What to do with what we know?
Here’s an idea:
Since I started filling my brain with information about the area around me (and writing about it) my quality of life has greatly improved.
This research takes many forms. Sometimes it’s poking around the genealogy room at the local library and dropping my jaw at the treasures contained therein while accompanied by the incredible human who runs the historical society, Bonnie Veinote. Sometimes, it’s cold calling people for interviews. Sometimes it’s scouring historical newspaper archives for mentions of an alligator in the marsh or a specific person’s ships between 1857 and 1865.
Often, it’s talking with people who walk down the road I live on about what it used to be like here and then gazing at the river imagining my neighbor, Bob, and his friends throwing alewives over the dam in the 1960s when the fish ladder stopped working, or the sound of Bob’s mother bellowing down the river from up on the hill to come home for supper. Sometimes, it’s talking to Bob’s mom to find out whether or not the commercial blueberry picking has already been completed and if we can go up and glean what was left in between the rock walls.
These conversations and experiences fill my head (and body), making everyday life a lot more meaningful, as I feel more connected to people and place, to community. That alone is deeply gratifying.
Nevertheless, I’m trying to find a container for what is growing in my head. Or, my head is building containers. Sometimes, it’s this newsletter or what I write on Instagram. Sometimes, it’s stories like the one below…
New Work in the World
“What Lies Beneath the Water in Frankfort’s 150-Year-Old Abandoned Quarry?” in Down East’s August 2022 issue.
I’ve long wanted to write about Mount Waldo/keenabskatnek (where there is a great, bouldery mountain), in Frankfort. Early one morning, I woke up with the urge to find out what was underneath the water of its mysterious and storied quarry pond, using this as my starting point to understanding this looming mountain.
I enlisted a few enthusiastic scuba divers to help and surveyed the public about what they thought the quarry might contain. You can read (what I wrote) about what the divers found in the latest issue of Down East Magazine (and check out the beautiful photos by Dan Rajter that accompany it. More photos and outtakes are on Dan’s Instagram).
Spoiler Alert
For the most part, what the divers found was expected (read the story, there’s a list).
But y’all. They also discovered a barrel. A sealed, corroded barrel.
Probably there’s nothing in it. Probably there’s nothing in it. Probably there’s nothing in it.
As a reminder, this used to be a working quarry—equipment is strewn about it. Surely it’s got to be a remnant of that time, right? It’s probably just an empty barrel that ended up down there inadvertently.
During the time I was working on this story, the news about human remains (some of them in barrels) being found at Lake Mead broke. The concepts rhyme: barrels submerged in water1 but likely, the similarities end there. And so does my ability to further investigate it.
I set out to learn more about the character of the mountain, not to write true crime. So I'll leave you with this song: The Barrel, by Aldous Harding.
Behind the Story…There’s More!
As happens, I learned far more while researching this story than I was able to fit in the 1300 words it needed to be molded into. Perhaps another essay is forthcoming, certainly the chapter of a book. There are a few things, however, I want to mention now.
First: a lot gets left out of a magazine story, in this case—perhaps strangely because of what the story circles around—both the real danger of quarry jumping/swimming in general and an acknowledgment of the trauma of those who have lost family and friends there. Many extensive search and rescue missions have been carried out at the Mount Waldo quarry over the years and not all that have fallen made it out alive.
In response to a survey I put out gathering public perceptions of what might be under the water, one elder said, “A lot of lost souls.” She was referring both to people who died while working in the quarries and those who died in cliff-jumping accidents. While this story doesn’t focus on that particular angle, it’s an important part of the mountain’s story and I want to acknowledge it, at least here.
Secondly, and obviously, the story of a mountain does not begin when the mountain comes to be seen as valuable from a colonial-settler perspective, whether because it contains a profitable, exploitable mineral or because said settlers—myself included—love walking up it to enjoy the blueberries or the view.
I write and think a lot about land and ecology. I don’t want to further perpetuate the erasure of indigenous history and its fraught implications for our present moment through my writing, thinking, or being. I don’t have all the answers nor am I approaching this perfectly, but I’m trying. I wrote a bit more about this here.
Currents
How to Survive the End of the World
Over several evening strolls and during the five-minute drive between my kids’ school and my work, I listened to an episode of adrienne maree brown and Autumn Brown’s podcast, How to Survive the End of the World called Love the Job: Finding the Labor We Love. It was so good. If you are struggling in your current job, thinking about making a change, trying to make change from within, or seeking permission to launch a creative endeavor, listen to this podcast!
I didn’t take notes but highlights include: how to keep your dignity intact while working in challenging work environments, the importance of making a budget when you’re considering taking a leap, and identifying support(s).
Queen Anne’s Lace + Horizon Lines
Every July/August, I’m struck by the magnificence of Queen Anne’s Lace. It’s so tall, its stalks so thin, yet the umbrella of the flower itself is so wide. It seems an impossible feat of engineering. I bow down to this flower. And horizon lines, for I recently learned2 that looking at them can lower your blood pressure.
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The water levels in Lake Mead are receding due to the climate crisis—the barrel there was no longer submerged, hence it being discovered. The barrel in the quarry pond, however, is still very much underwater, making it very difficult to explore without a significant investment in resources. ↩
I came across this finding at a workshop/retreat held by the illustrious Elissa Altman and Katherine May in Rockport. ↩
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