Sea Time

I recently had an amazing opportunity to be a “Distinguished Visitor,” or “DV” as we were called, aboard the USS Bush (CVN 77) last week with a group of environmental professionals. We were invited to take part in a tour of the Navy’s environmental practices at sea. While I had been on the USS Reagan, while it was in port in San Diego, this would be my first time aboard a carrier at sea. I was excited, as I had heard much about Chad’s trip on the USS Stennis, several years ago and, in particular, about the flight out there on a COD (Carrier Onboard Delivery) and the harrowing “shoulder roll” it did as it dropped down to land on the ship; the joy of “sleeping” under the flight deck; and being catapulted off the ship upon departure. The USS Bush is the newest carrier and the last of the Nimitz class carriers. Construction began in 2003 and when it was launched in 2006 much of the interior was still under construction (in fact, parts of it are still being finished). Although it is the newest carrier in the Navy, its technology is already out of date, and it hasn’t even been out on deployment yet. They are already working on the USS Ford, and its technology will likely be out of date by its completion as well. To give you a sense of scale, the USS Bush stands 20 stories above the waterline, is 1092 feet long, can go 30 knots (though you can hardly feel it) and carries 6,000 people (the population of the average American city, according to one of our guides).


We started our journey at the Hampton Inn, just outside of the Norfolk Naval base, where we were met by representatives of N45, the Navy’s Environmental Readiness Unit, the organizers of our trip. After introductions, we were whisked off to LP1 (landing pad) on the base and then given a safety briefing on our COD flight, which included the issuance of a set of earplugs, cranials and a horsecollar. The cranials would go on and off at least a dozen times throughout our visit and were marked with “DV” just in case everyone didn’t already know we were visitors. Our flight out was very smooth, though quite loud (hence the earplugs and the cranials), and there was no infamous “shoulder roll” upon landing. Maybe it was the new 8-bladed propellers aboard our colorfully painted aircraft. Upon landing, we were greeted by the flight crew and escorted to the George HW Bush meeting room, which was decorated with old pictures of the Bush family, including a couple I recognized from Kennebunkport. It was stunning to see young George HW and Barbara and also little George W. The CO (Commanding Officer) of the ship introduced himself and gave us a briefing on what they had planned for us during our stay aboard. We also met the PAO (Public Affairs Officer) and our escorts. Our afternoon was filled with tours of every part of the ship, taking us up and down many ladders, through hatches, and up and down passageways every which way (blocking them with our dozen or so crew) such that we were grateful for the numerical and alphabetical grid coding marking our three dimensional position on the ship. We were escorted everywhere, which I think had less to do with security than it did with the fact that we would have most certainly gotten lost otherwise.

On the flight deck, we watched flight ops (operations) where F18 Super Hornets, CODs and E2Cs (these look like a COD with a satellite dish on top and are a type of spy plane) practice being catapulted off the ship upon take-off and then “catching the wire” upon landing.

The USS Bush carries up to 80 or so aircraft aboard. Up in the flight tower, we watched the amazing coordination between the different members of the flight crew both there and on deck, each dressed in a different color to mark their job (brown for maintenance, purple for fuel, and so on). We also visited the “Ready Room” right below the flight deck (a fact which you were not likely to forget) for the airwing that was currently on board, VFA-31, also known as the “Tomcatters”. We met a few of the pilots and learned that the Tomcatters have been around since 1935 and are one of the oldest flight commands in the Navy. We learned about the Super Hornets they were flying, which have only been around since 2000. They are 60’ long with a 45’ wing span (part of which is collapsible for storage in the hangar) go up to 1.8M, and carry 10,000 lbs of fuel. These are single seat planes, unlike the co-piloted F14s made famous in Top Gun, and the next generation of fighter planes is likely to be unmanned. We were then shown to our staterooms - I got the VP Suite (not as luxurious as it sounds), which I shared with a woman from the EPA. We had about five minutes to get settled before being escorted to dinner. A table was set for us in the Ward room where several officers joined us and we were served with military precision by an impressive staff. I was fortunate enough to sit next to the ship’s XO (Executive Officer) who was quite congenial and interested in my impressions of the ship’s operations. He presented us each with a coin from the USS Bush to take with us – it is a Navy tradition to collect these.

We had a full schedule after dinner, beginning with presentations by a Naval Oceanographer from Fleet Forces in Norfolk and by the Deputy Director of N45, describing the Navy’s consideration of marine mammals in its use of sonar and outlining the most pressing environmental priorities of the Navy, most of which focused on efficiency and energy reduction. Luckily, there was coffee provided, as well as the ubiquitous cookies (which there seemed to be plates of in every meeting room - we heard several people joke of a “5 cookie day” referring to a day with 5 meetings), because our night was still young. From there, we toured the on-board waste disposal facilities from the hazardous waste area to the compressor that turns hundreds of plastic bottles into a single giant hockey puck and the metal shredder that makes short work of aluminum cans. We were also taken down to see one of the ship’s four “screws” at the very bottom of the ship. The ship is powered by nuclear reactors (which can apparently operate for more than 20 years without refueling) which produce steam, which in turn powers the ship. Needless to say, it was quite toasty down in the bowels of the ship around the propeller shafts, which are some 40 feet long. Finally, we watched night flight ops from the vulture’s walk, outside above the flight deck, and then went up to the top of the flight tower to meet the “Air Boss” and “Mini-Boss” who run the operations. Despite the excitement of watching night flight ops, I felt myself beginning to sway with tiredness, as it was now approaching 1130pm. Finally, we were escorted back to our state rooms and, after a quick “military shower,” I headed for a peaceful night’s “sleep” right below the flight deck. I was actually grateful that they kept us up so late, as I was so tired that I actually did fall asleep (helped along by the handy earplugs).

At 5am in the morning, we got a knock on the door from one of our escorts telling us to get ourselves up and ready for a 6am breakfast followed by a helo (helicopter) ride out to the DDG Gonzalez, a Destroyer that was nearby. En route, we were able to see both the Bush and the Gonzalez clearly from the air. Once aboard the Gonzalez, we were greeted by the CO, one of the few female COs of a Destroyer. We learned that the Gonzalez was about to deploy to West Africa on an anti-piracy mission. We also learned about UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles), which are remote-controlled helicopters equipped with video cameras that feed live video back to the ship and used to detect enemy ships. The CO also presented with a USS Gonzalez coin to add to our collection. Much of our time on the ship was spent learning about the Navy’s practices regarding marine mammals. We saw a marine mammal drill where the captain reduced the ship’s sonar strength in response to the siting of a marine mammal. They have some pretty handy tools for identification and for knowing the required practices for operations in various areas depending on the local marine mammal populations and their endangered status. One of the neatest parts of the trip was going down into the sonar room. This was the only part of our tour where we weren’t allowed to take any pictures. You really had the sense that this was where it all happened – myriad screens with displays in green and yellow and a line-up of sailors with headsets and microphones communicating positions to each other. Apparently, unlike in the old days of Russian nuclear subs, today, most of the enemy subs are diesel-electric and are small and very quiet, making them very difficult to detect. Whereas the bigger nuclear subs were detectible with passive sonar (basically just amplified listening) these new types require active sonar (sending out a signal) and this is what can cause impact to marine mammals. In accordance, the Navy has a very strict protocol to “step down” the sonar in the known presence of a mammal.

We returned to the USS Bush via the helicopter for lunch and a handful of remaining ship tours.

These included the anchor room (each link weighs 365 lbs!), which is typically used for many ceremonial functions, but today was being used for choir and band practice - as ships are not known for sound absorbent surfaces, it was nearly impossible to hear our tour guides with the music. Then, we saw the flight hangars, which double as the onboard gym and are filled with treadmills and stationary bicycles; then to the medical ward, where we saw the onboard operating room; then, to the enlisted berthing, where bunks were stacked three high and it was hard to imagine not clocking your head every time you got in and out. We also got to tour the galley, full of giant cooking cauldrons and the food storage area (though I wasn’t impressed with the amount of processed cheese and canned meat products, the level of organization was certainly impressive – the ship can carry supplies for 90 days at sea). We also got a tour of the media department, which produced all of the snazzy folders and information sheets we received as a part of our tour. And, we visited the ship store where we were able to purchase USS Bush paraphernalia for friends and family. Finally, we got a brief peek at the sunshine when we were invited to partake in a “Fob” (foreign object), walk on the flight deck. Every day, everyone aboard walks slowly across the deck in silence, save the rock music blaring over the loudspeaker, to check for every tiny piece of debris that might be on the flight deck and could pose a safety hazard to the planes. They also call this operation the “Skittle parade” because of all the different crews on the flight deck, each in their different colored turtlenecks.

We ended our tour in the Bush tribute room, where I was impressed to learn that George HW Bush was the youngest aviator in the Navy at age 18. His plane was shot down in Chichi Jima, Japan in WWII, but not before he completed the bombing mission. For his bravery, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. After four hours in a life raft, he was rescued by an American rescue submarine and all of this was remarkably captured on video. We returned to the Bush meeting room for a farewell from the CO where he presented each of us with a personalized set of souvenirs and asked if I would be a volunteer to show what we would received. We each were given a photo book ending with a picture of us sitting in the captain’s chair in the flight tower, which one of the ship’s media crew had taken the night before. We also received a certificate declaring us each an “Honorary Tailhooker,” having “experienced deceleration from 105 to 0 mph in two seconds and acceleration from 0 to 128 mph in three seconds” on board our C-2 Greyhound COD (something we were about to experience). I was honored to be personally presented with my certificate by the CO, who shook my hand as he read it aloud. Back on with the cranials and horsecollars, we said many thank yous and marched out to the COD. The catapult was quite an experience, like being lurched forward and frozen there for what seemed like minutes, though I know it was a matter of seconds. The flight crew has a little fun with the whole operation and just before you are slingshotted off the carrier, they yell “Here we go!” and flail their arms in the air. Partway through the flight, they invited anyone interested to ride in the cockpit, which I jumped at. The pilots were very friendly, but I quickly found out that my microphone didn’t work so we had to resort to a sign language. A short ride later, our crew arrived back at LP1 and went our separate ways, all looking forward to a good night’s rest after quite a busy trip.

After the whole experience, there were a few things that made big impressions on me: the professionalism of all the personnel we encountered and their ability to communicate what their jobs were(which was often quite complex) to an audience unfamiliar with military operations; how candid the Navy representatives were about their mission, which is military, not environmental, though they try to have the best possible environmental practices they can without impeding their operations; and how much I miss the camaraderie of the Navy and the variety of interesting people we encountered from all backgrounds and experiences during our time involved. All in all, it was a once in a lifetime experience.

Vernalized

You know you’re in a good place when you are greeted with samples of mango and banana rum at the airport and you see a sea turtle from the ferry. We had never been to St. John and didn’t really know what to expect, but it turned out to be a tailor-made Chad and Sooz vacation spot. And, we were amply vernalized by the long winter in Maine, ready to spring forth into the soft warm tropical air upon first opportunity. For five glorious days, we repeated the same schedule: pack a backpack (snorkels, books, sunscreen, picnic supplies, camera), hike for a few hours to a good snorkel spot, snorkel, picnic on the beach, hike back, read on the porch of our cabin with a creatively concocted rum drink, cook something on the Coleman stove to enjoy on the porch while watching the colors fade, and maybe have another swim before heading to sleep (although that required a descent of over 100 steps down to the beach and back up as well).

Back to day 1 – we arrived at Maho Bay campground, which is an eco-resort on the north side of the island that was built on a series of elevated pathways to minimize the impact on the forest floor, giving it a Swiss Family Robinson feel. These pathways connect simple canvas-sided tent cabins that all share common bathhouses and a central pavilion which has a small store and a restaurant with nightly entertainment. The utopian aspect is enhanced by the fact that you can sign up for activities ranging from yoga to glass blowing to snorkel tours.

On the first day, we arrived in time for an evening snorkel at Little Maho Bay (at the base of the aforementioned many steps), sighting in a matter of an hour or so, a giant school of silvery Jacks, tube worms of all sizes and colors, an assortment of whimsically shaped corals and sponges, noisily munching parrot fish, a giant eel, and even an octopus! That night, we tried out the pavilion restaurant and were sadly disappointed by limp vegetables and four sad, overcooked mussels, hence the routine of campstove-cookery which we followed for the remainder of our stay. That night, we fell asleep to the chirping of tree frogs and gentle, and moist breezes blowing across out hardened, dry winter bodies. The morning’s soundtrack was a chorus of songbirds with a background of passing dappled showers. After breakfast of toast toasted in a pan on our campstove and real drip coffee through a makeshift cone attached to a measuring cup, we packed the daily backpack and headed out for the ruins of the Anaberg sugar plantation. Our list of wildlife grew with sightings of two deer and a mongoose along the trail before reaching cliff-side Frangipani trees filled with munching caterpillars. The sugar plantation was one of 25 or so on the island in the late 1700s, run by Dutch settlers with labor provided by African slaves, which produced molasses and rum. There is an impressive windmill on the plantation that was used to mash the cane and can be seen from much of the island. With the end of slavery in 1848 on the island and the refining of sugar beets rather than cane in other parts of the world, the sugar industry collapsed. There was a brief period of cattle ranching afterwards, leading to the further removal of nearly all the first growth forest on the island. In 1917, the US purchased the island from Denmark to prevent takeover by the Germans in WWI. Then, in 1956, Rockefeller purchased most of the island and turned it over to the US Parks Department so that it could be preserved.

There you have the brief history of St. John. Following the advice of a very helpful guide at the plantation, we walked up the path to the ruins of a villa of a former sugar baron named Murphy, passing donkeys on the trail. Yet another cliffside tree poked through the crumbling walls of the villa, with a pair of kestrels framed against the pale blue waters of Leinster Bay below. We trekked on to Brown Bay, where we encountered a stiff breeze, but found a sheltered stretch along the rocks to snorkel and saw our first sea turtle while in the water. Creeping conchs, listless sea cucumbers, and hidden flounders dotted the sandy sea floor. On our hike back, we added soldier crabs skittering around a fallen termite next to the wildlife tally, their crackling sounds giving them away despite the stolen snail shells they wore as disguises. We fit in one more snorkel of the day at big Maho Bay, which led Chad to remark, “Every part of the reef is like a little miracle.” Finally, a hummingbird greeted us upon our return on the walkway back to our cabin.

The next morning, we were greeted by a large iguana silhouetted in the tree in front of our porch. He was not at all phased by us and made himself a part of the view during our leisurely breakfast. That morning, our hike took us to Waterlemon Cay, which we learned was not Watermelon Cay. And, on the way, we saw giant iguana/dragon #2 of the day, rustling about on the forest floor. We snorkeled around the Cay and saw another amazing array of fish and reef critters, including a stingray with a remora tagging along for the ride and a brightly spotted eel hidden in a large coral head. We returned to the Anaberg ruins in time for lunch so that we could sample the “dumb bread” produced in the cook shack for the site’s work crew and available for the tourists to sample. It is a simple doughnut-like bread with coconut and powdered sugar on top and was delicious. We returned via Francis Bay for another snorkel, where we saw our first big leatherback turtle with two remora in tow and also a baby turtle munching eelgrass, as well as a lobster, a brittle star, a giant rainbow parrotfish floating above orange coral cups, a blue iridescent spotted flounder, pipe fish bobbing up and down next to purple gorgonians with flamingo tongue shellfish attached, a giant puffer fish, boxfish, and a five foot barracuda. We took it all in once back at Maho Bay while sipping Cruzan rum and Cokes from the deck and cooking burgers on the trusty camping stove. We attended an evening lecture at the pavilion on the ecology of the reefs in the area and then headed down the many stairs for an evening swim, marveling at the lights of St. Thomas in contrast to the darkness of the vastly protected parklands of St. John.

In the wee hours that night, we heard the scuttling of soldier crabs through the cracks in the floorboards of our cabin, their constant clickings adding to the night songs of the tropics. And, for our morning wildlife sighting, we saw fish jumping nearly five feet out of the water in the bay below. We snorkeled first thing in the morning at Little Maho with two young green sea turtles, one of which let us look him right in the eye with millions of tiny silversides streaming through the water and sparkling in the morning sun. Among the other treasures were a corkscrew anemone (with little white corkscrew markings twisting up each tentacle), fingerlike soft corals and frilled gorgonians, trunkfish, puffers, featherduster worms, tangs, angelfish, wrasse, and gobies, just for a snapshot. I really wish I had pictures of these fantastic plants and animals! After snorkeling, we picked up a rental car for the last couple of days and headed to Vie’s Snack Shack on the east end of the island for recommended garlic chicken and Johnny cakes drizzled with honey, both of which were worth the trip. On the way there, we were able to see more of the island than previously covered on foot, including twisty roads with peeks of hidden rocky bays reminiscent of Sardinia – particularly the narrow, winding roads, and the goat crossings. That afternoon, we hiked out the Reef Bay Trail to another abandoned sugar mill, passing iguanas, chickens, mongoose and deer along the way and smelling the sweet scents of Bay Rum trees. We took a side trip on the Petroglyph trail to see the paintings of the Taino Indians on the rocks reflected in a small pool beneath a completely dry waterfall. These are the same native group that we saw evidence of on our trip to Puerto Rico. The reef at Reef Bay was the first we’d seen in St. John that was in poor shape – covered in sediment and plant growth with murky waters that were hard to see through while snorkeling. Even more eery through the cloudy water was a shark, which Chad claims was six feet long (though I never actually saw it). We attempted a picnic upon return, but the beach was hopping with sand fleas and hurried us on our way. We headed back to Maho Bay for our last night on the porch with ginger beer Dark and Stormies followed by a final night’s swim.

We were sent off from Maho by a chirping bananaquit on the porch amongst gently cooing doves and a brown-throated sparrow, which hopped right onto the banana peel on our breakfast table. We spent the last night of our trip at Concordia Camps, which is the sister resort to Maho Bay. We had first read about Maho Bay because the owner is currently in a battle with the land owner to maintain the lease on the land. During this battle, he bought a piece of land on the dry southern side of the island on the site of a former cotton plantation and built another resort that he wholly owns. From Concordia Camps, we hiked out to Ram’s Head for beautiful views from steeply descending cliffs, a perfect spot to see a turtle and a ray from above. The terrain was completely different and very reminiscent of San Diego and Baja, Mexico – prickly pears, tiny wildflowers and scrubby desert vegetation and spicy scents. We passed a fault line at the neck of the head, beyond which the rocks were dark and cobbly rather than the porous coral, which enhanced the different feel of this part of the island. Quite parched from the hike, we eagerly donned masks and snorkels and spent an immeasurable amount of time exploring a small islet in the middle of Salt Pond Bay, which had the brightest, most varied array of corals and critters we’d seen so far. When we finally extracted ourselves from the water, we picnicked at a shady table beneath a giant mangrove cuckoo, its spotted tail hanging down over the branch above, and a flitting hummingbird, which barely slowed long enough for us to identify it. On the way back, we crossed the neck over the salt pond to Drunk Bay to see the whimsically arranged rock/coral/coconut shell people displayed on the rocks and then poked our way along the shore to perhaps the gem of the trip – an empty beach with two chairs in the shade of a homemade shanty of sorts, branches woven together by an old fishing net, where we read for hours punctuated by dips into the water. Not knowing exactly how we’d make our way home and hoping we wouldn’t have to scramble over the rocks from whence we’d come, we happily discovered that we were just below the foot of a road that led directly back to Concordia Camps. We’d decided to splurge for our last night and get a place with actual walls and running water – a nice place to rest and clean up before our trip home. After settling in and cleaning up, we enjoyed our final rum concoction - an invented coconut milk and grapefruit soda mixture, which was very refreshing given the dry heat of the day. Our other splurge was a dinner out in Coral Bay, where we were instructed to try the Guavaberry martini (guavas have berries?) and were not disappointed.

And, finally, the last morning – we had to get in the water one more time and were not disappointed. We were bid farewell by a sea turtle, a spiny lobster, and a giant silver grouper. A quick rainshower subsided to provide a full rainbow across the bay, which we viewed upon surfacing. We then caught the ferry from Cruz Bay, wading along the shore among silver tarpon while waiting for our boat, and then headed to Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas, catching views of yachts practicing for the upcoming Rolex Regatta along the way.

And that was it – one bottle of blackstrap and one bottle of guava berry rum purchased as souvenirs, and then we were whisked back to Boston, arriving as readily identifiable tourists in flip flops and with slightly toasted skin. We returned solar charged, wondering how long we could hold onto the warmth before it ran out of juice and if it could last until it finally would get warm in Maine. At least we timed our trip so that we returned after the end of daylight savings and also after the first crocus bloomed, daffodils were opening and buds had emerged on the forsythia bushes. This spring has been quite anomalous, in fact, and has come much earlier, so we were not thrust back into the wet, chilly muck that is usually mud season in Maine – and were grateful for it. Now, we watch daily the progression of new green shoots, surprised every day by previously unknown plants in the yard, this being our first spring on Federal St. I will close with a favorite quote of my alma mater’s namesake, John Burroughs, “Nature is always new in the spring and lucky are we if it finds new also.”

On Staying Put, with Help from Eliot and Einstein

We have lived in Brunswick now for four months and it is the first place I’ve lived, since leaving 6325 Waterman Ave, where I grew up, where I haven’t rushed to put up every picture and to have each piece of furniture come to its resting place. And, it feels good. There are rugs on the floors that are mismatched in both color and size. Upstairs, there is still a completely theme-less room with an odd assemblage of a leftover desk and file cabinets from my old office, my college shipping locker, and a Nordic track (Chad’s new vehicle to carry him through the dark, icy days of New England winter). And, there are largely unpacked boxes in the basement, attic and garage (ah, the joys of extra space), and that’s okay because we are pacing ourselves. It’s as if we bought a house for our future selves and moved in early, so we aren’t in any rush because we have a couple of bonus, free years just to enjoy it. Maybe it is that the project possibilities are too numerous to tackle them all immediately, so we are prevented from trying. But, I think it has something to do with a soft, descending sense of permanency that has gently dampened the oft-frenetic move-in phase much like the thick blanket of white snow nestled around our house. For the first time in going on seven years of marriage, we have hopes of staying in one spot for longer than our current year and a half record.

I have no complaints about the number of dwellings (this is our 6th) that we have inhabited thus far, moving up and down the coast of Maine, across the country to San Diego, across the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, and back again. They have all been wonderful places to live. And, while you may think that being back in Maine in January would be a disappointment after sunny bougainvillea-filled Mediterranean climes, we actually like it better now because we learned that, while the grass really is greener there, we prefer the conifers. Also, in reality, January in San Diego is rainy and cool, and Sardinia is even more so but with the added brutal Maestrale wind.

To Eliot, as in T.S. – “We shall not cease from exploration/And the end of all our exploring/ Will be to arrive where we started/ And know the place for the first time...” (The Four Quartets). While Maine isn’t actually home to either of us individually, i.e., we are not “Mainers” and never will be since we weren’t born here, it is our home as a pair, as this is where we met. I should mention that when I say we arrived where we started, I mean that we now live a block and a half from Bowdoin, where we both went to school, a few blocks more to the parking lot where we first met, and across the street from Chad’s Senior year apartment where he wooed me with wonderful home-cooked meals and serenaded me on guitar. We walk our dog, Manny, past my freshman dorm nearly every morning and by the chapel where I played my Senior year piano concert. While this all may seem a little too familiar, there has been enough time and experience between it’s really not strange. Even Chad’s job here connects us back to our first meeting, as the company he now works for, Apogee, runs outdoor trips for students, much like those we led when we first met. Although Brunswick is obviously familiar, I now feel like I know it for the first time, as Eliot wrote, because I have a context for it.

Now, for Einstein – I say returning “home”, but, as I said, we are not Mainers at all. So, home is a relative term. And, I am writing about a sense of permanency after a mere four months in one locale, where I really have spent more like two and a half of the last four months here, as much of it has been spent traveling (including this moment, as I am currently flying over New York). So, the staying put part is relative as well. Maybe I should call it nesting, instead of staying put. Some twelve years after finding an emotional nest in each other, we’re finally establishing a physical one – a jumping off point for adventures which we hope will continue no matter how nested we get here, and a place to return to from those adventures. Nevertheless, our house already feels like home. This was particularly true after returning from holiday travels on a half cross-country road trip with my mom and Manny. There is something about returning to a new place for the first time, which makes it finally feel like home, and the slower pace of driving across helped me to notice this. Part of the reason Chad and I had driven out to St. Louis was to drive was to bring Manny with us, but the other reason was to bring my mom and a few choice family items, which have been sitting in boxes in my room for several years, back to Maine. My mom described our trip as tracing my songline from home to Maine. Songlines, the title of a book by travel writer Bruce Chatwin, are Aboriginal dreaming tracks. They are paths across the land, which mark a route which is recorded in song, such that you can navigate across the land by repeating the words of the songs. I pictured not a song, necessarily, but more of an imaginary thread which I pulled across with me as we drove east, drawing a tighter, stronger connection between my two homes.

Enhancing this connection are the many parallels between our new house and my parents’ house in St. Louis. My parents bought their house just after my dad had started a new job, and they were a little nervous about buying a big house at that stage in life, just as we bought this house just after Chad started a new job and it is a little much for us at the moment. They moved in with no furniture and tackled projects slowly over time (some which are still in progress 35+ years later), just as we did and are. There are also uncanny physical coincidences like the carpeted red staircase with a landing midway up that has a large paned glass window, and our living rooms which are nearly identical in layout and both even share a red wall. We noticed several more of these similarities when my dad visited in the fall. Although, sadly for him, we weren’t quite as nested them and didn’t yet have a bed or heat.

Having my mom visit helped me to extend previously shallow roots a little deeper and broader. Making the most of my her expertise and interest, we spent much of her visit researching the history of our house, which we’d heard had been designed by the John Calvin Stevens (1855-1940), a fairly well known architect in New England. One tidbit of interesting coincidence is that John Calvin Stevens shares the same birthday, October, 8th, as my dad, who is also an architect. After moving in, a neighbor mentioned that our house had been designed by Stevens. A little research led us to a magazine article from 1991 in the Bowdoin alumni magazine, which we tracked down at the library. The article confirmed this, but we were still skeptical, so my mom and I continued to dig. Along the way, we discovered various pieces of Brunswick, Bowdoin, and literary history. We found old pictures of our street, Federal Street, with the house where Harriet Beecher Stowe lived while writing Uncle Tom’s Cabin, those where Nathaniel Hawthorne and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived as students at Bowdoin, and others belonging to prominent Bowdoin professors. We learned that William Albion Moody, the first owner of our house, was born in 1860 in Kennebunkport, Maine, where Chad’s family has roots, and where we were married. We found a picture of him as a small boy in the online Maine historical archives (mainememory.net). He was a Bowdoin Phi Beta Kappa graduate of 1882 and then a math professor at Bowdoin for 42 years. At a cocktail party at our neighbor’s house, we met a math professor who mentioned a sign above “Buck” Moody’s office which read, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” from Dante’s Inferno. So, my mom and I went on a hunt in the basements of both Adams Hall (famed for its storage of cadavers back when it housed the medical school) and Searles, but to no avail. Moody also served as acting President of the college for six months and was the treasurer of the Brunswick Public Library Association. He apparently loved to walk the woods around Bowdoin and to canoe. Moody bought the land from the Bryants next door in 1890 and lived in the house until he died. He lived the last fifteen years alone, after his wife, Jennie L, had passed away. Apparently, he slipped on the ice on Federal Street, broke his hip, and died while in the hospital in 1947 at age 87. He left $20K to Bowdoin anonymously upon his death.

After hunting in the archives of the local historical society, the special collections at Bowdoin’s library (where Chad worked as a student), the Brunswick town hall, and the Maine History Museum in Portland, turning up no record of Moody’s commission of Stevens, we decided to hunt down the author of the article from the Bowdoin alumni magazine. We managed to find out her phone number, email, and address (and we may have even driven by her house late one chilly evening on the way home from dinner). While all of this didn’t solve the puzzle, it did provide a neat way to connect to the history up here and we learned a lot of other interesting tidbits and met interesting people along the way. And, Julia and I do have a tea date next week. . . We also accumulated quite a pile of materials – photocopies, books, old maps and photographs, and my mom teased me that, soon, word was going to get out that I was the neighborhood expert and they would start adding to my collection, which would grow and grow and take over my nice, spacious historic house (a plight she is familiar with). Oh, how I never thought I’d have any interest in historical research after being inundated by it as a child, but now I do somehow. I have the urge to search for roots here in my new home, and Brunswick is a particularly rich place to connect to. I have lately found myself researching old stories in my family as well – recording stories of my grandparents and my parents. I have realized how much there is to be learned from the past and how good it feels to connect to it. It gives me a frame to weave myself into rather than starting from scratch.

So, I am hoping that we’ll stick around here, put down a few roots and weave ourselves in; and that we'll strike out on adventures more confidently from our newly rooted home base.