My 89-year-old neighbor was fumbling with a tarp where her lawn meets the ravine. She told me excitedly that her son had seen a moose on the barren. Deer hunting season1 was about to start. She told me about the young doe who’s been coming to visit her bird feeder daily. “I looked at her and I told her, ‘You be careful!’” she said. The doe lifted her hooves and stamped her hooves, as if she had heard and was planning to heed the advice. I helped fold the tarp and carry it back up to her house.

Now, everyone is in their blaze orange as we bumble along through or by the woods. Color-wise, we are freaking out. But we match.

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My sister was here. She spent the week with my parents, foraging through boxes of photos and asking questions, as she works on her brilliant new book. One night, I joined them for a slideshow, images circa 1975-1985. My mom heated up a familiar soup (onions, potatoes, carrots, a few tomatoes, a handful of lentils, it was delicious) while my dad ran the projector.

He had clearly worked very hard to do it correctly but we didn’t realize this until it was our turn to load up more carousels. We sat on his bed as he gave us precise directions. We, his grown daughters, did our best to follow along. We returned to the slideshow and witnessed our hilariously erratic lack of precision. Eventually, we had to abort the mission as it hurt our necks.

Then I went grocery shopping. It was 8:30 p.m. I had been up since 5. I wandered the aisles muttering, “capers, capers, near the olives,” as I willed myself to fulfill the shopping list. A former mayor and longtime city council member passed between two towers, then backed his shopping cart up to talk. He told me he signed up to participate in One Small Step. We talked about who is willing to listen, what breaks our resolve, and I resumed my search for capers. On the way home, I heard the news about the mass shooting in Lewiston, two hours from where I live.

My sister came over on Friday. I started a fire in the pit and we drank weak hot toddies under the full moon. The killer was still on the loose but we understood that he was probably far away. That despite afterschool activities that day being canceled, and state offices being closed, we were probably safe. For now. Then we heard a scampering in the brush. It’s not unusual to hear animals in our yard, but the vibe was off. Not just because of the shooting or the Israel-Hamas war but because the animal did not seem afraid of our voices. The sounds I made to scare them off were ineffective.

“Should we go inside?” my sister asked. Hesitantly, I agreed. I don’t want to be afraid. I picked up a stick and suggested she do the same. We walked to the front door, facing the forest, sticks in hand until we were safely inside. I asked my wildlife biologist partner for his thoughts. Rabid coyote quickly turned to skunk. We brushed our teeth and received a text message from our mother alluding to the killer’s body having been found. The feeling of relief from an acute and terrible tragedy coming to an end was palpable. And the space where I’d been holding that fear, anxiety, and rage was quickly filled back in by the thoughts of the genocide and humanitarian crisis in Gaza/the Israel-Hamas War .

My sister returned to Atlanta. The next day we went to a small social gathering with friends during which I realized I have no idea how to speak a greeting sentence on an absurdly hot 79-degree day in October, in the aftermath of Maine’s first mass shooting, with more than 3,600 Palestinian children having been killed in the past three weeks of this war, while sharing a locally-made apple cider donut with my own kid who would go on to fall sick a few days later. See?

A week later, I ran into some friends. Rather than trying for a coherent sentence that summarizes anything, I said, “Rose. Pine. Fire. Hot water. Movement. Rosemary. Potatoes.” I’m restating this list here while underscoring that I do not advocate retreating into grounding, self-protective practices without also taking action, acknowledging that action can take many forms.

Writer Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore recently wrote, “The notion that ‘giving into despair’ automatically prevents action is just not true. Despair, like rage, like grief, like hopelessness, all of these can be catalysts for action. Entire movements have been founded in this way.”

Here are some helpful resources for turning grief into action:

• Power Half-Hour for Gaza: Channel grief & fear into action to stop a genocide
• Palestinian Youth Movement
• Jewish Voice for Peace
• 5 Calls (very quickly connects you to your elected representatives and provides a script for what to say: CEASEFIRE NOW)
• Israel Hamas War Therapy Relief Fund for reporters

Have other resources to share? Add them in the comments. Thank you.

One Small Step

If we’ve talked in the past four months or so, you likely know that I’ve been involved with StoryCorps’ One Small Step program, through WERU Community Radio. Outreach has been intense (sometimes I feel we are pulling teeth) but facilitating the conversations themselves has been rewarding.

Join us on Wednesday, November 15, at 6 p.m. at the Alamo Theatre in Bucksport, Maine for a community listening party. Chris and I will talk about our experience as facilitators, and a handful of participants will share their reflections, as well. We’ll be premiering a few short audio pieces from the conversations we’ve already recorded and sharing a sizzle reel featuring clips of conversations from the five stations across the country that are participating in One Small Step this year, including WERU. There will be free popcorn, a cash bar, and other concessions as well as the opportunity to reflect or interact with other audience members through some of the foundational One Small Step questions.

In regards to One Small Step I’ve heard a lot of liberals say, “Oh, how wonderful!” but it’s only wonderful if people across the spectrum hear about it…and participate. Echo chambers are stupid and we are so good at creating and recreating them. To that end, we’ve been trying to think up some ways to ensure a diverse audience at the listening event. We were thinking about door prizes for anyone who brings someone who thinks or prays or votes differently than they do but we haven’t gotten around to making that happen yet. Do you have any ideas? Drop us a line at onesmallstep@weru.org.

And, if you live in Wabanaki territory/eastern Maine and have ever considered signing up to participate in One Small Step yourself, I suggest you do so. We’ve got 13 more conversations to record before December 31, and, we’re short on what one participant recently called “righties.” (I have a lot more to say about this—come to the event. It will be a tell-all situation.)

New Work in the World

A new story—a commission—in the November issue of Down East. Sneak peek here, no link yet—check back next month. Or, get a subscription to Down East!

Currents

• Heavyweight podcast—each episode is different. The show’s premise (the moment in life where something changed) lends itself to so many different characters and subjects, and moments of either catharsis or facing something that has haunted them. Highly recommend. I listened to this one tonight.
• This episode of Rumble Strip where the importance of the general store in rural areas is discussed at length. The general store in the town where I live was recently razed, no idea what’s happening next. Meanwhile, chance run-ins with townsfolk remain few and far between. I’m tired of hearing the phrase “epidemic of loneliness,” would rather hear what we’re all doing about it.

Housekeeping

I have no idea what I will be doing for work after December 31, 2023. This is not the first time I’ve been in this position, nor will it be the last. Have an idea2 for a project? A gig? A story? Get in touch.

♥ Thank you for reading. 🧡 Take care. ♥