Joyce's Journal Entries

Ma had a few scattered journals, so much like me. New notebooks with one or two entries. Unfortunately, she became the most diligent about keeping them only when her focus became health oriented, interesting for a doctor but not so much for us. Deeper in the past I found a couple entries that warmed me to know she had such peace and embraced her Maine, her cottage, and her life for a short time each year. I was also impressed by her ability to capture these moments so beautifully in words.


Portion of Ma's Journal

9/22/1988

...What a glorious day!! I didn't see Mars last night as it was too cloudy. But today was outstanding. rich blue sky with wispy, fluffy clouds. Good full sunshine on the rapidly changing foliage. The swamp maples are ablaze. The trees are smaller and less full than sugar maples but their color is radiant beyond compare. Every now and then as you drive along you catch a sharp, clear blue sky, some beginning to change green leaves and an artists slash of brilliant red—unexpected—breath taking—thrilling brilliance. No pollutants today, no fog. Along most roadways the ferns and the undergrowth are fading to a pale orange, light browns. The trees are getting undressed ready for their winter covers. My cottage is friendly, peaceful, soaking up all the good vibes, breathing a sigh of relief as everyone pulls away. Just god and the animals remain. I heard a loon a couple nights ago that sounded very immature. It sounded like an early summer loon. I don't know how it could have wing feathers and develop meat enough to migrate. The loons are still with us.

Labor Day Sept. 4, 1989

The end of another summer at Lermond Pond. There are birds chirping, tweeting and whistling in the trees. The chipmunks chatter away at each other. A gentle breeze plays across the sun-dappled cove. I look for a fish to glide silently by but I haven't seen one in the past hour that I've been sitting here...Pond lillies grew in the Athearn's side of the cove this year. The Athearns never did come down this summer. The Keizers never even put their float in. They still don't want to sell so I guess the cottage will always be a place we long to have and hold. It's home to the kids and a great place to live six months out of the year.
A car came as I wrote (one always does) but it was a couple visiting “the Bossers”. The lake is still and blue. The trees are still green with no hint of fall in the distance. Up close some of the leaves are browning! The sky is endlessly blue. No clouds and only a hint of dust or pollution along the horizon. Hatchet Mountain is clearly visible with the power lie trail going over the middle like parted hair. As I write birds flutter from branch to branch making dancing shadows on the paper I write on.
Jack is sunning himself on the dock and Torie lies in majestic pose guarding her turf with a low grumble at the new intruding voices...
The sun is going over the top of the trees and the cottage and it's cooling down a little. The jay bird is still chark, chark, charking. A cicada rubs its legs. Spiders, ants and various bugs scuttle across my body and the table. It must be the season for “granddaddy long-legs” as I brush off three or four a day and I hadn't seen any since we arrived here before this past week. The breeze has picked up enough for me to put on my jacket. I haven't heard the call of a loon for a long time. Jack says he hears them every day. Sometimes at night I hear one.
The old man sits there like a little boy putting on his shoes. His body is golden like a greek god. You can't see his graying hair from here. I'll do a little color change on it today. Torie waits patiently for Jack to gather his mat and hitch up the float walk ramp.
I've rambled enough for one day. Almost an hour of just being quiet outdoors. I used to have two months of this every year. “You never miss the water til the well runs dry.”