Five years ago this month I finally got a whole night’s sleep. It was the night of the day we finally pulled the old schoolhouse in the Center across Main Street and onto its new slab. For the past three months, as the hulk and wreck of a building that was once a one-room school was being prepared for its big day, I lay awake night after night envisioning one catastrophe after another. Mostly they involved some innocent puller of the rope getting fatally tangled up or the whole rickety structure going off the rails and ending up a pile of rubble in the middle of State Highway 52, and in the process the Lincolnville Historical Society being sued out of existence by a rapacious insurance company.

Not the stuff of a good night’s sleep. Not when I was the one who’d enthusiastically endorsed the LHS to be the fiscal agent of the project, a non-profit IRS thing. Not when I was the one who’d been behind the scenes pushing the idea of moving it for years. Not when I was president of the LHS and therefore, probably liable in case of disaster.

The thing almost went off without a hitch; the last pull, sideways onto the slab, was done by a small crew of some 20 men, and then one went down. A knee had given way, a muscle tear as it turned out that was fixed with surgery and several months of crutches and therapy. Not a good day for him, for sure, but as his wife said even as we were all helping him into their car for the ride to the hospital, “this is the most fun we’ve ever had in Lincolnville!” A good testimonial I thought, and even her husband managed a smile.

Lying awake in the wee hours, watching the hands on the watch move ever so slowly from 11:30 to 1 to 2:45 a.m. and you’re still hours from a reasonable time to get up, can be brutal. I’ve always claimed to have lain sleepless for the whole year after our first son’s birth, running through all the disasters that might befall him in his life. The price we pay for bringing children into the world, the price for loving. The possibility of loss always looms.

Sleep has been elusive lately. Perhaps it’s the continual upheaval in my house, as every single thing has to be picked up, evaluated, assigned a place to live (or leave). Nothing’s where it belongs. Or perhaps it’s a new relationship forming, as a once casual acquaintance grows close. I wonder sometimes if a 73-year-old ought to be planning her future.

Future that used to stretch for years and include unknown adventures, undreamed of adversity. Time seems compressed, especially after the death of a spouse, only a little left. If he could die, why not me?

But paradoxically, this gorgeous September has instead brought long sunlit days that stretch out forever. Something is switching inside of me and on the whole I’m liking it. A line in a song (listening to too much Leonard Cohen) sent me imagining holding his hand, pulling him back, begging him not to leave, as if somehow I could keep him from crossing over and leaving me behind forever. It left me pulled between two worlds – the place where he’s gone and the place we inhabited together, me wrenched back and forth, never knowing day to day where I’d find myself. Thankfully, that time seems to have passed. The way forward looks clearer if still uncertain.

After morning worship service at UCC the other day, Cyrene, the Monarch lady to the youngsters in Children’s Church, brought out a sheer upside-down basket; several butterflies cling to its sides along with the caterpillars she collects. She’s after Monarchs, and they’re easier to find than you might think, as their favorite, and I believe, only food is milkweed. Find a patch of milkweed and there will likely be yellow, black, and white striped Monarch caterpillars feeding.

Cyrene puts them, along with the milkweed they’re eating, under this little tent, and often carries them around with her in the car. Before long they’ve eaten their fill and are ready to pupate; after they suspend themselves from the ceiling of their home, the skin splits along the back and a beautiful chrysalis, green-with-gold-dots is left. Days pass, and the chrysalis turns translucent, blackish.

Inside a full-grown Monarch, black legs and body, orange, black and white wings emerges. Not “hatches”, Cyrene corrects the watching children; “emerges”. All that’s left is for the brand new butterfly to dry off, stretch its wings and fly away. This day she’s releasing six to the sunny September sky.

A little corny maybe, but I like the metaphor.

Property Taxes

The first half of property taxes are due Wednesday, October 4 by 5 p.m. at the Town Office

Rabies Clinic in Brooks

A rabies clinic will be held at the Brooks Fire Station on Saturday, Oct. 7, 9 – 11 a.m.

LCS News

Eighth graders have already begun fund-raising for their spring class trip to Quebec City. The annual Eighth Grade Pumpkin Sale is scheduled for Saturday, Oct. 14. The class will be selling pumpkins, courtesy of Beth’s Farm Market in Warren, across from the Post Office at Lincolnville Beach from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. or until all are sold.

Library

I was part of a small writing group in the 1990s – Dinnie Thorndike, Barbara Hatch, Margitte Malstrom and I met every couple of weeks at each other’s houses to read and critique what we’d written in between. It was tremendously helpful to me, and I think to the others.

This Saturday, Oct. 7, 8 a.m. to noon the Goodwill Gardeners are having a yard sale at 25 Beach Road. All money raised will go toward permanent perennial plantings in front of the Post Office.

Pickles, Preserves and Pie Festival

Come by McLaughlin’s Lobster Shack on Ferry Road at the Beach this Saturday, 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. for the annual Pickles, Preserves and Pie Festival. Goodies for sale and it all benefits the Lincolnville Business Group’s Scholarship Fund.

Stories and Songs, 1900-1950

A retrospective of life in Lincolnville will be told in a program at United Christian Church this Sunday, October 8, 4 p.m. I’ll be reading some of my favorite stories in Staying Put, the book I wrote in 2004 based on interviews with dozens of Lincolnville people A sing-a-long of secular and sacred songs of the era will be led by Mary Schulien and accompanied by organist Connie Parker. It should be fun, and all are invited. A reception afterwards (Cookies!! as Rosey Gerry always says) will be abundant!

The church is located in Lincolnville Center, 18 Searsmont Road/Route 173.