In hindsight, I wonder if the name I chose for this column was too wishful.
I took the phrase “Sweetest in the Gale” from Emily Dickinson’s poem, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers,” in which a bird stands for hope in dark times.
“And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – / And sore must be the storm – / That could abash the little Bird / That kept so many warm…”
In November, as I was putting together my first issue of The Working Waterfront, I figured that line would evoke a salty, offbeat optimism in the face of worsening storms. We need some hope, and part of my role is to highlight where it’s warranted.
For personal reasons, I was brimming with hope at that moment.
I was coasting on the joy of a new job at an organization which, defying national trends, values local journalism. I was learning the ropes from outgoing editor Tom Groening, who has just retired. Perhaps most of all, my wife and I had navigated Maine’s real estate market—a gale-force storm, in its own way—and were close to making an offer on a home in the Rockland area.
And while the last few years have been challenging for everyone, if I squinted, I could also make out glimmers of good news on a larger scale.
In one example: The asking price for the home we’d set our sights on had dropped more than $100,000 since the summer, part of a broader cooling in the seller’s market that had made property so much more expensive since COVID.
Yet as I write my second column, at the dark turn of the year, it’s gotten harder for me to ignore other gathering storms.
Some of this is related to a series of illnesses and deaths that have affected my friends, family, and colleagues in recent months. Another part is the usual winter malaise.
But it’s more than those things. For a while now, it has felt rare to go a single week without hearing another round of shocking national or global news.
In mid-December, there was the string of deadly attacks on a beach in Australia, at Brown University, and in the home of Rob and Michele Reiner.
And the nation continues its assault on efforts to meaningfully slow climate change, which is fueling storms, droughts, and other problems in Maine and elsewhere. Clean energy continues to grow around the world, thankfully, but why must it be so hard?
To borrow from another famous poem about a bird: “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.”
So I’m questioning how much hope I’ll be able to serve up, at least for now. Perhaps readers of The Working Waterfront can help me find it.
Back on the personal level, I can boast that we finally did buy that home, just two days before Christmas.
Of course, this has brought new forms of dread.
Before the closing, I worried that a powerful wind would blow a tree onto the roof, or knock out power long enough for pipes to freeze. After the closing, I’m even more scared of those things.
But I have no right to complain.
Another fear was that the couple selling us the property would resent us when we finally met them, for what seemed like a deal that worked in our favor.
I didn’t have to worry. They now live in a nearby town and, at the closing, got misty-eyed expressing their happiness that the place where they raised their kids would become ours. They shared a handwritten note with contacts for themselves, their plumber, and their furnace guy.
They still own and rent out another property next to ours, and with snow on the way, they offered to plow our driveway. Now that was sweet.
Charles Eichacker is the editor of The Working Waterfront and Island Journal. He may be contacted at ceichacker@islandinstitute.org.
