Angels, not Ghosts, Reside in Bath

     Often, when I meet someone for the first time, and I tell them that I live in an antique colonial on Washington Street, they ask me if I’ve seen or felt the presence of ghosts. To which I reply, “No, I must not be spirit sensitive, but others are.” That practiced response has been known to produce a shiver, or two. But if I were to drop my guard and reveal my whole soul, a lot of doubters would become believers, and the ground beneath our feet would shake! Get ready!

     Typically, on the Fourth of July, I run a road race. I don’t run to burn calories; rather, I run to produce endorphins that help me feel less stressed. Simply stated, running makes me feel better, and on the Fourth of July I need a little extra help to feel okay. When I was in my twenties, my mother was rushed to the hospital on the Fourth of July, and she died five days later. For my family that was the saddest holiday. Since then, I have tried to keep busy on the Fourth, and I try to start the day with a long run. That be-happy plan became a way to survive this summer. In mid March, my cousin Robert told me that he had been diagnosed with lymphoma. On June 18, I was at his bedside at NYU Medical Center because it was his fifty-fourth birthday, and because we were as close as cousins could be. On a crowded oncology floor, I told him how I  loved him before he was even born, and how our lives would be forever entwined. And once again, I repeated the story of our beginning: On June 17, 1964, I was racing my bike down the street, chasing a fire engine, when I skidded on gravel and went over the handle bars. My aunt Mona, my mom’s youngest sister, lived one house down from us, and she was due to have her first baby in July, but she saw me go over the handlebars, and she started to run down the hill to rescue me. I was only seven-years-old, but I knew that a pregnant woman should not run down a hill, so I stood up and shouted, “Stop!” My aunt went into labor that evening; I prayed silently in my bed all night; my cousin was born the next morning. My brother, Michael, and I went to the hospital to see our baby cousin. We stood outside, and from the sidewalk below we spied Robert – a bundle wrapped in blue with a shock of brown hair. At that moment, I learned that love was unstoppable.

   

This July, as I prepared for Bath Heritage Days’ Five Mile Road Race, I waited for some good news from Robert’s team at NYU, but there was no good news. In fact, on July 3 there was no news at all. I woke up on race day with one purpose. I would run the race for Robert. It was hot and humid, and I was not as focused as I should be, but I started. I hydrated at mile two; I made the turn at the end of Washington; I climbed a hill and felt the stress; I saw there were only bottles of water, not cups, at the last hydrating station, so I foolishly passed it by; I climbed another hill; I started the descent, and then, severely dehydrated, I tucked and rolled at mile four. I was on my hands and knees, when Adam, the runner behind me, arrived at my side. He said, “That was the most graceful tuck and roll I have ever seen.” He didn’t tell me until later that my eyes were moving back and forth in an alarming way. (Apparently, that eye movement is a sign that the body is trying to regain its equilibrium.) Another man quickly appeared, and after a failed attempt to stand up, he offered me his Gatorade. A third man on the scene took out a cell phone and called in the emergency. He handed me the phone, and a voice on the other end offered me an ambulance, but I refused. I handed the phone back and told all my road angels that I had to finish the race. They heard my resolve because the phone disappeared. I told them all to go, but Adam refused to leave. He said he was worried about me and would like to walk with me. His wife came up behind us, and he told her to keep running. Despite my protest, Adam stayed with me. And we talked as we walked. I told him all about my cousin Robert, an amazing athlete and Manhattan advertising executive who once beat Jim Palmer (baseball pitcher and Jockey model) in golf and won a promotion because of it! And Adam told me that he and his wife were going to close on a house in Bath on July 27, which happens to be my birthday.

As we walked by my Federal-style colonial, I told him we would be neighbors, and that made him smile. In no time at all, we were at the corner of Washington and Centre, and I told him I wanted to run up the hill. He took my hand and said, “Let’s do it!” On the way up, I spotted my husband, Joe, and he took our picture. I passed a friend, and I shouted, “This is my angel! He rescued me!”I paused at the top, so Adam could pass through the chute first, and then the volunteer tore off the slip at the bottom of my number, looked at it quickly, and said, “Congratulations! You’ve won first place in your age group.” I looked at her in disbelief, and whispered, “That cannot be true.” She laughed and pointed to the trophy stand.

     

     I won a trophy on the Fourth of July, the only first-place trophy I have ever won. My left cheek was a little bruised, my arm and wrist were very bruised, and my left hip was even more bruised, but an x-ray the next day confirmed that nothing was broken. I don’t believe in coincidences. My cousin Robert woke up at NYU Medical Center the night of July Fourth and asked his wife why he was still there. He thought he had died, but God didn’t take him on July 4. In 1964, when I went over the handle bars of my bike, my Aunt Mona came to my rescue. That afternoon, 54 years ago, I received four stitches in my left cheek. Today, you can barely see the scar, but the effect of that event is still apparent. I believe in miracles, and I believe in angels, and I always will. My cousin Robert called me on Saturday, July 7. I was walking down Front Street on my way to the Farmer’s Market, and I stopped by the RiverWalk Condominiums. I knew what the call meant, so I walked closer to the water’s edge. I sat on the base of a lamp post and listened to my cousin’s steady voice. He told me his team’s lead doctor spoke to him that morning, and told him they could not get this strain. He assured Robert that he had done everything he could, but now it was time to go home. Because of his infection, they would send him to Riverview Medical Center in Red Bank, New Jersey, for hospice care. I listened. And then, borrowing from Paul’s letter to Timothy, I said, “Robert, you ran the race, you fought the fight, you kept the faith.” And I told him about the road angels on the Fourth of July. He actually laughed and said, “You use words better than anyone else in the world.” And then I laughed because I realized my cousin was trying to make me feel better.  I remembered how Aunt Mona had run down that hill in 1964 to rescue me, and how Robert was born the next day – a miracle from the start. My aunt and uncle had tried for 15 years to have a child, and without the aid of any fertility drug or medical intervention, they were blessed with a son, their one and only! And I told him our stories would forever be entwined. I also told him that Joe and I would head down to Red Bank, and we would share some of our best stories. I said, “I’m hugging you right now, Robert!” And with the voice of an angel, Robert answered, “I feel as if you’re in the room with me.”

     Joe and I had one more visit with Robert. It was priceless. We talked and reminisced, and I had the chance to meet his train buddy who had commuted with him for twenty years, and his neighbors, and some of the volunteers who coached with him at Holy Cross grammar school. A constant, loving stream of people passed through his hospice room. I had a chance to hug a lot of them, including some of the gang from the old neighborhood, from The Wonder Years. We returned to Bath on July 11, and my cousin passed away two days later.
   

     Before setting out for Robert's funeral, I went to The Mustard Seed Bookstore in downtown Bath because it is one of the most peaceful places on Earth, and I saw Susan Shipsey. I remembered she was standing in front of the shop at the end of the Road Race when they announced my name as a winner in the 61 to 69 age group – the only woman running in that age group on that HOT day! I felt compelled to tell her why I had run, and how Adam had helped me finish. I wanted to tell her the whole story – from beginning to end. Thank heaven the store was quiet, and Susan was willing and able to listen. When I told her my cousin’s funeral would be on July 17, and we would be flying from Portland to Newark because Joe and I felt too emotional to drive, she dabbed her eyes. I told her how some people see ghosts, but I see angels. And I believe angels, not ghosts, reside in Bath.

     When we returned home from my cousin’s funeral, I found a note waiting on top of a mound of mail on the rug by our front door. It was written in beautiful script, and it was signed with love from Susan Shipsey and the staff of The Mustard Seed. In my soul I know, Bath is a City of Angels, as well as a City of Ships. My cousin’s wife and daughter will be visiting soon. Love is unstoppable.

Saving an Old Kitchen the Maine Way

When my husband and I purchased an 1823 Federal-style colonial on Washington Street, I was inspired to write a blog called Bath Time Society, and to write a novel about Bath’s shipbuilding history. And if you believe love inspires art, I probably fell in love with Bath the first time I spied that antique house. In Spanish, they call that un flechazo, or love at first sight, but most love stories usually have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and my story is no exception. As time goes by, it seems only fair to reveal more of the story. Upon arriving in Bath, I immediately recognized that Maine’s City of Ships was blessed with a plethora of architectural gems, and I was lucky to visit five of them on a single day with Patty Sample Colwell, a beloved realtor.  When I stepped into the entranceway of the last house I would visit that day, a winding staircase with an elegant, harpsichord-like bannister lassoed my heart and pulled me into the kitchen. And the spell was cast! That central room, which had lots of wainscoting, an island with a butcher-block top, a large dish cabinet, and two pantries, was simply charming, and I knew Joe and I could be happy there. Spacious and bright, the Greek-revival-style kitchen was probably added in the 1850s and updated in the 1920s. The appliances were dated (the handles were held together with duck tape), the countertops were Formica, and the floor was covered with red linoleum, but the space was brimming with potential. Joe and I were not naïve. We had bought and sold more than one old home, and we knew home renovations always took more time and money than expected, but we started to think about this one particular old house a lot! In fact, our thoughts and our heart kept returning to its 1823 staircase drenched in afternoon sun. Four months later, on June 14, 2013, we closed on our historic home in Bath. And first on our to-do list was to update our kitchen without sacrificing its charm! We promised ourselves that we wouldn’t rush; we would do it right!

James Stewart's office

Now, we’re at the middle of our story. Five years have passed, and our kitchen is now stunningly beautiful and highly efficient. And thanks to the talented crew at the Kennebec Company – James, Heather, Karla, Amy, Wendy, Greg, and Les – it’s still charming! At first, I worried we might be sacrificing our kitchen’s character for new appliances and stone countertops, but the Kennebec crew convinced us that their design would blend new with old so seamlessly that it would look as if those handsome improvements had always been there! That may seem like an impossible task, but the Kennebec Company delivered exactly that, and they did it sooner than expected! How do impossible things happen? Well, my experience with renovating old homes has taught me that they happen step-by-step, and only if you gather the best people around you. Last June we started our quest for the best by attending Sagadahoc Preservation Inc.’s annual house tour. On the tour, we met James Stewart, the owner of the Kennebec Company, at a newly renovated kitchen in an antique colonial on the corner of Oak and Washington Streets, and we quickly learned that James’s company was responsible for both the design and the cabinets. We were definitely impressed with that kitchen’s glow, and our imagination took flight. Could the Kennebec Company help us to refresh our kitchen? As a realist, I doubted that James was related to Jimmy Stewart, the star of Frank Capra’s 1946 iconic drama/fantasy, It’s a Wonderful Life. But as an optimist, I secretly hoped he would someday transform my kitchen with a few good cabinet makers and lots of stardust. Later on the tour, we met Heather Krausse, one of the KC designers, at an historic home on North Bath Road, and that fortuitous meeting sealed our fate. We decided to invite Heather over to our place to “take a look.”

The Kennebec Company's showroom 

As fate and Bath would have it, Heather made several visits to our house last summer, and those planning sessions continued until early December when she presented us with detailed drawings and a scheduled starting date of February 27, 2018. From the beginning, it was easy to work with the Kennebec Company. In their amazing showroom, housed in Bath’s historic Customs House at one Front Street, we were able to touch and feel the granite, marble, slate and soapstone countertops, as well as their handsome cabinets. And I probably stopped by too often to test the pretty knobs on their doors! Heather assured me that choosing the right hardware would be one of the last decisions we would have to make, but I was still anxious about all the decisions that a kitchen update would entail. As we all know, when you’re in a candy shop, it’s hard to choose just one piece of candy. Browsing in the Kennebec Company’s showroom was a lot like being lost in a candy store! But the KC crew was willing to share their knowledge even before we committed to the project, and that helped immeasurably. We are especially grateful to Heather because she listened carefully to our deep-rooted hopes before she presented us with a plan, and we continued to tweak that plan until our project was completed on the twelfth of April – weeks ahead of schedule!

From the beginning, Joe and I had expressed our desire to preserve the sunny charm of our kitchen, but three wishes were driving us to renovate: stainless steel appliances, a white farmer’s sink, and stone countertops. A few months after we closed on our house, John Ater’s crew of painters and tradesmen had torn up the old linoleum, painted the old cabinets, sanded and refinished the floor, and updated the lighting, but now we wanted to finish the job they had started, and it would take an army of skilled people. First, Heather recommended Agren in Topsham for state-of-the-art appliances, and that was good advice. By Thanksgiving, we had a new refrigerator and a Wolf oven, and neither were put together with duck tape – the handles were perfectly attached! Heather suggested that we wait for the dishwasher until our plans were finalized, but she urged us to go with a cabinet door, and we agreed. The next step was to order that coveted farmer’s sink, and a new faucet. And then we had to decide on the best stone for the countertops. That was the hardest decision of all. But my experiences have taught me that the best way to make a good decision is to seek the advice of experts. 

Heather recommend Morningstar Tile and Stone Company in Topsham, and I followed her lead. At Morningstar, Lisa Flynn became my guiding light. Together, we looked for a stone that would compliment my kitchen colors – dove white, hollingsworth green, and wildflower. At first, I looked at the granite, but after much deliberation I decided on Fantasy Brown Marble – honed, not polished. On my quest for the right stone, I learned that each slab is unique. I had rejected Fantasy Brown on a previous scouting trip, but by the time I returned with Heather and my Benjamin Moore color wheel, three new slabs had arrived, and there was a touch of wildflower, my accent color, in each. It was a match. And when I brought Joe in the next day to confirm the decision, he said yes! He also agreed that the hand-made tile Lisa had suggested would serve as a fabulous backsplash for our stove. That day, even though I dreaded the demolition of our old kitchen, and the dusty work that would follow, I got excited about our BIG project!

Tim Mosher, our finished carpenter

You cannot start a kitchen renovation without finding a contractor you trust. For that reason, it was a blessing that the Kennebec Company introduced us to Andrukaitis and Mosher. Dave Andrukaitis and Tim Mosher kept us calm and moving forward for the whole project - four weeks and one day. Dave helped with the planning and demolition, and he installed a safe ventilation system for our new stove, and Tim was the finished carpenter. This talented duo managed to install beautiful new cabinets, a porcelain farmer’s sink, a new butcher-block counter, a deluxe oven, a quiet dishwasher, a new shelf, wainscoting, wood work, and more, in the heart of a 19^th century home. They were phenomenal problem solvers and consummate craftsmen. I would recommend them to anyone who needed a project completed with the best possible outcome. Naturally, I’m glad our kitchen re-do is done, but sometimes I miss their smiling faces, especially at lunch time! Tim had a habit of sitting on his shop-vac and wheeling around the kitchen as he ate his salad, and our dog, Penny, liked to follow him!

Morningstar's backsplash by Kevin Pontbriand 

If I didn’t sing the praises of Kevin Pontbriand, the tile guy at Morningstar, I would be remiss. I truly believe our backsplash is a work of art. Kevin’s skill with tile is worth the tile’s weight in gold! Morningstar is a forward-thinking company. Their employees have a vested interest in the business, and everyone seems to have a specialty. A crew of three Morningstar men installed our Fantasy Brown countertops, and they worked well together. I believe the youngest man was new, and the other two were mentoring him like kind-hearted professors. I liked all three of them, and would be happy to recommend them to anyone in need of a new countertop!

John Ater - the painter!

It’s only fitting that John Ater literally put the last brush stroke on our fresh, new kitchen. When Les Williams came to refit the original cabinet doors on our island with new nickel knobs and hinges (our kitchen island was only slightly modified), he noticed John’s crew had missed a spot, and John insisted on touching up that spot himself! In 2013, John was the first one we called to help us make our antique house feel like home; in 2018, he answered our call again and helped us finish our kitchen revival! There are many craftsmen (and women!) in Maine, and Joe and I believe we have met some of the best. This blogpost is my way of thanking them. XOX

Full of Maple Grace

On March 25, 2018, Mainers all over the state traveled to family-owned farms to celebrate the 35^th anniversary of Maine Maple Sunday, a.k.a. Sugar Shack Sunday, and I was one of them. My only regret is that I waited thirty-five years to make the trip! Following the good advice of several friends, my husband and I left Bath at noon and traveled 30 minutes north to the Goranson Farm in Dresden. As soon as I glimpsed the maple trees at the side of the road and the sugar shack in the distance, I felt a rush of excitement. The Goranson Farm is owned and operated by Jan Goranson and Rob Johanson. Surrounded by beautiful fields, this gem of a farm was started by Jan’s mother and father, Geneva and Everett, in the 1960s. Today, it boasts state-of-the-art greenhouses, MOFGA certified organic vegetables, berries, meats and pure Maine maple syrup. And their sugar-shack tours draw a crowd! 

After finding a coveted parking space, we walked toward the farm and passed a row of maple trees sporting maple-sap buckets. I had to stop and take a picture. Then I aimed my camera at the open field to capture a panoramic view of tractors and farm equipment parked along the horizon. I had been anticipating the flavor of hot maple donuts, but I never expected the view to taste so good! This gray Sunday was beginning to glow. When I started to move again, I noticed the group of people walking in front of me, and I was struck by how they were dressed. Some were wearing heavy coats with warm woolen hats, and others were wearing light jackets or vests. Clearly, in the finicky month of March, there is only one rule: Wear boots! How I wish I was better at following rules! I looked down at my feet. In the land of big boots, I was wearing clog-like shoes, but I wouldn’t let a beginner’s mistake ruin my fun. In that moment, I discovered the true sweetness of Sugar Shack Sunday. I stepped in a muddy puddle and laughed out loud.

The line for the Sugar-Shack tour

On this sugar-high holiday, you’re allowed to indulge in hot maple donuts, cold maple sundaes, ginger cookies, and melt-in-your-mouth maple candy. And you're allowed to jump in puddles like a child. Who invented this Maine madness? I wanted to shout "Olé!" But then the sun went in, the wind kicked up, and we spotted the long line of people waiting to enter the sugar shack. It looked like a thirty-minute wait, and I uttered two little words, “Oh, no!” As we waited, an anonymous poem danced in my head: “Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can, seldom in a woman and never in a …” Joe said, “Let’s check out this greenhouse over here.” I felt disappointed as we left the line, but it was warm in the greenhouse, and it was refreshing to see those rows of young plants looking for the sun! All that green filled us with energy. And when we stepped outside, the line was shorter. A large group had just entered the shack, so we decided to try again. But this time I was fifth in line and feeling lucky! When we entered the shack, we found ourselves directly in front of a large wood-fired boiler and a metal bucket filled with hot maple syrup.

Rob Johanson at work

The man in charge turned around and introduced himself as Rob Johanson. The twinkle in his blue eyes reminded me of Paul Newman; then his clear and steady voice called for our attention. He started to explain how to make maple syrup, and his straight-forward delivery seemed to reach everyone. As I looked around the shack, I could see that little ones as young as three and four, and older ones as old as sixty and seventy were listening with their eyes and hearts wide open. It was a magical lesson - he even talked a little about the chemistry of sugars! As a newly retired teacher, I have to applaud Farmer Rob's ability to teach! Twenty minutes melted away, and then the doors opened, and we all departed feeling full of maple grace.

Out in the crisp air, we had two choices: Wait for the draft horses to return and go on a sleigh ride, or enter a greenhouse that was filled with live music and all kinds of maple delights. We chose the latter. In the sugar shack, Rob had recommended the free maple sundaes that his family would be serving next door. He assured us we wouldn’t be disappointed! He was right! At the greenhouse, Joe’s hat caught Jan Goranson’s eye. She shouted, “Hey, where did you get that United-Farmers-Market hat?” And Joe answered, “In Belfast!” And then we went over and explained that we lived in Bath, and usually shopped at the Bath Farmers Market, but as a Maine author I sometimes sold books at the Belfast market, which was the largest indoor farmers market in Maine. We chatted for a while about Maine’s bounty. Jan told us that she and her family sold their organic veggies, berries, and meat throughout the winter at three indoor markets: Bath, Brunswick and Portland. In the summer, they add Boothbay and Damariscotta. It’s no wonder Maine is a dining destination! Farmers here produce lots of good, fresh crops, and they have been farming for generations.

Jan's grandparents started their family's farming tradition in Aroostook County; in the 1960s her parents started growing high quality potatoes in Dresden. Today, Jan and Rob, along with their sons, Carl and Goran, are producing the best organic crops possible. They are also committed to solar energy, and for five seasons they’ve been using their draft horses in the field. All of that natural goodness was evident last Sunday. Goranson Farm was so naturally good that we didn’t want to leave. To sweeten our departure, Joe wanted to take a picture of me on a tractor. That was a first, and I have the photo to prove it. For one glorious Sunday afternoon in March, I felt like I was living a farmer’s dream! 

The Goranson Farm in Dresden, Maine