On Common Ground

by Gina Hamilton
Coastal Journal editor

On Sunday, Chris and I went up to the Common Ground Fair.

Chris is never quite sure how he feels about the fair ... for me, it is like coming home to a noisy picnic of brothers and sisters, all basically saying the same thing but still being able to argue about it. It’s wonderful.

To be fair, Chris’ attitude toward the Fair might be due to the fact that last year, we went on a day that promised to clear up, but ended up being a downpour. On our way out, we saw a pig covered in mud near the gate. When we looked at our own clothes, we had to laugh ... we were covered in mud too.

Getting there from here is always interesting. Unity, where the Common Ground Fair is held, is truly in the middle of nowhere. There is no direct route. You can take the coastal route and go west from Belfast, or you can drive down Route 3 from Augusta, or you can go up to Fairfield and cut over. We went up to Fairfield this year and cut over, and we got there late enough that we ended up parking near the Rose Gate, which is good. It’s closer to the action, and the lines are always smaller.

Considering how many friends and neighbors and co-workers were there this year, it was shocking that I didn’t run into anyone I knew. But Sunday was a lovely day, warm sun, cool breeze, and probably the most crowded day of the fair.

The Common Ground Fair always fills me with inspiration that I never quite live up to the remainder of the year. I always resolve to learn to knit, for instance. It never happens. I always plan on getting serious about composting kitchen waste ... it’s generally a haphazard effort at best. Even little things, like deciding to get out to Gorenson’s Farm for organic produce on a weekly basis until the weather turns, tend to go by the boards in the light of actual, true daily life.

But being inspired is important, even if the inspiration doesn’t last long.

This year, we were looking for a guy, Dwaine Hallowell, who sells ambient air exchange heating systems, which is what I want, if it can be made to work with our 119 year old house. He wasn’t there, but we were inspired by solar panels, and by people who build little sheds using post and beam construction. Chris was particularly inspired by a wood-fired hot tub, and I have to say that was pretty inspiring to me, too, even if I have to move my roses and herb garden for the thing.

We also went looking for Eastern Gravenstein apples, but again I fear I am too late for them. Gravensteins were the love of my life in California. They are sweet and tart, and go wonderfully with real English cheddar cheese and a little German white wine. They are only out for about a couple of weeks, which makes them even more precious.

In the special, first day of fall golden slanting sunlight, we listened to music as it changed from fiddle to a capella vocals to gentle folk guitar, depending on where we were. The music was interspersed with quiet lecture voices on topics from hay-bale insulation to returning salmon to a decimated river. Children laughed and cried, old couples held hands, and young volunteers rushed about, dressed in the mode of the day but with a difference - you could see the homespun skirt under the bright orange t-shirt or the hand-knitted cap over the hair dyed black.

We bought a lovely papyrus plant in a pretty container, in honor of my writing profession, and a spray of dried wildflowers to decorate the bedroom, and left in time to hear the Red Sox blow it again on the radio on the ride home. We made some spaghetti using our home-grown vegetables and a nice salad with the last of the summer tomatoes.

And we resolved to stay inspired.