We were driving out of Trader Joe’s when my sister said to me, “You’re just doing this for me, aren’t you?”

“This” was a week-end in Portland at Tri-for-a-Cure, Maine’s largest triathlon, where some 1,000 women race and more than 500 volunteers support the event, all to raise money to fight cancer here in Maine. This triathlon business is a big deal.

My sister and our cousin had both entered the race, which included a 1/3-mile ocean swim, a 15-mile bike course, and a 3-mile run. Some of the triathletes are cancer survivors while others race to support loved ones. My sister was doing it in memory of Wally, who died of multiple myeloma last January and for our grandson, Andy, who was successfully treated for a brain tumor when he was four years old. Our cousin is herself a breast cancer survivor whose mother, Eldia, died of lung cancer. I’d signed up to be a volunteer.

After a morning in the hot sun registering both athletes and volunteers on Saturday, Trader Joe’s was a quick stop on the way back to Yarmouth, where we spent the night. This obligatory destination-when-in-Portland for all other Mainers was a first for me. And yes, I thought it was pretty neat and filled a shopping bag with goodies to take home. But my sister sensed something else that I thought I’d hidden.

It had been hard for me to leave home for this, my first night away since my husband died. I tried to explain, and I think she got it. Yes, it was about my state of mind these past few months, but more than that. Do you know what “woods queer” means?

Maybe I made it up, but I think I saw that term somewhere. I’ve lived in this small rural town for so much of my life that I no longer cope very well away from it. The unrelenting traffic, every face unfamiliar, busy roads lined with fast food places-nail salons-real estate offices-car parts-medical clinics, businesses of every kind, none of which I have any relation with, well, it all leaves me feeling hugely unsettled and disconnected. That it’s more so these days with my own inner self unsettled and disconnected enough, only adds to my discomfort.

My sister understood. She’s felt a bit of the flip side at times sitting in my house in the middle of what can feel like nowhere to a woman who lives in that other world. We’ve spent the past month and a half together, the longest time we’ve ever had, as she and I were not raised together, never met until we were in the middle of our lives.

These weeks have cemented what was already a good and firm relationship, and have been especially important to me, working through the loneliness. Our days have been quiet, evenings early; we’ve shared cooking and meals, emptied trash barrels and picked up butts at the Beach together, yelled at the talking heads on television (sometimes from our different ends of the political spectrum, but just as often in agreement). One whole day, we scoured the 25-year-old files I’d kept on the search that led to our meeting, and read every scrap of paper that told us something new about our mother, whom I never met and whom she lost at the age of 12.

So yes. I did do the weekend at the Tri for her, and for our cousin, too. And in the process was incredibly moved at what I saw. From my station in the Volunteer Tent I watched the participants file by from the parking lot early, early Sunday morning. The lean, athletic looking women, the slightly plump ones, and a good many more than plump. All were chatting and laughing, smiling through their nerves, which my cousin and sister had been feeling for the past two days. Everybody had butterflies about the upcoming race.

Won’t the water be freezing? What about the hills? And transitions. Those, I learned, involve getting out of the wetsuit after the swim (volunteers called strippers help peel them off), running to your bike, racked along with 1,000 others in a big field, getting into your bike shoes and helmet, then after the ride re-racking your bike and putting on running shoes.

The Survivors are first into the water, the first Wave they’re called, in their bright pink bathing caps, followed by the next Wave, the oldest age group in orange caps, and so on through the Waves, according to age. Today the tide was coming in and the swimmers had to fight against it going out. The water, I was told by my Louisiana sister, wasn’t as cold as she’d feared, but she was doing this for Wally so she kept repeating his name as she swam into the waves, remembering how much he hated the water.

Certainly it’s competitive as any race is, but this is so much more than winning. “You can do it!” and “You’ve got this!” and “Good job!” “You go!” were the cries heard all along the route, from the spectators, from the volunteers manning the bike lanes, from the participants one to the other.

At the finish line, an occasional little child got onto the track and ran in with its mother; a relay team of sisters held hands through the final stretch, ending in a long and heartfelt hug at the end; one woman was sobbing, but most were laughing, hands outstretched. And one was greeted by her boyfriend at the finish line with a proposal of marriage. We’d heard a rumor of it and were all waiting to see it unfold. I think it was on TV.

Tri-for-the-Cure is a huge fundraiser for the Maine Cancer Foundation; each participant has to raise $500 just to secure a place. Some raise thousands. My sister’s appeal to the Lincolnville Bulletin Board brought in more than $800 in donations in Wally’s and young Andy’s names, most of them from people here in town who knew them.

Coming home from such a busy, emotion-filled week-end, complete with the culture shock of southern Maine, was a bit disconcerting. Greeting the animals – dog, cat, even the birds raised a ruckus when I came through the door – checking the peas and raspberries, getting reacquainted with my own so very narrow world, always takes a bit of time. What was missing is the one who’s always missing these days, and that’s not changing. 

The Windfern Ensemble

 – Maho Hisakawa on flute, Nathan Hillman on viola, and guest pianist Patricia Stowell –presents their third free evening concert this Saturday, July 29, 7 p.m. at Union Hall, 24 Central Street in Rockport. The duo of flute and viola will perform “Histoire du Tango” by Astor Piazzolla and “Romanian Folk Dances” by Béla Bartók. Pianist Patricia Stowell will join them to premiere Nathan’s piano trio composition for flute, viola, and piano. The concert is open to the public, donations welcome.

Band Concert at Breezemere

The sixth annual Old-time Picnic Supper and Auction to benefit the Lincolnville Community Library will be held Sunday, July 30, from 5 to 7 p.m. at the Boat Club, 209 Main Street in the Center. Rosey Gerry will be the host and auctioneer. The Library and the nearby Jackie Watts Open-Air Museum, right across the road, will be open for tours beginning at 4 p.m.

 The picnic menu will feature the same delicious favorites as other years: pulled pork or vegetarian beans, fresh rolls, hearty summer salads, watermelon, homemade cookies, and lemonade.

 Auction items include a beautiful painting of a bluebird by local artist Mary Bourke, handcrafted Shaker stacking boxes, a dozen Willow Bake Shoppe doughnuts, gift certificates for the Lobster Pound and Chez Michel restaurants, a cut-your-own organic Christmas tree, expert genealogical and gardening help, and many more.  

 The cost of the picnic supper is $10 for adults and $5 for children; those under 4 and over 90 may eat for free. All proceeds from the event will be used to keep the library and its many services and programs thriving. For more information, call 763-4343 or email questions@lincolnvillelibrary.org.

FREE Family Block Party

Once again Crossroads Community Baptist Church is holding its annual Family Block Party at Breezemere Park; this year it will be Saturday, August 5, 4-6 p.m. All are welcome and everything is free!

 This year we have included: Haircuts,a Bounce House,Balloon Animals, games, sno-cones, popcorn, cotton candy, and drawings for prizes and a BBQ picnic. Something for children and adults alike!  Everyone has FUN!

Lead Kills Loons