Morning in Maine country

By Marion Tucker-Honeycutt | May 06, 2021

Wood stove chasing off the morning chill, sun breaking through the white pines, watching the little red squirrel's frustrated attempts to get at the seed in the bird feeders (I FINALLY have them "proofed") watching the gold and purple finches flit from feeder to feeder… Morning in Maine. You can have your phony life in your multimillion-dollar Fifth Avenue penthouses. You can't walk out, barefoot on the grass, and have breakfast serenaded by the birds in the still stillness of the early morning forest. You can’t revel in the stillness, the quiet of your own private time with your world before it’s overcome by the din of noise from mankind.

It’s a time for recharging, literally. We are an 'electric body' system. And we need recharging to stay connected to our home base. This is hard to do in the concrete jungles of cities. And this disconnect, I theorize, is the main cause of the disruptions in our lives, our societies.

My favorite feeder is one my kids got me last year — a window feeder — that sits about 2 feet beyond my computer screen. I get an up-close and personal view of the birds — goldfinch, purple finch, tufted titmouse, chickadees, etc. — as they flit back and forth, stopping long enough to perch and knock open a black oil sunflower seed before flitting off to a nearby tree branch.

It’s a time for going out in the yard to inspect which new plant/flower is poking its head up for this day’s “recreation of the new day,” a quote from my favorite song, a Christian hymn first published in 1931 written by English author Eleanor Farjeon and set to music in 1971 by Cat Stevens, titled "Morning Has Broken." This is the best link to the song on YouTube: youtube.com/watch?v=we-n-Zmglt0 — with the correct lyrics, not mistaking the word “Word” for “world,” which some, unfamiliar with the Bible, do.

Excerpt:

Morning has broken like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning

Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.

...

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning

Born of the one light Eden saw play….

I had this played and sung at my daughter’s baptism — back in the '80s, when she was 8 — at sunrise on the secluded little beach of Knight’s Pond. My daughter-in-law, with the voice of an angel, sang to the accompaniment of another young lady on the guitar. As family and church members drove down the long dirt road to the pond, it was pouring rain. Just as we got to the pond, it was like someone suddenly turned off the faucet. The rain stopped abruptly. The rising sun broke out of the clouds and like a spotlight through the forest trees, flooded the little beach and the first 20 or so feet on the pond. Every leaf and needle on the trees had been scrubbed clean and glistened in the sunlight. Magical.

So every time I watch the sun come up, I remember that this is the very same sun Adam and Eve saw rise. They heard the same birdsong. They experienced the same “...rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven...” as we do. I feel the connectivity, the continuance of our inheritance from the creation, from the Word, and I have faith that the craziness of man that seems to overcome our existence here, periodically, will be overcome by Universal Laws set in place on that first day.

Marion Tucker-Honeycutt, an award-winning columnist, a Maine native and graduate of Belfast schools, now lives in Morrill. Her columns appear in this paper every other week.

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Comments (1)
Posted by: Judith Inman | May 12, 2021 09:11

Lovely story, also one of my favorite songs.  I do love watching the birds at my feeders.  It brings such joy until my little Yorkie barks and scares them away!



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