Saturday, September 30, 2023

Ala Reid

Rob McCall

I have just returned from a trip to downeast Maine, cut short by the approaching hurricane. It is a place of wonder, where God and nature seem to be in harmony and the beauty of the area has the power to transform and impart a sense of being at home with nature. In thinking how to describe it to you, I thought of the work of Rob McCall.

McCall, who died this year, was a naturalist, a journalist and a self-described “fiddler”. He served as minister of The First Congregational Church in Blue Hill, Maine for many years, wrote columns for Downeast magazine and a couple of newspapers, and had a radio show broadcast from Blue Hill. The following is a passage from his first book, Small Misty Mountain, The Awanadjo Almanack.

FIELD AND FOREST REPORT: Purple asters, shining red bunchberries, a few late lupine spires. Goldenrod and (a-choo!) ragweed, as well as bob-o-links in the bayberry bushes, Katydids in the Queen Anne’s lace, butterflies in the goldenrod, grasshoppers in the gravel and goldfinches in the garden.

SALTWATER REPORT: The water of the bay is at its warmest right now. Sometimes over 60 degrees F. Still, no one swims voluntarily for very long.

CRITTER OF THE WEEK: Migrating Monarch butterflies, heading for Mexico, flutter over the open water of Blue Hill bay, far from land. How can something so fragile be at once so strong.

SEED PODS TO CARRY AROUND WITH YOU: From Robert Frost

The mountain held the town as in a shadow. I saw so much before I slept there once: I noticed that I missed stars in the west, where its black body cut into the sky…. There ought to be a view of the world from such a mountain.