rich creamy broth with chunks of potato and fish. As agreed, the children did not swim for an hour, but after the hour they were off for the rest of the afternoon.

As the sun began to lower on the horizon, Mason and Wells reluctantly made their way up on to shore. Having changed into dry clothes they sat by the fire and ate supper.  Mason slept well that night, all bundled in her blankets on the spruce boughs. Daddy made such a comfy mattress, and the smell, oh the smell was heavenly!  Sometime during the night, Mason heard Mommy comment to Daddy that she could hear and feel mice running through the boughs in the mattress.

On Sunday morning the two families broke camp and headed home to South Lubec. Tucked into the rumble seat of the Buick, Mason and Wells rode back to the coast, with the Stutz Bearcat following.  Being of fairer complexion than Mason, Wells was uncomfortable due to the sunburn he always got when camping.  As the cars turned on to Rte. 189 toward Lubec, Mason slipped her hand into her pocket, gingerly grasping the souvenir she had picked up and pulled it out. Looking into the small black eyes and twitching whiskers, she stroked the soft gray fur and said “it’s time to go home.”

A Visit From Grandma

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 13

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

“Two masted schooner, three masted schooner” the call would raise from the front lawn of the house in South Lubec.  Depending upon the size and number of masts the call would change as the boats sailed past.  Mason and Wells loved watching the schooners as they plied the waters of the Quoddy Narrows.  Summer was a wonderful time in South Lubec, the sun rose very early in the morning, shining the first rays of the day as early as 4 AM, while the rest of America slumbered in darkness.  Days were filled with play, Grandma Scott known as “Mother Scott” would visit from Eastport.  A large woman, she was always dressed in a black dress and Wells loved her molasses cookies. At low tide Mason and Wells would walk with her across the street to the beach.  There was a very large rock, only exposed at low tide that Mason and Wells would play on. This rock had an indentation that was teeming with life. Mason would find sea glass and play hop scotch on the sand.  Wells love to explore, picking up pieces of driftwood, rocks and shells. Before they went home, they would pick up “dulse.”  Grandma Scott had taught them which seaweed was Dulse and what was not. Homeward bound with arms full of the wet slimy seaweed, she taught them how to carefully lay it on rocks in the yard to dry. Oh how Mason loved to eat the dried Dulse. After a day of playing Mason and Wells slept well that night.  As the summer breeze brought the smell of the ocean and forest through their windows, they dreamed of the schooners that passed by their house.

A Boot Cove Boil

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 12

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

The soft, warm sand squeezed between her toes as Mason stood in the one sandy spot midst the gravel and wiggled her toes.  The smell of ocean water mixed with smoke and steam drifted around her as she stood on the beach.  A few yards away her parents sat with friends talking about life, politics, Quoddy Village and the impending war in Europe due to the actions of a man named Adolph.  Her father stoked the fire with driftwood found on the beach, ensuring the flames were hot enough to keep the water boiling in the large covered canning kettle holding clams, potatoes, onions, lobster and corn, a real Downeast Boil!

Overhead the gulls twisted and turned in the wind, squealing as they flew.  Awww, awwwww, awwww one would cry as it landed near a tidal pool seeking an easy dinner, poking at the water then at the near by seaweed.  Poke, move, poke, poke, move.  Mason put a hand in front of her face to block the blinding noonday sun as it shone off the water like West Quoddy’s beacon.  Looking out at the ocean she spied the southern end of Grand Manan, hazy and blurred in a wisp of fog typical for a summer’s afternoon.

“Mason, Mason come here, look what I've found.”  The voice of her little brother called to her from across the way.  She turned toward his voice and found him squatting on a hump of rock.  “Come here” he called again, “see what I've found.”  She quickly ran to where Wells was still hunched over.  Gazing down Mason noticed the small snail he was mesmerized with.  In the indentation of the rock a whole universe existed.  Spurred on by the curiosity of youth Mason and Wells climbed and slid across hummocks of algae.  Pop, pop went the seaweed as they stepped on the strands.  Wells picked up a long flat whip like piece of kelp twirling it above his head like a lasso flung it at Mason and ran off laughing.

“Mason, Wells, time to come to dinner” called the voices of their parents. The two children ran toward the fire and found seats on a long piece of drift wood. Mason loved having boils at Boot cove with her family and friends.

The Mouse Whisperer

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 11

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

The smell of newly mown hay wafted across the front yard, tinged with salt and wildflowers. Mason walked down into the field from the front porch. Very carefully stepping onto the winnowed rows she walked ever so slowly, head bowed, shoulders hunched, eyes searching for any slight movement in front of her. Huh, what was that? Just to the right of her foot she saw a stalk of grass move. Crouching down, Mason gently pushed aside the hay. Oh there you are! Mason gently reached out her hand and picked up a baby field mouse. Drawing her self upright, she inspected the little creature, gazing into its little black eyes; Mason tenderly stroked its soft gray fur then gently placed it in her dress pocket. For over an hour Mason continued stepping, searching, stooping, scooping and placing field mice in her pockets. The late spring sun warmed her shoulders, as she slowly walked; the soft wind ruffling her hair. Mason stood to stretch, looking out across the road the ocean sparkled in the afternoon sun, purple and pink Lupine swayed in the breeze. It was a clear day and she could see Grand Manan, some day she thought, I would like to visit there. A rustle in her pocket brought her out of her day dream, looking down four little black eyes gazed back at her. Tiny whiskers twitching the two little field mice moved toward the opening. “Oh no, you don’t” Mason said to her new pets, “it’s time to go home.”

The Red Hoodie

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 10

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

“Look, look at that,” with her youngest child in her arms, Mason pointed to the swirling water of Roaring Brook in Baxter State Park and drew the 6 month old’s attention to the water. “Much better than last year” Mason thought to herself. She had been so sick carrying this child she couldn't eat. They’d almost cancelled the yearly trip, but Mason wanted to go home for a visit. It was only after they had set up camp in Baxter, was she able to eat. Unfortunately, she lost her appetite upon arrival home.

Mason loved Baxter and moose watching with her family. She enjoyed sitting in the sun on the big rock, beside a lake in the shadow of Mount Katahdin, waiting patiently for a big bull moose to step out of the brush into the lake. Surrounded by her family, all dressed in matching Red Hooded sweatshirts, Mason raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes to scan the distant shore. “Mommy, mommy look behind you” came the whispered voice of her first born daughter, “a moose is coming.” All eyes turned to the left as a bull moose with a full rack lumbered into view. “Wait, there’s another one” chimed in the voice of her son. With awe and wonder the little family watched as the two moose entered the water and began to swim away.

Later that evening Mason’s husband posed for a picture with the infant, holding her like a trophy. Now an adult, married with three children, Mason returned to Maine religiously. When not in South Lubec, Mason could be found tenting with her young family in the woods of Maine, moose watching, hiking and overall enjoying nature, just as her father had taught her. Now, she was passing his love onto the next generation.

Part of my mother’s story must include what she did to her kids. She gave each of us a different love for the state of Maine. My sister loves Baxter State Park, moose and Mount Katahdin. My brother inclines himself toward the ocean, loving the Boothbay area. As for me… well, I live here and as much I dislike winter, I do love the Pine Tree state. My mom takes great pleasure in reminding me I was almost named Katahdin; Katie for short. When a small child, my father would take me clam digging on the flats in South Lubec; it was there I gained the family moniker of the “Quoddy clam catcher.” To this very day, no matter who I am with, I enjoy taking them out onto the flats at low tide to hand-dig a clam, I still got it! Mind you, I never keep the clam, but gently place it back into the hole I got it out of. The nice part of hand-digging is you don’t break the shell.

I titled this post “The Red Hoodie” because of the pictures I own of me as an infant in a Red Hoodie at Baxter State Park; I am the infant in my parent’s arms. I thought it would be only fitting to write about this part of my Family History tonight, since it is my birthday. Although a few sizes larger, while writing I am wearing a Red Hoodie. I may be the only one of the children that got mom’s love for a good red hooded sweatshirt. But I am certainly not the only one that inherited her love for Maine and all the wonder it holds.