September heads out. So does the Haley G. With Emily Selinger sterning on 'a day off' from Emily's Oysters.
I placed socks and a coffee card close to her huddled body...
Dear Anonymous,
I placed socks and a coffee card close to her huddled body and quietly said so as not to startle her 'It's ok. Just leaving something for you.' and walk away back to my car. I see she sits up. She is beautiful ...and sleepy. She is wearing one of the handknit neck warmers as a head band over a scarf. She smiles weakly and I go back and hand her another couple neck warmers. And I leave. She turns her face looking down at the granite step she is on, and her reclining pose, up on her hands, arms straight hips on the ground, legs folded beneath her is striking. I don't photograph. It feels too vulnerable and I don't have it in me to ask her directly for permission.
A young woman. On the streets. Don't know her story. How easy it could be to be taken advantage of. In so many ways. I don't know her story. She may be strong as an ox and as defensive, unlike me. But every assault against me as a young woman is close to the surface of my own skin. I leave her be.
Nodding this head.
Nodding this head. Today is Wear Orange Day in honour of Residential School Survivors. Don't know what that is? Many don't and that's a problem. Native Indigenous people were forced into residential Schools here and in Canada. The motto was Kill the Indian, Save the Man. And it was forbidden for them to speak their language or participate in their culture. Families were separated. And many did not survive their treatment or their experience, understandably, without extreme damage. Another link in the chain of profound generational trauma.
This morning they came upon the treasure trove...
Dear Anonymous,
This morning they came upon the treasure trove of recently delivered sweatshirts and socks and back packs. Like hungry birds. Mike who I have known for years now yells at the guys as they approach my car, 'No more swearin'. You don't have to swear now...' and I know he is trying to be respectful around me. He is always trimming in the troops.
One young boy/man is stumbling with a blanket over his shoulders. The group all know he's struggling so they round him up without making a big deal of it and we all pitch in to fill a backpack with sweaters, and thermal shirts, and socks and hand it to him. He is cold. He accepts it. 'Do you have a sleeping bag?' he asks.
The guys are offering advice on how and what to layer. One man who has just taken a jacket from the bin now looks at the young man and says 'Here. This will fit you better.' and takes off his jacket and hands it to him. And it does. It fits him well.
Thank you, all you Dear Anonymous's who show up with resources.
They are gratefully received.
And about this image. Well, this matches how desperate it feels out there at times.
What Was Seen But Not Said
What Was Seen But Not Said
Missing Links
Missing Links
To the woman on the dock at dawn with her rescue dog.
To the woman on the dock at dawn with her rescue dog.
What arrived in chains.
What arrived in chains.
The workday meeting and conference call of the Working Waterfront.
The workday meeting and conference call of the Working Waterfront.
Trumpet
Trumpet
If I were to rewrite the Greek Myth of Sisyphus
If I were to rewrite the Greek Myth of Sisyphus, condemned to eternal punishment of rolling a boulder uphill, it would be the Downeast Tale of a Sternman condemned for eternity unwinding tangled lines.
He would look somewhat like this, head bowed to the ground, hood up, bent over...
Dear Anonymous,
He would look somewhat like this, head bowed to the ground, hood up, bent over as if the weight of life sat on his back. Trudging up the street.
Stopping to say hello, he brightens with his unforgettable smile. A sunrise from a dark pre dawn. Socks are tucked into his backpack. A coffee card happily accepted. Not taking anything more than he needs. I can smell the alcohol. I can feel the weight.He always makes me smile.
Another man refuses a piece of blueberry cake, he says 'I got my cake.' and gestures by lifting a plastic shopping bag containing a big bottle of amber liquid. 'I like it warm.' he says.
Tales of addiction. Tales of grief. Tales of 'I'm gonna try again....'. Tales of choices. Sometimes tales of disease. Tales of the people.
The Working Waterfront is always under threat from economic development.
The Working Waterfront is always under threat from economic development. Everybody wants to be on the water. These fishermen did something about the recent threat to their livelihood and helped stop any further new hotel development on the waterside of Commercial Street. The work they did with the city has benefitted all of us who wish to protect the Working Waterfront from extinction. And, by the way, Portland is one of the LAST working waterfronts still in action.
Please join fishermen, their families and friends Thursday October 3, 5-9 PM at Becky's Diner for an Art Auction to help offset the legal fees.
Bait. Time to get the bait.
Bait. Time to get the bait.
Against all odds someone I recognize from the streets steps off the street and into a different life.
Dear Anonymous,
Against all odds someone I recognize from the streets steps off the street and into a different life. And it is always stressful. And sometimes it works really well and sometimes it backfires because it's never just a roof, or just a job. It's more complicated than that. It's so much more complicated than this.
I speak with one young man struggling on the margins, stuck periodically in the eddies of street life, 'What do we do?'...and I don't know.
'Coffee cards and socks? 'I answer.
And he smiles.