I came upon this scene at our cabin. The grouse must have hit the window on our garage, even though it’s on the second story. I’ll have to do something about that — close the curtain, perhaps? At least the bird had a soft landing in new snow. It looked so peaceful, I was moved to take a photo. We left it where it fell. Some fox has probably already made quick work of it — returning its energy to the world.
I was interviewed this week by the MN Reads radio show, which features Minnesota-related authors. The show airs on Duluth’s community station and is hosted by Luke Moravec, who is a new author himself (and also a talented actor, musician, and probably some other things I don’t know about). The interview was about my latest book, High Fire Danger: Poems of Love and Nature. I feel fortunate that Duluth has this media outlet that supports local authors.
You can listen to the eight-minute interview here.
As you may recall, for our epic New England Road Trip, in October Russ and I flew from our home in Duluth, Minnesota, to New York to visit Russ’s family members there and in Connecticut, and then drove north, exploring sites connected with my mother’s ancestors. Guilford, in the Maine Highlands, was the culmination of our trip and was the spot I’d been wanting to visit for over 15 years, ever since I did an internet search on my Herring ancestors and discovered that Robert Herring (my great-grandfather to the fifth power on my mother’s side) was one of the founders of Guilford.
As if that weren’t enough, Guilford was the original home of the Burt’s Bees brand of personal care products infused with honey and beeswax. That company has since moved away and changed owners. Now, Guilford is home to a company that makes many of those cotton-tipped nose swabs that we all became too familiar with during the COVID epidemic.
Back when I made my discovery fifteen years ago, I was so excited that I wrote a history about Gilford’s founding and sent it to their historical society. I see that it has since ended up in the University of Maine’s Digital Commons! (“Early Town History: A Tale of Three Roberts.”)
Privateers and a Deacon
My mother and her sisters compiled an extensive genealogy for our family before the era of computers. In it, they documented Robert Herring, his father Benjamin Herring, who was born in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in 1727, and his father Robert Herring, who immigrated from England in the early 1700s. But my mother and her sisters didn’t know about the family’s role in founding Guilford.
I found these ancestors interesting because Benjamin Herring was a Revolutionary War privateer who was buried at sea off Cape Sable Island, Nova Scotia. According to info I found on Wiki-Tree, Benjamin was the captain, and his ship’s name was the Princeton. His son Robert was also a privateer, but according to research by one of my California cousins, he gave up that life, became a deacon in the Baptist Church, and headed inland with friend Robert Low to found Guilford. (There’s some question about whether there was an “e” on the end of Robert Low’s name. I’m leaving it off to minimize confusion with Robert Lowe Herring. But I’m pretty sure that RLH is named after Robert Low.) Robert Herring’s son, Robert Lowe Herring, and his family followed soon after.
I let the Guilford Historical Society know about our trip, and their president and treasurer, Brian and Cindy Woodworth, were good enough to notify other Herring relatives and to open the museum for us during our two-day stay.
Before our museum visit, we had a delightful chat with some cousins, who are related to the original Bennett settlers of Guilford and to the Herrings. We met at the Guilford Bed and Breakfast, where we were staying. They gave me copies of helpful information about the Herrings and privateers.
By the way, if you ever stay in Guilford, the Bed and Breakfast is the place to go! The colonial Victorian is run by John and Lisa McNamara, new transplants from Georgia. They’re also active members of the historical society and the community. They spoiled us with homemade gourmet breakfasts made to order. In the evenings, we enjoyed a cocktail in the inn’s Hummingbird Lounge when we weren’t curled up with a book in front of the library fireplace.
We ate other meals at the Red Maple Inn. If you want a taste of “real backwoods Maine” and superb service, that’s the place!
Guilford Historical Society Museum
During our museum visit with Brian and Cindy, we were excited to meet a Herring cousin. She and I compared genealogical charts and figured out how we might be related. We were also happy to see the “mother’s chair” at the museum. When Robert Lowe Herring brought his family from New Gloucester, Maine, to Guilford via ox cart, this was the chair his wife, Mary (Polly) Wagg, sat on for the week-long trip. The chair was then passed down through the family and later donated to the historical society. I got to actually touch this piece of history!
My newfound cousin showed us Herring photos that I had not seen before. Afterward, she drove with us to the cemetery was in town and showed us where some Herring graves were located. Then we parted. Russ and I drove to Guilford Center and toured the cemetery and Baptist church there. This is where the family first settled. We also drove across Lowe’s Bridge, a covered bridge named after Robert Low), and past Herring Brothers Meats store, which the family owns. We even took a walk along the Piscataquis River where Robert Lowe Herring built a sawmill. (I learned the hard way from locals that the river’s name is pronounced pis-CAT-a-qwis not PIS-cat-a-qwis.)
Both Robert Lowe Herring and his father had eleven children each. Robert Lowe Herring died in 1847, about a year after the heartbreak of seeing his youngest son, Alvin, die in a tree-felling accident.
Historical accounts (Sprague’s Journal of Maine History) say that Robert Lowe Herring was “well-fitted for pioneer work. Robust in mind and body, no combination of obstacles and hard labor changed his course once he determined upon the accomplishment of a certain purpose. He enjoyed overcoming difficulties-the greater they were, the greater his satisfaction when they were surmounted. The sight of suffering, in man or beast, moved him to tears. No one was ever turned from his door unwarmed or unfed. No neighbor in difficulty or distress ever appealed to him in vain for aid.”
I found another good story about Robert Lowe Herring in the History of Piscataquis County. It involves his neighbor, Ephriam Andrews. This poor neighbor was “afflicted with a morbid and partially insane state of mind . . . Although surrounded with good neighbors, he would drive his plow team all day with an axe on his shoulder, fearing that some of them would take his life.” Ephriam was a Revolutionary War veteran, so it could be that his mental health issues stemmed from that experience.
Ephriam’s sons regarded him as dangerous. They “prepared a small cage and shut him in. But he was marvelously ingenious in contriving and making escapes. They would capture him and force him back, and this would aggravate his insanity and rage.”
The breaking point came one spring in 1814 when Ephriam escaped. His sons surrounded him, trying to recage him. “He had armed himself with a small axe, and brandishing it, bade them stand off at their peril. But his youngest son, Samuel, then about fourteen years old, not believing that he would strike, daringly pressed up. The enraged father struck him a full blow in the face with the edge of the axe – nearly a fatal stroke.”
Ephriam was then jailed. His son recovered but carried an ugly scar the rest of his life. After being released from jail, Ephriam’s wife left him. The one person he seemed to trust was Robert Lowe Herring. Ephriam gave him all his property, and Robert let him live with him and his family. The arrangement seemed to work.
“There he had a good home, lived in listless ease, and sought his own entertainments. . . He died suddenly on his ninetieth birthday in Mr. Herring’s house.”
Can you imagine having a would-be axe murderer living in your house?! It says a lot about Robert’s character that Ephriam trusted him and that no more physical harm ensued, even though Ephriam’s “evil spirit would at times return.”
Ancient Family History
One of my Guilford cousins directed me to a book in the museum (Connor Genealogy) that contained information about Herring ancient history. This info was compiled by Menzies Herring, a family genealogist who lived in Massachusetts years ago, and Jerome Campbell Herring. Menzies used to mail questionnaires to Herring relatives across the country and perhaps that’s where he learned the history.
The family supposedly originated in Denmark. (My note: possibly in a town with a name that sounds like “herring,” which could either be Herning or Hjørring). They became Viking raiders and eventually settled in Normandy. A Herring ancestor was a “commander” in the Norman Navy under Rollo, the Norman chief who became the first Duke of Normandy. As such, this Herring was given the Norman title of Viscount. Generations later, another Viscount Herring supported William the Conqueror, who sailed from Normandy and overthrew the English King Harold II during the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Viscount Herring then remained in England to help William hold onto his new kingdom. He was then given the English title of Baronet.
That’s where the ancient history stops. It agrees with my genetic testing, which indicates Nordic ancestry in the distant past and then more recent ancestry from France and the British Isles. In recent research, I have found a number of Herrings on the British Peerage website; however, it appears that the records only go back to the early 1600s. These Herrings are associated with Lambeth Palace in London, and one Herring (Thomas Edward) was even the Archbishop of Canterbury (head of the church in England). Looks like I’ll need to do some sleuthing!
The Herrings in Minnesota
Getting back to the Maine Herrings, my branch of them ended up in Minnesota after Robert Lowe Herring’s daughter, Charlotte, married William Weymouth. They migrated with their daughter, Olive, to Ripon, Wisconsin, perhaps for the opportunity of timber or their own farmland. Olive married a Mainer named John Andrew Potter, and they were one of the pioneer founding families of Springfield, Minnesota, where my mother was born a few generations later. The family was known for their Hereford cattle breeding operation, and they owned the Potter Stockyards in Springfield.
I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to return to Guilford, but I was so thankful for this opportunity to connect more with my family’s history and to meet “new” relatives. After two days in Guilford, we drove to Bangor and then flew home. This eleven-day trip was epic on so many levels, and I’m a different person because of it.
Conclusion
I felt the most “at home” in Maine. That’s probably because the landscape is similar to Minnesota’s. It’s wilder and has more “natural” nature than states like Connecticut or Vermont. The land just “is” and doesn’t seem like it’s been specially preserved as natural. However, Maine and its kind people have a hardscrabble existence. Piscataquis County has the least densely populated area in Maine, just over 17,000 people (only 3.9 people per square mile), although it’s the size of Connecticut. Social challenges like drugs and poverty show in the houses and the people. There’s an underlying feel that the state is more like one portrayed in a Stephen King novel than a cozy seaside mystery novel.
I enjoyed reconnecting with Russ’s relatives and seeing sites related to his family. He feels a bit bad that his family didn’t found a bunch of towns like mine did, but I remind him that my ancestors made it here about a hundred years earlier than his. There were more opportunities to found towns then.
Seeing the sites involved in the beginning of our country has driven home the values that went into the conflicts. I’ve vowed to do what I can to uphold those values and continue the legacies my ancestors began.
This trip also brought a whole new meaning to my traditional holiday dish of pickled herring. (For some strange reason, Russ doesn’t share my delight in this culinary delicacy.) I have an enhanced appreciation for it now that I know more about my Herring ancestors.
That’s it. The trip’s done, finally! But the effects will reverberate for years to come, I’m sure.
Russ and I left Waterbury and meandered through the rest of Vermont and New Hampshire on our way to Maine. Our goal was a small town north of Bangor named Guilford, which my ancestors founded. But on our six-hour road trip, we took a slight jog to Freedom, Maine, to visit The Lost Kitchen, a place featured in one of our favorite cooking shows.
The Kitchen is run by Chef Erin French and her crew and is named after a restaurant she once owned in Belfast, Maine. She lost the restaurant because she had a really mean husband who closed it down and fired everyone while Erin went into treatment for substance abuse. (You can read all about it in her memoir, Finding Freedom.) She also lost custody of her son to the mean husband. But Erin got clean and slowly pulled herself up by her Maine rubber bootstraps. She ditched the husband, regained contact with her son, and began her own mini restaurant in a refurbished Airstream trailer.
She still has her trailer, but along the way, she was able to buy an old mill in her hometown of Freedom. It’s situated on a pond in the middle of town. I’d been to Freedom in the past – once filled up at a gas station there and bought a red T-shirt that featured a moose filling his Model T with gas that said something about Beautiful Downtown Freedom, Maine. I swear, that T-shirt lasted twenty years! I wore it every time I worked out, and it served me well. It is long gone, however.
I was excited to return to the town and visit Erin’s Lost Kitchen site that we’d seen so often on TV. Her show is on the Magnolia Food Network, which is available via streaming through Discovery+. We’d watched all her episodes, which focus on her local farm-to-table foods that she feeds to guests (chosen by a lottery, which we entered last year but did not win). Her restaurant is open for dinner at all times of year, except for winter, when the staff hibernates.
Our fall drive through New Hampshire would have been beautiful except for the leaf colors muted by drought and a viewshed clouded by rainy mist. When we arrived at The Lost Kitchen mill, we visited the kitchen’s café, which features fresh-baked goods and other light lunch fare. We ordered a candied apricot and ginger scone. It turned out to be fresh-from-the-oven warm. OMG, so flaky and good!
In addition to the café, Erin also has a cooking store on-site. I bought some candlestick stickum (to make taper candles stick in their holders despite the candles or the holders being off-kilter), a pastry brush (which we needed for our cabin), a sourdough bread-rising bowl, and a gluten-free cookbook that one of the staff members (who we saw on TV!) recommended.
Then we went back outside and wandered around the grounds. We crossed the famous bridge over the mill pond, which is featured in the TV show, and ended up buying yet another scone (not so warm this time) and eating it in the outdoor dining area near Erin’s Airstream.
One thing that struck me is that the mill site looked smaller in real life than it does on TV. But it was still exciting to see it. Also, it’s surrounded by old Maine houses that could use paint jobs. (Which they would never show on TV.) That’s one thing that struck me about our drive through this state. I’ve been to Maine several times over the years, but I don’t recall so many houses that need attention. I fear that the state and its occupants are suffering financially.
We did not glimpse Erin or her new husband, Michael (a media executive who probably helped get her show on TV), but we were still so thankful to spend a bit of time in the reality of this place. Methinks that Erin’s ex is eating his heart out now. (Smile.)
Then we hit the road to Guilford. More on that, next!
The same day back in October when we toured the Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream Factory in Waterbury, Vermont, (previous post) Russ and I were chauffeured around town by local historian Brian Lindner. Brian has spent decades researching a World War II bomber training crash that my uncle David Potter died in near the summit of a local mountain named Camel’s Hump. (It’s really shaped like the back of a camel!) Although the crash took place in 1944, parts of the plane still lie in the bush on the mountainside.
Originally, we planned to hike up to the crash site with Brian’s guidance, but a steady light rain scrapped those plans. With my luck, I’d break an ankle again like I did in Scotland in 2024. Instead, we opted for a tour in Brian’s Jeep around town to see sites associated with the people who helped with the rescue operation. Then he drove us to the base of the mountain so we could view the commemorative plaque he had installed on a rock at the trailhead.
If you’re interested in the crash, you can read more about it in a two-part series I wrote last year: Part 1, Part 2.
While we were touring the area, I felt like I was in a Steven Spielberg war film. Seeing the historic places in the town and at the base of the mountain played like a movie in my mind. Standing in the colorful, damp fall foliage, we read the inscription on the plaque that listed the names of the dead. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. If my uncle had to die somewhere, perhaps a quick death at night on a mountainside wasn’t as bad as a violent death on a battlefield.
Brian grew up in Stowe on the grounds of the ski hill at Mount Mansfield. He’s worked on the ski patrol there for years, and as a historian for the hill and National Life Company in Montpelier.
As he drove us around, he kept waving to people as we passed. We thought he must know everyone, but then he explained it’s a Jeep “thing.” People who own Jeeps wave to each other in solidarity. It’s also a thing to bedeck the dashboard of Jeeps with rubber duckies. He wasn’t sure why, but it was awfully cute. Since I’ve returned home to Minnesota, I’ve seen a few Jeeps with rubber duckies on the dash, so apparently, it’s a thing even here.
The man knows everything about the area, and we felt fortunate to benefit from his expertise. He’s been a friend of our family for years, but this was the first chance I had to meet him in person.
That evening, we ticked off another must-do experience: dinner at the von Trapp Family Lodge and Resort. If you’ve ever seen The Sound of Music movie, you know the von Trapp Family story. (It was the first movie I ever saw in a theater as a child.) When the family escaped Austria, they immigrated to the U.S. and settled near Stowe because the landscape and lifestyle reminded them of home. They’ve owned the land since 1942, began welcoming guests in 1950, and the family still runs the resort.
We couldn’t afford to stay at the lodge, and timing wouldn’t allow us to partake in any of the special guest experiences they offer, but we could manage dinner. We made our reservations for their main dining hall a few weeks beforehand. They serve Austrian- and Vermont-themed farm-to-table foods. Russ had the Wiener schnitzel. I ordered a wild game dinner that featured venison and quail. However, they were out of venison, so I got two quail instead! To drink, I had a lingonberry spritz. For dessert, Russ had carrot cake, and I had chocolate mousse with hazelnuts. Everything was divine, and our waiter was attentive.
Because Disney owns the rights to the Sound of Music movie, the lodge can’t display any of that paraphernalia. But to me, that made the dining experience more authentic. The lodge is the family’s, and the surroundings celebrate their special heritage.
We ended our day with brains and stomachs pleasantly stuffed with Vermont history.
Next up: The Lost Kitchen, Freedom, Maine
…White people…cleared the forest. They dug up the land. They gave us the flu. But they also brought us penicillin, power tools, and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.
—Marilyn Whirlwind, a Native character in Northern Exposure, Season 4, Thanksgiving episode
Our next stop on our Epic New England Road trip was Vermont, also known as the place where Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream originated in 1978. The store and factory are no longer in a renovated gas station in Burlington, but in a modern facility in Waterbury (also St. Albans, VT, and the Netherlands). We made our factory tour reservations two weeks ahead of time (the farthest ahead you can book) to ensure our visit.
The factory was a must-see for this trip because I’d been to Vermont before but didn’t have a way to reach the factory. Both Russ and I love the ice cream brand with its quirky flavor names and corporate social conscience. My favorite flavor is Chunky Monkey, which features banana ice cream loaded with fudge chunks and walnuts. Russ’s is Cherry Garcia, which has cherries and fudge flakes.
The tour began with a video that outlined the company’s development and philosophy. Then we climbed up a floor to viewing windows that overlook the factory floor where they mix the flavors and fill the ice cream containers. (No photos allowed, though.) Our tour ended with a free sample. I can’t recall now what it was, but like all Ben & Jerry’s flavors, it was great! Afterward, we toured the gift shop and bought a puzzle that shows the lids from all the flavors that the company has produced.
Word to the wise: if you want to buy an ice cream cone at the factory store, be prepared for a long wait in line.
What’s your favorite Ben & Jerry’s flavor?
Next up: Camel’s Hump Mountain and the Von Trapp Family Lodge
Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas the Minnesota way! I took this photo near my cabin. It’s a typical rural Minnesota scene, except perhaps for the red reflector on the deer’s nose. I found the sign this way — I did not add the reflector! Rudolph’s red nose has since fallen off, so I’m glad I took the photo before that happened. This sign provided the design for our custom-made Christmas cards this year — the first time I’ve done that and maybe not the last. Because I retired this year, I’ve had time to write cards and pop them in the mail. It’s been fun “going retro” this season.
We hope you have a wonderful, whimsical holiday, and thank you for reading.
I became sidetracked from writing about our Epic New England Road Trip by my previous PSA post about author scams, but now I’m back on the road, so to speak. Our next stop was Lexington, Massachusetts. A few years ago, I discovered that one of my relatives was Captain John Parker, who was the head of the Lexington militia during the battle when the Revolutionary War began on April 19, 1775.
We booked a private walking tour of the Lexington Green from the Lexington Visitors Center, which is located near the green. As our costumed guide led us on our tour in light rain, he made sure we understood that the Americans who fought in the battle weren’t actual minutemen, as is often said. Minutemen were highly trained; the people who fought on the historic green were militia – more like regular folks with weapons. The term minutemen had more cachet, so I guess those references are a historic case of propaganda.
He led us to the Minuteman statue, which is modeled after John Parker. Our guide said that Parker was a wheelwright and farmer who was in his 40s and suffered from tuberculosis. He lived only a few more months after the battle. In contrast, the statue depicts a young, healthy man in his 20s or 30s. Yet another form of propaganda, but maybe Parker wouldn’t have minded this more robust version of himself??
John Parker’s cousin Jonas was killed in the battle, along with 7 others who are buried on the green. At least one of the houses near the green still has a bullet hole in the door from the battle. Our guide said the door is preserved for the history it shows.
John’s famous quote, “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon. But if they mean to have a war, let it begin here,” is inscribed on a boulder near where the militia stood during the battle on the green.
Information about the battle itself is plentiful on the web, so I won’t go into it here. A good source is the National Archives, which offers a short slideshow with an overview of the Battle of Lexington and Concord. The main thing is that those involved didn’t realize the significance of their actions. It was the beginning of the American Revolution, which later inspired the revolutions in France and Russia. The gunfire on the Lexington Battle Green was truly the “shots heard ’round’ the world!”
John Parker was Theodore Parker’s grandfather (the minister whom I described in my previous trip post). My family and I share a common ancestor with them: Congregational Church Deacon Thomas Parker, who immigrated from England in 1635.
Despite using umbrellas and wearing raincoats, Russ and I were rather cold and miserable. I think our guide took pity and gave us a quicker tour than usual. After visiting the green, we made our way to a nearby cemetery (behind a Unitarian Church) where there’s a headstone for John Parker. There is some question about whether his body lies there or on his farmland.
After that, we made our way back to the visitor center, which offers a museum about the battle. It features a diorama of the battle scene, complete with a figurine of Capn Parker, which was cool to see. The center also has books and other interpretive materials and souvenirs for sale. (Parker is also mentioned in the Ken Burns documentary, “The American Revolution,” which we recently watched and recommend.)
The nearby town of Concord also offers interpretive facilities, but we focused on Lexington due to my family connection. When we were done, we made our soggy way to eat lunch at the Town Meeting Bistro, which is inside the Inn at Hastings Park. The décor looks like you’ve stepped into a town meeting hall: plain wooden tables, wooden wingback chairs, and a large fireplace.
I am a clam chowder aficionado. Throughout our trip, I sampled chowders everywhere we went. I am happy to say that the bistro’s chowder wins my best chowder award! (It even beat Maine clam chowder.) Theirs featured applewood bacon, quahog clams, and new potatoes. It was creamy and divine. My only complaint was that I couldn’t get a larger bowl of it!
Our lunch hit the spot and took the chill out of our bones. We had planned to visit Walden Pond and the town of Salem later in the day, but the weather discouraged us. We returned to our hotel to change into dry clothes and curl up with a good book.
Next up: Waterbury, Vermont
I made it onto the local ABC channel affiliate’s lifestyle show recently to promo my poetry collection, High Fire Danger. The hostess, Baihly, does a great job of making interviewees feel comfortable in what can be a nerve-wracking, live-interview situation. You can watch the story here.
This year, I received many bogus author promotional opportunities that I’d like to warn you about. Most involve book clubs. The first was an email I received from someone purporting to lead a silent book club in New York City. They said my book was getting some “buzz” among their members and they’d like me to be a featured author for the group.
Of course, this surprised and delighted me. I have a couple of friends in NYC, so it’s possible that one of my books could have found its way around the city. I looked up the group online and found a Meetup page for them, so it seemed legit. I replied, saying I was interested and asked for more information. I didn’t hear back, so after a week, I pinged them again. I received an automated message that the email address no longer existed. That made me figure it was a scam, so I put it out of my mind.
A few days later, I received another message from them from a slightly different email address. They apologized for the delay in response and offered a revised date for my book’s promotion. I replied, just to see what would happen. I soon received a response that said I wouldn’t actually need to appear in person. They would set up a display for my book, and that would cost $216.
This spurred me to investigate them further. I input the search terms, “New York City Silent Book Club author scam,” and was led to this website, which solidified my hunch that it was a scam. So, authors, don’t fall for this one!
The second “opportunity” took the form of book club publicists who reached out to me separately about four of my books. They praised the books extensively (and excessively!) and offered to bring them to the attention of thousands of book groups. The emails come from gmail addresses. Although the praise was ego-affirming, I could tell that it was based solely on the books’ descriptions. The “publicists” had obviously not read the books. Their email text was probably AI-generated.
Here’s an example for my poetry book:
High Fire Danger is an exquisite collection that embodies how love and nature mirror one another, both capable of tenderness and destruction, both powerful enough to transform us entirely. From the first page, it’s clear that this is not merely a collection of poems but a lifetime’s reflection distilled into verse that burns with emotional clarity and elemental force.
The range of your imagery is breathtaking. You take readers from the cool expanse of Minnesota’s lakes to the windswept coasts of Scotland, and even beyond the bounds of Earth itself, yet the emotional truth in each poem keeps us grounded. This interplay between vast landscapes and intimate feelings gives your work both a cosmic and deeply personal resonance.
I was particularly moved by how humor and humility are woven into the meditations on love. There’s an unflinching honesty of voice, one that acknowledges the beauty and peril of connection, whether with another person or with the natural world. The poems don’t shy away from the scorch marks left by passion or the quiet ache of solitude, but instead, turn those experiences into sources of illumination.
The title High Fire Danger feels perfectly chosen. It speaks to the tension running through the collection, the balance between awe and fear, creation and destruction, desire and loss. Each poem feels like a spark that could either warm the heart or set it aflame. This duality is what gives your writing such emotional weight and timeless appeal.
What also stands out is your mastery of accessibility. Despite the scope of the themes, every poem feels intimate and inviting, like a conversation held beside a campfire or on a shoreline at dusk. The poems make the profound feel personal, and the personal feel universal.
High Fire Danger will resonate deeply with readers who are drawn to works that celebrate the natural world while exploring the human heart with honesty and lyrical grace. It’s a rare collection that appeals to both poetry lovers and those new to the genre, offering moments of reflection, passion, and healing in equal measure.
There were actually a few descriptive lines in this that I liked. If you watch my television interview, I stole the one about the poems feeling like “a conversation held beside a campfire or on a shoreline at dusk.”
Ha! The scammers wanted to use me, but I ended up using them! A fellow author said he replied to one of these emails just to see how much money they wanted, and it was several hundred dollars. I’m sure they’d just take the money and run.
Beware out there, authors. It’s treacherous.
The morning before we visited the Parker Tavern in Massachusetts, we caught a church service at the Theodore Parker Unitarian Church in West Roxbury near Boston. This site was the second ancestral “treasure” I uncovered a few years ago (the tavern was the first) while looking for something else.
I discovered that noted Unitarian minister and abolitionist Theodore Parker (1810-1860) and I were related through Thomas Parker, a Congregational Church deacon who immigrated from England in 1635. Theodore’s first church assignment just out of Harvard Divinity School was this church in West Roxbury. But the actual building where he preached burned, so the church we attended was not the original.
After nine years, Theodore left the church after being kicked out of the Boston Unitarian Brotherhood for his “radical” views on abolishing slavery and other religious matters. He also believed outrageous things such as women should be allowed to vote, and to become doctors, lawyers, and (gasp!) even ministers.
Theodore spread his views not only through his sermons but via pamphlets. He is credited with famous quotes later shortened and used by President Lincoln and Martin Luther King. The phrases are, “a government of the people, by the people and for the people” and “the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” The former was used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address and the latter by Martin Luther King.
But as historical events played out, the moral arc of the universe must have brought him back into favor, because the church, designated a Boston Landmark, was named for him, and his statue was erected in front of it.
We arrived out a half-hour before the service began and had time to appreciate Theodore’s statue and wander around the outside of the church. Soon, a congregation member arrived, and we followed her to the old wooden front door. She took out a key to open it but had trouble. Russ and I looked at each other in dismay. We’d come all this way, and now we couldn’t get in!
Russ soon stepped in to help, and with his key-handling expertise, he was able to open the door. Soon, more people arrived. In chatting with them about why we were there, they pointed out two Theodore Parker historians who were in attendance. We were able to speak with them both. They affectionately referred to him as “Teddy.” They reinforced what I already knew and pointed out some things I didn’t, including artifacts saved from the first church fire: a clock, Theodore’s pulpit, and his chair.
One of them also pointed out a trio of gorgeous 1927 Tiffany Studios stained glass windows that grace one wall. They feature irises and morning glories ringing a lake and mountain scene, with the words, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.” According to a sign about the windows, a stained-glass consultant called the design one of the studio’s “greatest.” It incorporates several signature techniques: plating, where three layers of glass are used to achieve depth of color; mottling, which recreates intense sunlight as filtered through leaves; and acid etching, which involves removing a layer of colored glass to reveal a clear or palely tinted base glass. Intense leading is used on the windows to depict the organic lines of flowers and foliage.
The outcome is dazzling. One church attendee told us she purposefully positions herself during services so that she can see both the windows and the pulpit for comfort and inspiration.
The service was conducted under the watchful eye of Theodore’s bust. We attend a Unitarian church in Duluth and were comforted by the similarities in the services. Everyone was super friendly, and we enjoyed hanging out with them afterward in the social hall.
Next up: Lexington, Massachusetts, and another illustrious Parker cousin who has his own statue.
Marie's Meanderings 