TWO CHEERS FOR DEMOCRACY, THREE FOR MAINE

Ruminations on small town politics, values, concerns, & our bravely outspoken Governor; Plus a recipe for a Sicilian pantry favorite: perfect for the winter table

patriotic Camden harbor

“Two Cheers for Democracy”—that’s the title of a book of essays published back in 1951, by E. M. Forster, whom you may know, if at all, for his great novel A Passage to India (1924). (And if you know the film better than the novel, that’s your loss. Get the novel now and read it! You won’t regret it, believe me.)

But going back to the essay from which Two Cheers for Democracy took its name, here’s what Forster, well known for covering his innate skepticism with a healthy dose of good humor, had to say:

“So two cheers for Democracy: one because it admits variety and two because it permits criticism. Two cheers are quite enough: there is no occasion to give three.”

In other words, don’t let Dame Democracy get too impressed with herself.

But I was so impressed with the select board meeting in my small town on the coast of Maine last week that it has quite restored my faith in democracy and my conviction that we must do all that we can to preserve it. I’m happy to give democracy two cheers, and possibly even a third one for encouragement, which the old dame can certainly use in the cynical climate that pervades our national leadership.

At issue was a two-story wooden shop building in the center of the Main Street block of my home town, Camden. The shop, abandoned months earlier, had been a pretty little place with a view out the back windows of sailboats and workboats at rest in Camden harbor. Why abandoned? Presumably because Miss Kay, the owner, was tired of the whole enterprise which she had been at for some time. It’s a familiar story.

But it turns out the building is in parlous condition, so much so that the town, concerned about an eyesore in the middle of prime tourist territory, engaged an engineer to inspect the place. And the engineer, although he walked all around and even peered underneath the property, refused to go inside because, he reported at the select board meeting, it was just too dangerous.

What to do? There were any number of options proposed: tear it down, rebuild it from the bottom up, prop it up until a firm decision could be made, et cetera. It was not a simple problem and it was made more complicated by the fact that the building apparently stands on stilts or pilings driven into unstable river mud below and is pushing up against the gift shop to its left, threatening the Smiling Cow, which is so old it should be on the National Register of Historic Places. Moreover, there are utility lines beneath the building in question, connecting several restaurants to the south from propane tanks somewhere to the north. How this ever got approved is probably a lesson in mid-twentieth century small-town civics that nobody wants to get into.

So the six members of our wonderful, hard-working Select Board (two of whom are women and notably outspoken), spent two full hours and a little more going over and over and over all of the evidence presented--by engineers, by the town’s Code Enforcement Officer, by a lawyer and paralegal speaking for the owner of the property, and by the town’s own legal consultant—and finally determined to give Miss Kay until April 1^st to come up with a satisfactory proposal and assurances that she would and could follow through. And if she can’t, the building will come down.

So this is a lesson in democracy:

• Let everyone’s voice be heard

• Listen with respect

• Ask questions, also with respect, and expect answers

• Look at all sides of a complex issue

• Be thoughtful in every sense of the word—sensitive to what’s important to your fellow citizens, even when you most disagree, and also full of thought, thinking about the issue at hand and being open to suggestions and compromise.

It was a good lesson.

“I’ll see you in court!”

Original Maine flag from originalmaine.me

That lesson was followed just a few days later by Maine’s Democratic governor, Janet Mills, another outspoken woman, taking on the petty tyrant who claims he is our President, despite compelling evidence of his incapacity for the job. At a meeting of state governors to which Trump gave his usual rambling, self-serving (could I say narcissistic?) address, when it came to a question of trans girls engaging in high school girls sports, Trump went on a sneering attack, specifically aimed at Maine where we don’t see that as much of an issue. “Are you going to comply with the executive order [banning trans athletes from women’s sports]?” Trump demanded, to which Governor Mills responded that she would comply with state and federal laws, implying clearly that executive orders are not laws. Then he threatened Maine with losing all Federal funding if we don’t comply, to which Janet Mills replied: “I’ll see you in court.”

I think that’s the first time anyone in public view has actually stood up to this would-be autocrat, and her defiance seems to have left His Nibs at least momentarily flummoxed. You’re not ever going to be elected to anything ever again, he declared, ignorant of the fact that it is really up to us, the people of Maine, to determine who are our elected officials.

So, once again, two cheers for democracy, and a loud three cheers for Governor Janet Mills of the Great State of Maine!

On to the kitchen

It’s much too chilly in February to sit on the kitchen porch. It’s also a dull time of year for fresh vegetables. I’ve had my fill of kale and collards by now and even the koginut squash has lost its appeal. As has winter in general. This has been a harsher winter than usual, with high winds, a long spell of frigid temperatures, icy trails and streets—but the snow that covers everything lends a glorious luster that makes up for the lack of green. March is coming on strong, seedlings are putting up tiny, tender shoots, but we’re not there yet. As one of my favorite local farmers said on a recent blog: “Here’s to a lessening of wind, and a lengthening of days.”

Harvesting ice at Thompson Pond, South Bristol, Maine

Meanwhile, let’s go to the pantry to find an old Sicilian recipe for Pasta del Principe. It comes from the Monte Iblei, the mountainous region inland from Siracusa in southeastern Sicily. No one could tell me why such a humble dish would be called “the prince’s pasta,” but it leads to romantic daydreams of a rustic Cinderella preparing this for a hungry prince and thereby winning his heart. But that is not a very Sicilian story.

The recipe below is for paid subscribers only.