Producer/Host: R.W. Estela
This week’s edition of “A Word in Edgewise” was not recorded, so the host has kindly provided the transcript:
Last night not long after sunset, the waxing-gibbous moon was on approach to the lower right of Jupiter, just above the southern horizon.
This Friday that moon will be full — and known variously as the Egg Moon, the Grass Moon, and the Pink Moon. And while that moon is first becoming full all Thursday night long, this year’s Lyrid meteor shower will have become most active. Whether the light from its meteors will be detectable, however, during Friday’s early morning hours before dawn, remains to be seen — as perhaps only the brightest of meteors will be able to shine forth in the
otherwise much moon-drenched sky.
Some folks swear by full-moon plantings, and in Maine those April plantings usually include peas. Since the soil has had an early thaw this year — and subsequent gradual drying — this might be one of those early garden years that actually plays well, meaning we get the appropriate balance of rain and sun and enough warmth in the ground so that the seeds and the seedlings will thrive and not rot.
Balance of water and warmth was everywhere in abundance this past Saturday at the 50th Annual Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race, where kayaker Trevor Maclean turned in the fastest time for the eighth consecutive year — leading 920 other participants in 492 boats.
It was my 21st Kenduskeag and the first time in twenty years that I had run the river solo, due to having my regular partner bow out because of other priorities and then my waiting until the last minute to attempt other arrangements.
My friend Brian asked me how things were as we waited to slide our boats into the water just above the bridge in the village of Kenduskeag, and I told him with somewhat of a grimace that I’d be going solo for the first time in a couple of decades.
His response was immediate and encouraging: “Well, I guess it’s about time then that you did it again solo, eh?”
He saw that he’d made me smile and added, “Something for the new century, right?”
Although buoyed considerably by my friend’s philosophical remark, I knew it would be a long ten miles of mostly flat water until reaching Six-Mile Falls, where some other friends and I had run the river down to Bangor to check it out the level of the water the afternoon before.
We had also done the sprints through an area known as Shopping Cart just off Valley Avenue in Bangor — which meant that we had already done the two portages, one at the Flour Mill Dam and one at the Maxfield Dam on Friday afternoon.
So I had a repeat of those to look forward to on Saturday, too.
But all went well, which I was more or less expecting — after all, the phrase 21 years contains a numerical component of luck, I told myself.
And those of us who were fortunate enough stayed dry navigating the numerous rapids, including Six-Mile Falls and Shopping Cart, and we exchanged cordialities along the way with various friends and acquaintances.
Above all, we learned yet again about the principal attraction of whitewater: being grateful that Mother Nature had allowed us to blend with her flow.
From Orono, Maine, Here’s to a great Day!
rwe edgeword © 2016