"things you were born to."

It’s the things you were born to that give you satisfaction in this world, Greta.
Leastwise, that’s what I think. And maybe the fog’s one of them.
Not happiness, mind! Satisfaction isn’t always happiness by a long sight; then again, it isn’t sorrow either.
But the rocks and the spruces and the fogs of your own land are things that nourish you.
​You can always have them, no matter what else you find or what else you lose."

- Julia L. Sauer, Fog Magic

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this quote by Julia L. Sauer invited me to reflect on where I was born, the things I was born to, and the gifts from that place that have stayed with me and nourished me. I was born and raised in Maine, the northeasternmost US state, a jut of ice cream-cone-shaped land between New Hampshire, Québec, New Brunswick, and the Gulf of Maine. ​my time in Maine taught me the value of community, nature, questioning assumptions, and using time wisely. ​​

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​Maine winters are unpredictable - you can wake to two feet of snow, have it melt by noon in a downpour, and be sweating in your winter coat by dinner. Nor'easters are a regular winter feature, with Central Maine Power crews kept busy reconnecting the downed lines after each unique "wintry mix" of precipitation. as a kid, I loved crawling under trees arched over with dense, glistening ice, or curling up with a book each snowday. as I got older, winter became the time for snowball fights, cross-country skiing, and the winter carnival - including bombardment with frozen soccer balls, snow sculpture competitions, and prom. winter in Maine gave me a love of togetherness and community, like that which is found when an ice storm forces aside the buzz of the modern world.

following winter in Maine are three overlapping seasons: mud season, spring, and black fly season. these are days of rain, when flowers bloom and allergies are abundant. this time of year meant school trips to local lakes, or out of state to Canobie Lake, Boston, or New York. a time of school music concerts and parades. the season when high school seniors are sent off to March No. 1: Trio, by Sir Edward Elgar. younger students then finish their school year, hoping that enough snowdays were anticipated in the calendar so their summer doesn't get too much shorter. spring in Maine gave me an appreciation for the fleeting presence of lilacs and apple blossoms; falling in love with time-sensitive glimpses of beauty has led to an appreciation for the natural cycle of renewal.

with the start of summer, Maine's lakes, beaches, campgrounds, and hiking trails become busier, Old Orchard and Hermit Island get packed, and Roosevelt wouldn't want us to forget Acadia. from May to October, visitors come to a land where billboards are outlawed, where quarries, forestry, and mills once prospered, where bee balm tycoons evict leaseholders and create nature areas as "gifts" to the public. a place where seaside communities continue to be fuelled by tourism, lobster, and fishing industries, their lighthouse-adorned craggy shores inspiring authors and artists. summer in Maine made me question the assumed benefit in romanticizing extreme self-sufficiency and provincialism.

​autumn in Maine means colourful horizons; reds, oranges, yellows, greens, purples, maroons - the hills become a vibrant display of nature saying goodbye to summer. leaf-peepers drive into the state to witness this spectacle. you learn to make your autumn outfits colourful from an early age in Maine; wearing vivid colours on every single forest venture is a matter of life or death because fall is when hunters have nearly free reign of the woods. the brevity of crisp autumn colours serves as a reminder to use time wisely; to me that horizon will always mean sunlight, inspiration, and beauty.

​​no matter where I travel or live, the ways I change or how my perspective of Maine changes, the gifts Maine gave me remain. communities in Maine and Canada helped ease my transition into a new country. a love of nature has led me to explore trails, lakes, deserts, and forests in the places I have moved to. questioning assumptions has resulted in a consistent renewing of my perspective. savouring life's little moments has strengthened connections with others and kept me focused. 
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​what are the things you were born to that give you satisfaction?
what are your rocks? your spruces? your fogs?
what are the things of your own land that nourish you?

things you can have no matter what else you find or what else you lose.
​
​hope you are well.
Chelsea

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