When I pulled up the local newspaper on my laptop recently, I was overwhelmed. Again.
Raising victory gardens was a responsibility that women like Liz Dudgeon’s grandmother took on during World War II to supplement rations and boost morale, as shown in this July 17, 1942, Portland Sunday Telegram photo of “Mrs. Carl C. Corson (left) and Mrs. G.J. Arzonico” of Yarmouth. (In the convention of the time, the women are identified only as “Mrs.,” followed by their husbands’ names.) Also pictured are brothers John and David Corson. Portland Public Library Special Collections and Archives
You see, the newspaper was my last-ditch effort to remain responsibly informed. TV news had become too scary – COVID, political unrest, climate change, the opioid crisis, inflation – you get the picture. TV news soundbites convinced me, like Henny Penny, that disaster lurked around every corner. I thought the newspaper would allow me to remain informed by skimming headlines and exploring in more depth only the “manageable” stories.
It was a decent but limiting strategy; it seems the fact that life is difficult cannot be ignored, nor should it. Scott Peck thought so, too. “Life is difficult” was the opening line in his best-seller “A Road Less Traveled” in 1978 – another year full of terrifying news. Think energy crisis, serial killers, Love Canal and Jonestown.
The fact is, neither 2022 nor 1978 is unique – history has chronicled bad news since day one, yet people soldier on. But how? Is there a magic coping mechanism to transform my old “The sky is falling” mantra into a more responsible perspective?
Well, here’s where history proves helpful – I found the formula for resilience in my maternal grandmother’s memoir. Born in Readfield in 1903, she lived most of her less-than-easy life in Maine. Before her passing in 1985, she had the foresight to write about many of her life’s experiences. Within the pages of her well-organized, double-spaced “gift,” I have found solace – not in a “misery loves company” way but through her perspective that life is often difficult and that we are capable of more than we think.
A teenager during World War I, she wrote of being “terrified” about the war but still “doing her part” with the Red Cross ladies “rolling bandages, making hospital pajamas, etc. in the room over the fire station.”
Unable to find decent jobs locally after graduation (she from Gorham Normal School and my grandfather from the University of Maine) she wrote of relocating and “living on a shoestring” in Everett, Massachusetts, in 1924. She noted how thankful they were to have steady wages, a garden to keep them fed and access to a “little fish store that nearly always carried flounder for 10 cents a pound.”
After a scare involving my mother and something termed “acidosis,” Gram’s family of four returned in 1929 to Maine, where they weathered the Great Depression, the Floods of 1936, World War II and the Fires of 1947 as well as the routine trials and tribulations of marriage, family life and employment. Her memoir is filled with tales of family and friends, gardens, financial woes, hunting trips, illnesses, celebrations and a healthy dose of perspective about responsibility as well as the cyclical nature of adversity.
Embracing those perspectives, I have returned to watching TV news and reading the paper. Gram’s words quieted Henny Penny, although that silly chicken still trots through my thoughts when the moon is full, and sleep does not come easily. I like to think of Henny’s appearances now as well-timed calls to action – Gram’s reminders to live in the real world, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to adapt when necessary and to make a positive impact whenever possible.
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