. . .actually, that’s history at the boat landing.
Yesterday afternoon, for reasons too convoluted to go into here in full, save they included an exploration of the town of Gardiner, and the local grocery facilities, as well as a lightning tour of downtown, where I am pleased to report the Blue Sky Bakery bakes on. Years ago, I thought they’d last five minutes. Shows what I know.
From Gardiner, it being a gorgeous day, we drove down to Bowdoin, and came to rest, as one does, at the public boat launch. There we found large placards on easels, and large swaths of grass and parking lot marked out in orange paint.
We got out to inspect one of the placards and found it be a history of a large sailing vessel, the name of which escapes me now, which was built at Bowdoin in the 1800s, when Bowdoin had been a notable ship-building town. About that time, a gentlemen came up to us and introduced himself as being from the Bowdoin History House, and explained that the display was to illustrate Bowdoin’s history in the shipbuilding industry; the orange lines were there to demonstrate the size of each of the ships described on the placards. So, we spent a pleasant half-hour with the gentleman, learning about the ships, and how the need for ships knees had just about deforested Bowdoin and the surrounding countryside by the end of the 1800s. . .and how, yes, Maine has always survived by selling pieces of itself until there are no more pieces to sell — forests grow back eventually, and the ice industry was perfectly sustainable, but they ain’t growing any more granite on those islands we took down to the tideline. . .
Anyhow, a pleasant afternoon, and I’m glad we played hookey, even though that means doing some Serious Catch Up today.
On another topic: It transpires that we have Too Much Stuff. This isn’t actually a surprise; writers as a breed tend to accumulate books and papers at a rate that regular people find. . .rather horrifying. But we also have things. Things that people gave us; things we brought for ourselves because Reasons; stones and shells and pinecones, because I’m One of Those People who pick up rocks and pinecones and seashells and then become attached to them, and. . .long story short, we’re going to have to reduce the things.
Back in the Dark Ages, before I met Steve, I moved every year. Every. Year. And it transpires that may have been a Coping Mechanism, because you really don’t tend to accumulate much when you know you’re going to have to box it all up and shift it in 12 months. Living 23 years in one place gives one the illusion of permanence and we take on more than we need.
So, how-to questions:
I know some of my friends have had to weed their books — and of you I ask: How did you go about it? Had you a system? I also know that some of my friends have had to cull their Stuff, in some cases very quickly. I’d be interested in hearing how you decided what to keep and what to let go.
And now, I’m off to play Catch-Up.
Catch y’all later.