Home, From Away
~Written by Kate McCarty~
~Edited by Lynn Crothers & Erik Neilson~
~Written by Kate McCarty~
~Edited by Lynn Crothers & Erik Neilson~
Me? I am new here, myself. And while I know most people do not readily admit that they are “From Away,” I don’t really feel like it’s something I can hide. Inevitably, when I reveal that I just moved to Portland, people ask why. And after almost a year, I still don’t have a good stock answer. Usually it goes something like this: “Well, my boyfriend went to school here once and really liked it...” or “I was living in Montana and I didn’t want to brave the winter there...”
The fact is I don’t have a go-to answer that captures the love for Maine I’ve developed since I moved here. I’ve moved around a lot since college, and my lifetime of occasional visits to Maine – from sea kayaking in Penobscot Bay to a music festival in Aroostook County to backwoods shenanigans on Vinalhaven Island – taught me that Maine is, well, awesome. You know it – I don’t really have to explain it, or else you wouldn’t have moved or stayed here yourself.
Ironically, my boyfriend found it difficult to make friends the first time he moved here; he thought Portland was a rather closed community. A friend of mine, a new transport herself, was told to find a boyfriend by Thanksgiving or else all the eligible men would disappear into their homes. So when I first moved here last October, I was a bit apprehensive about a long, cold, lonely winter. But because I’m always on the move, I’m used to not having a large social network in one place.
So, I hunkered down for the winter and did what I always do - flexed my culinary muscles. I made crusty loaves of English muffin bread; stuffed out-of-season peaches and garlic into pork loins, whipped up batches of red lentil, Mulligatawny and Italian wedding soup; all with homemade chicken stock. My phone may not have been ringing off the hook with social engagements, but at least I was well fed.
You will be heartened to know that, over time, I did not find it difficult to make friends in the Portland area. To this day, everyone I meet is welcoming, inclusive and friendly. I have made friends by taking classes, by becoming a “regular” at a bar (OK, I’ve met a lot of my friends at the bar), and by coincidentally bumping into an old college acquaintance. Two of my friends, Amanda and Ryan, are engaged to be married; they were even kind enough to invite my boyfriend and I to the wedding.
Amanda and Ryan are both very energetic people - extremely fun to be around. I met them at a bar (surprise), and after trying futilely to engage in some ear-splitting conversation, Ryan shouted over the loud DJs, “We should have a dinner party so we can all talk!” And you know what? They actually followed through and hosted a dinner for us, complete with grilled food and salad.
While I would not say that food is the only thing that brought us together, Amanda, Ryan, my boyfriend and I have bonded a lot over meals. We have helped them chop pungent garlic scapes into pesto after their CSA arrived. I’ve passed Ryan a heaping platter of pork chops out the tiny kitchen window to his position by the grill and I also helped them turn 22 pounds of tiny, sweet berries into a gesture of remembrance for their upcoming nuptials. Amanda had decided (way back when wedding plans were purely theoretical and she had all the time in the world) that she would send her wedding guests home with small, homemade jars of wild Maine blueberry jam. Never mind that she didn’t actually know how to can! Fortunately for her, she made a new friend that did: Me!
So I signed on to help with the massive “jam session.” That day, Ryan and his mom sat around the kitchen bar sifting good blueberries apart from under-ripened ones, gently picking out stems and leaves, and sipping mimosas. As the good berries piled up, Amanda began mashing loads of them. The darker ones gradually gave up their purple juice and yielded an almost black pulp. Amanda and I made sense of the recipes and began cooking down our blueberry mash. As we slowly stirred in honey and waited for the mixture to start bubbling and boiling, the kitchen filled with steam from the boiling water bath and the sweet smell of dissolving blueberries. We carefully ladled hot jam into the little jars and nestled them together in the pot of boiling water.
As I replaced the lid and listened to Amanda tease Ryan about his lack of enthusiasm for his sorting task, I thought of how long ago last winter seemed. In less than a year, I had gone from long days spent alone, cooking in my tiny apartment kitchen with only my cat and my cookbook, to being invited to witness the promise of love between two friends.
As we begin again our descent into winter - and as Amanda and Ryan become husband and wife - I know that no matter how high the snow drifts rise or how cold the wind blows this year, I have found the friends and food that make Maine my home.
The fact is I don’t have a go-to answer that captures the love for Maine I’ve developed since I moved here. I’ve moved around a lot since college, and my lifetime of occasional visits to Maine – from sea kayaking in Penobscot Bay to a music festival in Aroostook County to backwoods shenanigans on Vinalhaven Island – taught me that Maine is, well, awesome. You know it – I don’t really have to explain it, or else you wouldn’t have moved or stayed here yourself.
Ironically, my boyfriend found it difficult to make friends the first time he moved here; he thought Portland was a rather closed community. A friend of mine, a new transport herself, was told to find a boyfriend by Thanksgiving or else all the eligible men would disappear into their homes. So when I first moved here last October, I was a bit apprehensive about a long, cold, lonely winter. But because I’m always on the move, I’m used to not having a large social network in one place.
So, I hunkered down for the winter and did what I always do - flexed my culinary muscles. I made crusty loaves of English muffin bread; stuffed out-of-season peaches and garlic into pork loins, whipped up batches of red lentil, Mulligatawny and Italian wedding soup; all with homemade chicken stock. My phone may not have been ringing off the hook with social engagements, but at least I was well fed.
You will be heartened to know that, over time, I did not find it difficult to make friends in the Portland area. To this day, everyone I meet is welcoming, inclusive and friendly. I have made friends by taking classes, by becoming a “regular” at a bar (OK, I’ve met a lot of my friends at the bar), and by coincidentally bumping into an old college acquaintance. Two of my friends, Amanda and Ryan, are engaged to be married; they were even kind enough to invite my boyfriend and I to the wedding.
Amanda and Ryan are both very energetic people - extremely fun to be around. I met them at a bar (surprise), and after trying futilely to engage in some ear-splitting conversation, Ryan shouted over the loud DJs, “We should have a dinner party so we can all talk!” And you know what? They actually followed through and hosted a dinner for us, complete with grilled food and salad.
While I would not say that food is the only thing that brought us together, Amanda, Ryan, my boyfriend and I have bonded a lot over meals. We have helped them chop pungent garlic scapes into pesto after their CSA arrived. I’ve passed Ryan a heaping platter of pork chops out the tiny kitchen window to his position by the grill and I also helped them turn 22 pounds of tiny, sweet berries into a gesture of remembrance for their upcoming nuptials. Amanda had decided (way back when wedding plans were purely theoretical and she had all the time in the world) that she would send her wedding guests home with small, homemade jars of wild Maine blueberry jam. Never mind that she didn’t actually know how to can! Fortunately for her, she made a new friend that did: Me!
So I signed on to help with the massive “jam session.” That day, Ryan and his mom sat around the kitchen bar sifting good blueberries apart from under-ripened ones, gently picking out stems and leaves, and sipping mimosas. As the good berries piled up, Amanda began mashing loads of them. The darker ones gradually gave up their purple juice and yielded an almost black pulp. Amanda and I made sense of the recipes and began cooking down our blueberry mash. As we slowly stirred in honey and waited for the mixture to start bubbling and boiling, the kitchen filled with steam from the boiling water bath and the sweet smell of dissolving blueberries. We carefully ladled hot jam into the little jars and nestled them together in the pot of boiling water.
As I replaced the lid and listened to Amanda tease Ryan about his lack of enthusiasm for his sorting task, I thought of how long ago last winter seemed. In less than a year, I had gone from long days spent alone, cooking in my tiny apartment kitchen with only my cat and my cookbook, to being invited to witness the promise of love between two friends.
As we begin again our descent into winter - and as Amanda and Ryan become husband and wife - I know that no matter how high the snow drifts rise or how cold the wind blows this year, I have found the friends and food that make Maine my home.
