Saturday in Portland

 

Wassamki Springs Campground.  Makes me think of all those books I read as a kid where the main character goes away to summer camp.  I was envious.  Think Parent Trap, the 1961 version.

We started the day with a trip to the local Farmers Market.  They had a great array of vegetables and fruits to choose from, along with cut flowers, baked bread, and bedding plants.

 

We picked up a good amount of fresh vegetables, a loaf of fresh baked sourdough bread, and another quart of blueberries.  I love blueberries and these that have been picked fresh from the bush are wonderful.  Consort and I are both enjoying all of the fresh produce available in addition to whatever iconic foods we happen upon.

When we entered the market, we noticed yellow arrows chalked on the road indicating the flow of foot traffic.  For reasons I can't explain, being told I only have ONE choice of direction really bothers me.  I'm wearing a mask, I'm social distancing, and now you tell me I can only walk in one direction?

There were several street musicians at the market, and this guy was really good!

After the Farmers Market, we drove a few blocks to Eastern Cemetery, established 1668.  The sign on the front of the cemetery said:  No dogs allowed.  We don't frequent establishments that discriminate against dogs, and so we walked on.

A few blocks from Eastern Cemetery, we stopped at the Abyssinian Meeting House.  This house was built in 1828 and was used as a house of worship and a segregated public school.  It is the third oldest standing African American meeting house in the United States.  Some of the original members included former enslaved people as well as leaders of the Underground Railroad.

The house is in complete disrepair.  The City of Portland took over the house in 1998 and restoration is in progress.

From the meeting house, we drove across Portland to the childhood home of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

We were only able to walk around the house and gardens.  There have been just a few historic places that are open, and then, by appointment only.  The Wadsworth-Longfellow House was closed to the public.

The house was built by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's father in 1785.  Longfellow was born in the house in 1807.

Longfellow is best known for his poems Paul Revere's Ride and The Song of Hiawatha.  He is also the first American to translate Dante's Divine Comedy.

As we were leaving the property, both consort and I heard a commotion on the street.  We walked up to the corner intersection to find out what was going on.  On the opposite side of the street was a group of demonstrators.  At least that's my take on it.  The crowd was not being unruly or violent, just shouting out their talking points.  Some held signs promoting Biden/Harris; others held Black Lives Matters signs; still others were draped in the LGBTQ colors.

As we stood watching, a group of pickups with American flags, Trump political flags, and a variety of other flags, drove down the street in front of the group demonstrating.  The trucks were honking their horns and shouting Trump slogans, but nothing derogatory aimed at the demonstrators.  Likewise, the demonstrators shouted out their beliefs, but did not disparage the Trump supporters.

Here's where it gets interesting.  A kid on a skateboard started screaming profanity aimed towards the Trump supporters; he thundered slander and personal put-downs about the Trump supporters and Trump himself.  He then took oversized cans of carbonated beverages, shook them up, pointed them at the Trump supporters, and began spraying them.  A second guy decked out in bicycle gear on his $6,000 bike joined the skateboarder in slinging profanity at the Trumpers.  But the activists on both sides remained calm.

The rest of the story...   a lady from the undefined demonstration finally did shout out to one of the Trumpers in the pickup truck.  What she said was:  Sir! Sir! One of the flags fell off your truck.  Would you like me to get it for you?  So you decide; who's causing all of the problems out there?

 We turned our backs to the protestors and walked down the block to Slab.  Slab, a restaurant in downtown Portland, boasts Sicilian street food.  Well, we definitely had our food on the street because the indoor dining room was closed and the dogs were not allowed on the patio.  (Portlanders are not the dog fans the likes of which you find in Oklahoma.)  I ordered the muffaletta and consort had the one-pound slab pizza.  No one walked away hungry.

 The saltbox houses here take my breath away.  Most are painted in colorful two- and three-tone schemes with ornate trim.  If only they were equipped with wheels!

 We ended the day at South Street Cemetery in Gorham, Maine.  Gorham is a really small town about four miles from our campsite.  If you're interested, click on the picture below to see more detail.  The reasons for the pictures are varied.  One is the headstone of a Revolutionary War soldier.  The top right just seemed odd; is it a sad angel or more of a skull/crossbones kind of thing?  The bottom left I liked because it says, "Mrs. Elizabeth, relict of..."

Webster's dictionary defines relic as a remaining part or fragment.  Relict, as used on a tombstone, was a term from the 17th and 18th centuries that meant the woman was the surviving spouse of the marriage and had not remarried, kind of interchangeable with the word widow.  While I love the sentiment, a remaining part or fragment, I don't really want the headstone at my grave to boast that I was a relic!

At the entrance to the cemetery the Sign says:  No dogs allowed!

Shoutout to Flagstaff -- congratulations on the new truck and fifth wheel!

We'll see you in Brownsville!