Becoming a Summer Time-Traveler

By G. E. Shuman

The subject of technology, both what I believe to be the good and not-so-good of it all, has been on my mind quite a bit lately.  I will never be certain that our society’s headlong plunge, never looking back, into the world of cell phone apps, social media and cyberspace is a good thing. (Do they still call it cyberspace?)  In some ways I am a bit, but not completely, out of the electronic loop, and, as such, am probably not a good judge of those things. So, please don’t take offence.  I’m just not sure that having a device in our hands all day long is a great idea.  You may disagree. If so, just chalk my opinion up to my rapidly ascending age. (…It does seem like everybody’s dead lately.)  I just feel that relying on all that tech, as exclusively as is now the norm, may have a downside or two.  That’s all.

It’s not my job to figure all of that out, and I am happy that it isn’t. I’m sure I cannot convince you to give up your phones and Facebook friends for the summer, although I think I would if I could.  I do have a suggestion for one fantastic thing you could do at least a few times in the warm weather months, which might prove to be just a bit better than sitting on the couch with your distant cyber friends.  (Do that in the winter, if you want.)  My suggestion is to simply ditch the device, wean from the screen, and become a time traveler.  No, really.  I mean that. Become a time traveler.  I feel that I have already done it, many times, and here’s how:

I believe that time travel is possible, from many spots in your area and in mine. One such spot in mine is a place that my family and I have visited for many years.  It is a place that has always put things of the present into perspective for me, as I travel into the past, while there.  The place is called Shelburne Museum, and it is located in the beautiful town of Shelburne Vermont. I highly recommend it, if you are in the area. I highly recommend it even if you have to come into the area to visit it. In that place I have traveled to the days of the steam engine, the paddle wheel steam boat, coal fired railroads, and long-past circus trains.  I have touched there a Conestoga wagon, a Concord Coach, and sleighs and sleds of winters which were melted away long before my grandparents were even born.  I have, in my time-traveling mind, become a student in a one room schoolhouse, admired hundred-plus year old tin toys, and chatted with a real blacksmith as he actually stoked the fire in his authentic shop. I’ve witnessed printing presses from the eighteen hundreds, still printing, if only to demonstrate their work to the people visiting them. I have even stood in awe of original masterpieces of art from the likes of Monet, Degas, and Cassatt, and have been inches from a handwritten letter from the pen of Abraham Lincoln.  I just love visiting the past!

Of course, but in case you didn’t know, there are time travel spots all over the world. All you need to do is to visit one in your part of it.  I have many readers in central Massachusetts, and those folks are certainly aware of their own, best place for time traveling. It is a great spot to do so, indeed, and is a place that I have also visited, myself.  Old Sturbridge Village really cannot be topped, for a day truly spent in the past. It has been years since my last visit there, but I remember watching clothes being dyed in an outdoor cauldron, wool being carded and spun, and the wagons and ways of that wonderful, early New England town. The people in period costumes there seem to not be acting at all, as they chat with you in early American English, explaining their day’s work, even as they do it. In fact, as they are immersed in the long ago time with you, they do not need to act, do they? As you leave from your day at Old Sturbridge Village, there will be no doubt in your mind that you have visited the past, while there. 

It comes to mind that the great state of Massachusetts offers many other wonderful spots where slipping into our nation’s past is a very easy thing to do. Boston’s Freedom Trail, Plymouth Plantation, and Plymouth Rock are among the best to see. I would love to have you try them all this summer.

In addition, and as only one addition of many that I could mention here, my home state of Maine is just as full of time traveling spots as anywhere else I know.  I love Wiscasset, not only because my own father was born there, but also for Fort Edgecombe, a relic and reminder of the Revolutionary War. You should also spend a day at Fort Knox, up toward Bucksport, with its never used cannon emplacements, granite walls, and grassy slopes overlooking the river.  A bit to the south, along the rocky Maine coast, is my favorite spot in that entire state, and, perhaps, in the entire world.  That place is one I have visited, and written about, many times.  It is the very old Rockland Harbor breakwater.  There, huge granite blocks, put into place over a hundred and thirty years ago, still protect the harbor and provide a foot trail to the ancient lighthouse at its end. If those rocks could talk, what tales of the past they would tell.

You know, as Americans, we live in a truly wonderful land, full of opportunity and ease, and steeped in good things, including what I hope are the best uses of our amazing technology. Most of us are so busy accomplishing the things of today that we barely remember yesterday, much less our nation’s past.  I’m just suggesting that we might all take a break for a few days, and take our families to witness that past, where things were tough, and neighbors were known, and the people who made our way of life possible, lived. Try doing a bit of time traveling this summer. I promise, you won’t regret the trip.

                                            

The Explosion!

By G. E. Shuman

I enjoy all of the seasons here in the north, with the exception of the six month long one which begins with the letter ‘w’ and ends, way too late.  Don’t get me going on that one. Of the others, fall might be my favorite, although I just re-read this column, and now I am not sure.  I do love the vibrant colors, the crunchy leaves, the cool, crisp apples and breezes, and the golden sunsets of fall. Summer is, obviously, fun too. We actually get to run air conditioners here then.  It is also the one season of the year when even ‘northerners’ can dip their toes in the ocean without freezing them off.  Of course, an ocean is pretty scarce here in Vermont.  We have to go over to Maine or down to New Hampshire to find one of those.  Yes, summer is super and fall is fine up here in maple sugar country.  Believe it or not, some people even like the ‘w’ word season, but, since I am not one of them, that strange fact is not my fault.

          Hum… There seems to be one season left.  Oh yes, the one we are in right now.  It is spring, and spring has, indeed, sprung upon us.  If you happen to be reading this column someplace besides the recently thawed tundra of the north, say, if you are in Florida, for instance, (Yes, I have a few readers down there. One of them is my mother. Hi, Mom!) you might not understand or remember the way in which spring does spring out at us.  The season, up here, literally jumps out, like someone hiding behind a door might, just to scare the ‘s’ word out of you. (I guess we’re going to be using letters instead of words today, from how this is going. I never know what my computer is going to say when I hit the keys.) 

          Anyway, in case you weren’t here for it, or just, somehow, missed it, let me explain how spring happened this year, up here.  It all started about a month or six weeks ago, after the final gasp of a grizzly winter gave up the ghost and left us.  The four foot tall snowbanks, almost overnight, sneaked back to wherever they come from every year, and the brown grass of last summer and brown mud of another mud season appeared.  Truthfully, if you missed mud season this year, there is a reason.  That wonderful phenomenon left us as quickly as it came this time, and few people were upset by that. (The only folks who really like mud season own towing companies and car washes.) 

          Then, and, although this occurrence happens each year in a land where spring must hurry and take place so that there are at least a few weeks saved for summer, before heating season starts again, spring simply EXPLODED upon us this time.  I know I am older, and older people sometimes exaggerate one way or the other about the passage of time, but, the grass, this spring, simply sprung up and turned the landscape green, nearly overnight.  Also, on our own lawn, the two maple trees, which, all winter, were as naked and gray as a newborn elephant, (Okay, that was just weird.) have suddenly not only budded, but, in just the past few days, have produced full sized, very green leaves.  And, this ‘and’ is one that always amazes me, there are our lilac bushes. Let me tell you about those, because those things are simply amazing. Three weeks ago they were just scraggly, old, sickly looking stick-like things that made you think last season was probably their last ever season.  Two weeks ago they showed some signs of life, with little green buds popping out. Literally four days ago, and I know it was only four days ago, because I know it was Monday, and I’m writing this on Thursday, and I can count to four, I told my wife that very small, green lilac blossoms had come out on them.  Today the lilacs are in full, bright purple bloom. Now, I know I am no botanist, and have trouble growing a potted tomato plant, but I just don’t understand how that is possible.  Each year I wonder how the material that lilacs and leaves are made of can even take the form of those things in so very few days.  This year, it almost seems that I could have stood there and watched it all happen.

          Life is really something. In fact, it is more than something. It is everything, and our world is abundantly blessed with it, everywhere, in nearly countless forms.  Here in Vermont, more than anywhere else I have seen, most of that life hides, waiting for the thermometer to rise, just enough, this time of the year. When that happens, something, like the baton of the conductor of some vast natural symphony, seems to signal it all.  Great melodies of life, then, simply explode upon the land.  How strange, and how wonderful that is.  Step outside, and enjoy the music!

The Enjoyment of It All

By G. E. Shuman

          

         Last month Lorna and I had the extreme pleasure of spending a week with my mom, at her north Florida home.  Mom lives in a retirement community called the Advent Christian Village at Dowling Park.  Being a very young 91 years old, it is quite appropriate that she does so. Mom is totally active, and she is just as happy as a bug in a rug there. Truthfully, I don’t blame her, and somewhat envy her. If you are anywhere near retirement age I would suggest that you check out the organization’s website. It is a truly wonderful place.

Mom still lives on her own, in her own home in the village; she still drives her car, and, in fact, has one car in Florida and another in Maine, for her jaunts up there in the summer to see the family. Her Maine car has roses painted on it, and is, appropriately, named ‘Rosie.’ (No one else but Mom could do that. Trust me, you need to meet her to understand.) Mom even has a golf cart parked just outside her Florida place, for those quick trips to the village’s beauty parlor, grocery store, post office, restaurant, or nursing home, (where she helps take care of the ‘old’ people.)  Not to embarrass Mom, (Okay, so maybe I do want to embarrass her just a bit,) but one morning during our visit I came out of her guest room to see not one, but TWO elderly gentlemen standing in her kitchen, vying for her attention about some problem one of them was having.  Wow.

          My Aunt Jean also winters in the town Mom lives in, and we had a great time with her there, also.  Jean and Mom make a wonderful, spicy, giggling pair, who spend most of their ‘together’ time chatting, eating, and doing more chatting, and more eating, and planning the very next time of chatting and eating.  (It is true that during our several trips to town, with the bickering banter of these two ladies in the back seat of my car, I did feel a bit like Morgan Freeman in ‘Driving Miss Daisy’, (but times 2.)  I loved it. Did you see the movie?)  The four ‘C’s of coffee, chocolate, cakes, and cookies are always on the next meal’s menu for these two ladies. Any thought of skipping one of those is quickly dismissed, I soon learned. It was also pointed out to me that there is a difference between chocolates, and ‘good’ chocolates. The idea that such foods might not be all that healthy for them is not a concern.  Truthfully, while visiting with these elderly saints I enjoyed that attitude, a lot. There is much freedom in it.

          I found it fascinating that Mom and Aunt Jean, both of whom I have obviously known my entire life, seem to be, in their advancing years, more concerned with living, than with such silly issues as what is appropriate to eat.  I’m sure that they do not neglect their health, but they are also, very wisely, I think, not consumed by the subject.  For them, life is about the enjoyment of it all. They love to go out to eat, but equally enjoy conversing over an uncomplicated meal of simple sandwiches and a salad, (With the cakes, cookies, etc.) Morning coffee is often taken out in the screened Florida room, so that the birds can more easily be heard, and the vibrant flowers more readily enjoyed. While we were there Aunt Jean reported being ‘entertained’ by two tiny ants, cavorting on her windowsill. How ultimately profound is that?

I have also learned something about Mom’s neighborhood and relatives. No one there seems to eat cereal and yogurt. Everyone there eats donuts and bagels.  At one point I said to my mom that such things might be less than healthy.  Her answer was: “So?”  How can you argue with that kind of logic, especially with a 91 yr. old who walks faster than you do?  I should not have been surprised.  Several weeks ago I called Mom, and mentioned that she was so spry that she had better be careful; that she would probably have to beat the old men off with a stick.  Her answer to that one?  “Why would I want to do that?” 

          I thought about all of this for hours during the long drive back to Vermont from Mom’s home in sunny Florida.  I came to two conclusions.  One is that the Advent Christian Village is a wonderful place for Christian people to enjoy their lives after retirement.  Seriously, if you are a Christian, check it out.  If you are not of the faith, you need to know that God allows U-turns, and that you should take one. (In MY old age, I don’t like mincing words.) My other conclusion is that my mom’s generation really is the greatest generation. Period. They are patient, and are living in the moment, even if their moments may be fewer than those of some others.  They are also acutely aware of the beauty of their world. And, they may know little about facebook, youtube, wifi, or cyberspace, but they know much about what makes a ‘good’ hotdog, (Don’t forget the fried onions.) which fast food place has the best fries, and how to keep a hydrangea in bloom. Those things are much more important.