Finally, a day came together – not too windy, not too cold, and dry enough to rake. Raking the dooryard is my spring cleaning.

My mother would be horrified at the state of my house, with our central vac down (yes, we have one in this old place!) the dust bunnies are growing into miniature Golden Retrievers, fluffy piles of white dog fur everywhere. Meanwhile, I tell myself I’ll tackle the vacuum one day soon, or maybe actually get out the broom.

No, I’d rather rake. It’s a ritual, finding the bamboo rake behind all the winter cultch in the shed, and cleaning up last fall’s leaves. Though we live in the middle of the forest, there’s only one tree, a large ash, in the front yard that contributes most of the leaves. They’re wet and packed down by now, and have to be coaxed out with the rake’s tines into piles.

It's like combing hair, unsnarling the dead grass which is still firmly attached, from the wet leaves. The dooryard is an outdoor extension of the house, and this is a house where kids live. A pile of leaves might contain a broken bit from a plastic toy, a foam “bullet” from a boy’s birthday party nerf gun battle, busted balloons, bright fragments of candy wrappers.

Holiday decorations show up as well: muddy ribbons from a wreath, even a Styrofoam tombstone blew across the yard, a relic of Halloween, and I prop it up at the end of the flower bed where we scattered Wally’s ashes five years ago.

The piles of wet leaves make good mulch for the asparagus bed; its inhabitants are still dormant under the cold soil. Right next to that bed the garlic is already showing its little shoots. I dumped leaves on it too, challenging it to push through this new barrier.

It will. Garlic’s persistent.

The early April garden both commemorates the winter that was and heralds the season to come. One cold and miserable day in January I dumped several worn-out Christmas poinsettias onto last summer’s pepper bed. At least I had the sense to remove the foil, but there they lay for months, their sad, dead stalks and pot-shaped clumps of soil.

Several beds are covered with the winter’s worth of chicken poop-laced wood shavings, and the girls are reveling in their clean coop which now smells like newly-sawn pine thanks to Allan Moeller’s regular contribution of shavings from his mill. And not least to the efforts of Ed and Tracee shoveling out all that poop last week.

An aside. Amidst all the enthusiasm for backyard chickens – cute names, designer coops, “delicious, nutritious, free-range eggs”, etc. – no one ever talks about shoveling out the poop. Or the reek of ammonia in a hen house when you’re only half way through the winter. I don’t notice it anymore, but am reminded of how powerful it is when I invite a visitor in and see them reel back in shock.

A vigorous climbing rose is getting established next to the barn doors, another Moeller gift, this one from Cindy; Tracee’s parents are putting their mark on Sleepy Hollow, a wonderful bonus of our combined households. Winter brought down its long canes, and they sprawled right over our path to and fro across the dooryard.

After trimming the broken parts, the remaining canes fit perfectly into a metal trellis that had been languishing inside my sunroom, holding up a deceased stephanotis (another gift from a neighbor that gave up the ghost this winter). The stephanotis, not the neighbor.

The raspberries look promising, and I make a silent pledge to actually clean out the dead canes soon. Last year, my new knee year, was a handy excuse to do nothing, almost nothing in the garden. Now I start every day with exercises, and finish by “walking” 20 steps on my knees, getting that new one used to pulling its weight. And used to kneeling

The raspberries do look good, but at the end of one row, nearest the woods, a wild one has taken hold. It’s heavy red canes arch way over my head, its vicious thorns ready to slice flesh. It’s got to go. I put it on my mental list.

Now I notice that Halloween tombstone, where I stuck it at the end of Wally’s garden. R.I.P. indeed. My husband should be resting in peace, for he’s missed the past five years that have given few of us any. I pick it up and toss it into the barn.

It’s been a blessed few hours, this Sunday afternoon, not thinking about the horror that’s Ukraine. For what else can we do?

We prayed for peace in Ukraine in church just hours ago.

We watch the news reports, read the articles that show up on our phones.

Maybe we send a check to help refugees. Maybe we write letters to Washington.

Some have actually travelled to the area to do what they can.

We talk about it with each other endlessly.

We sleep fitfully, Ukraine always on our minds.

In the end, we can’t do anything.

But we can clean up our own messes – our own dooryards, for instance.  

And we can mourn our own losses. Just since last fall here in Lincolnville we’ve lost Peter Bang, a retired doctor, half of a 46-year marriage who lived near the Beach, and Gail Berry, a mother, seamstress, gardener, wife on Greenacre Road.

And before them Marcia Jamrog, Ginni Yarnell, Jeanie Hall, Mary Pratt, Alden Monberg, Charlie Hall, Molly McKellar, Fred Jackson, Charlie Hackett, Richard Glock, Roy Underhill, Danny Pendleton. Please forgive me if I’ve missed anyone.

On every road in town, inside houses we pass every day, people are grieving the loss of their loved one.

But at the same time, we can celebrate our offspring. Perhaps you remember these three friends when they were snowboarding their way through winter at the Snow Bowl.

Corey McLean, Seth Brown, and Tyler Dunham, lifelong friends, born and raised in Lincolnville started a film company a few years ago; their first full length movie, Havana Libre is now streaming on Prime and Apple TV. The trailer  promises an exciting film. Cory, Seth and Tyler write to us back home:

“….. After six years, eight trips to Cuba, thousands of hours of filming, hundreds of days of editing, dozens of versions, and countless people to thank, our film Havana Libre is finally ready to watch!“We are so so thankful for your interest and support of this project over the years. Over the last month, we've had the opportunity to share the movie in person with select audiences in California and Miami on a small tour. It's been such a treasure watching folks who know little about the story fall in love with Frank and Yaya on screen and feel compelled by their efforts to legitimize surfing in Cuba. We're now so excited to now be able to share it with you, wherever this note finds you.

Frank and Yaya's ask was for this story to be shared as widely as possible, and as an independently produced movie we don't have much of a marketing budget to make this happen. It is tremendously necessary for the film's success if we can generate a groundswell of interest behind it. With that said, we're counting on you 

“PLEASE HELP SHARE AND REVIEW THE FILM!

• If you have Facebook, we'd be so thrilled if you could share this post and write a little personalized note for your community that it's a film worth watching. If you're not on Facebook or want to do more, share the trailerdirectly with your friends ….
• If you rent or buy the movie, PLEASE please leave a review after watching!!
• For extra credit, add a comment on the YouTube trailer
• If you do all these things, send us your address and we'll mail you a sweet sticker :)
  • If you have other ideas you'd suggest to help the film be seen by a wider audience, please let us know!!

“Many thanks for your continued support along this journey and enjoy the film!!

“Corey, Seth and Tyler   PS. Let us know what you think :)”

Speaking as a parent, here’s what I think: Guys, your folks can be proud of you! Maria Irrera and David McLean, Lynn Tauss and Will Brown, Cindy and Jim Dunham – nice job!

School

Check out the Lynx newsletter to see this year’s school budget.

Kindergarten registration can be started by calling Marie Pierce at the school, 763-3366. Children should be five on or before October 15, 2022. The compulsory age for school attendance is 7 years old.