Blogging from: on location in Ellsworth, Maine -- blogging from The Maine Grind coffeeshop on Main Street -- a cool place
I'm a city girl at heart. I was raised in the country on acreage my dad farmed to grow winter wheat as a cash crop to supplement his earnings as a mechanic, and then a postmaster, and I was surrounded by the neighbors' orchards and farms. But though I identify with farmers and those who make their livings from the land, my blood runs urban.
I didn't know this until I moved to the city--Grand Rapids, MI--in 1976. Until then, I swore I'd never live in the city. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else.
This week, I've been on vacation in Downeast Maine; my first vacation alone. I came here to a remote peninsula overlooking Pigeon Hill Bay, to a 600-square-foot cottage with a TV that gets just one channel, no Internet, and the ocean waves lapping at the shore just 30 steps from my front door. I came to detox from city living, working on deadline, and, mainly, to follow my dream of coming to Maine. And while I have craved the alone time, and have enjoyed it, I'm surprised that I am much more comfortable in the city.
And I'm much more aware that God is found in the city, as well as he is found in nature. I see the hand of the creator in the full moon that greets me upon my arrival to my cottage, in the saltwater that crashes the rocks outside my door, and in the sea birds that haunt the beaches for mussels and clams after the tidewaters recede.
But sitting here in this coffeeshop with it's sunflower yellow walls, its dark walnut wood trim and cabinetry, the ancient, stained wood floors, I realize that God is in this old building.
I had a wonderful chat about church and priests and community and Catholicism with the lady who owns the Celtic Rainbow shop in this building. That conversation was filled with laughter, a commonality of experiences though we come from very different backgrounds and different parts of the country, and an appreciation of our spirits. How refreshing!
Yes, cities can be dirty, can be filled with crime and criminals, and can be places where people are surrounded by people and yet are still lonely.
But to this stranger, this small metropolis has helped me realize that the 40-mile drive to "town" was the prelude to a personal connection I wouldn't have had without the city.
Yes, a personal connection can happen outside the city, too. It does every day. But it didn't happen that way today. Today, it happened in the city, and I was the blessed recipient.
I'm a city girl at heart. I was raised in the country on acreage my dad farmed to grow winter wheat as a cash crop to supplement his earnings as a mechanic, and then a postmaster, and I was surrounded by the neighbors' orchards and farms. But though I identify with farmers and those who make their livings from the land, my blood runs urban.
I didn't know this until I moved to the city--Grand Rapids, MI--in 1976. Until then, I swore I'd never live in the city. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else.
This week, I've been on vacation in Downeast Maine; my first vacation alone. I came here to a remote peninsula overlooking Pigeon Hill Bay, to a 600-square-foot cottage with a TV that gets just one channel, no Internet, and the ocean waves lapping at the shore just 30 steps from my front door. I came to detox from city living, working on deadline, and, mainly, to follow my dream of coming to Maine. And while I have craved the alone time, and have enjoyed it, I'm surprised that I am much more comfortable in the city.
And I'm much more aware that God is found in the city, as well as he is found in nature. I see the hand of the creator in the full moon that greets me upon my arrival to my cottage, in the saltwater that crashes the rocks outside my door, and in the sea birds that haunt the beaches for mussels and clams after the tidewaters recede.
But sitting here in this coffeeshop with it's sunflower yellow walls, its dark walnut wood trim and cabinetry, the ancient, stained wood floors, I realize that God is in this old building.
I had a wonderful chat about church and priests and community and Catholicism with the lady who owns the Celtic Rainbow shop in this building. That conversation was filled with laughter, a commonality of experiences though we come from very different backgrounds and different parts of the country, and an appreciation of our spirits. How refreshing!
Yes, cities can be dirty, can be filled with crime and criminals, and can be places where people are surrounded by people and yet are still lonely.
But to this stranger, this small metropolis has helped me realize that the 40-mile drive to "town" was the prelude to a personal connection I wouldn't have had without the city.
Yes, a personal connection can happen outside the city, too. It does every day. But it didn't happen that way today. Today, it happened in the city, and I was the blessed recipient.
*Photograph: Congregational Church, Ellsworth, Maine by Deborah Johnson Wood
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