Memos from Quarantine #55: Blue Moon

"Once in a blue moon …"

How many times have you heard that phrase? Ever consider what it actually means?

Conversationally, it stands for a rare occurrence. Technically, it's when there are two full moons in a calendar month (such as last October) or when there are four full moons in a three-month season (such as last night).

Where I live in Maine, this is also called the Sturgeon Moon, because according to American Indian legend this is when the huge prehistoric fish are most easily caught.

Me? I'm sitting here on a Blue Moon Sunday morning and musing about all the rare occurrences I've had the opportunity to experience over the past month. Like the bat in my living room.

There is no way to tiptoe into this. I walked downstairs to start my day at 3 a.m. a few weeks back, and a brown bat was swooping through my living room. This was a welcome sight to Nala the kitten, who thought I got her a new toy. Less welcome to me, who did what any self-respecting gentleman would do. I hid in my office 'til dawn.

Now, getting rid of a bat honestly isn't so hard. I didn't know this 'til I called animal control, but really it was simple. After sunrise, I located the bat hanging from the rafters in a second-floor bedroom, got it to cling to the bristles of a broom, and I guided it to an open window, where it swooped into the woods. Easy. Unhappy kitten, but her vote didn't count.

I've not seen another bat since, but now I'm prepared for one every day. Just another facet of living in the old farmhouse at the edge of the hundred acre wood. Some people get up and walk their dogs. I hunt bats.

Then there's life at the general store. Understand first: Two years ago, my life was: Drive to the airport on Monday, fly somewhere in the world 'til Friday, then come home – rinse and repeat. It was common for me to have breakfast in Boston and lunch in San Francisco. Then the world changed, and now my big decision is: Do I want to drive 12 miles to the grocery store, or get by with basic supplies at the general store two miles away?

"Basic supplies" means eggs, milk and beer, as well as firewood, gardening equipment and live bait – the stuff all convenience stores should sell. Literally within 10 feet of one another there is a heated container of fresh breakfast sandwiches and a cooler of fresh night crawlers. Better have that second cup of coffee before you open a door and make your breakfast choice.

I was in the general store the other day, and the clerk was unusually silent. Then I saw she was eating. Turns out she was munching a fresh cucumber. "I'm sorry," she said after she swallowed. "I love cucumbers, but my husband uses all of ours to make pickles. So this one customer brings me fresh cucumbers to snack on. In return, I know he collects wheat pennies, so I always look for them in our change and set them aside."

Where else? What store do you frequent where the customers exchange produce for pennies?

As I sit and write for you this morning, I still feel the glow from yesterday, when three generations of former residents came to tour my home.

I've told you the history of this place: Built by a Revolutionary War soldier around 1780; was a training ground for Civil War soldiers and then a stage coach inn during the 1800s; and for nearly all of the 20th century it was the homestead of storyteller Helen Caldwell Cushman, who was married to novelist Erskine (Tobacco Road, God's Little Acre) Caldwell in the 1920s and 30s. I work now in the office where Caldwell refined his most famous works, and yesterday I was visited by his former daughter-in-law, grandson, granddaughter and two great-grandchildren. They wanted to tour the house, rekindle some memories and tell their stories.

It is so humbling to be the caretaker of a storied home and to have its former residents wander through and tell you how the rooms were used, who was born – and died – where, the meaning behind all the names painted on the doorways and walls in the barn. Even Caldwell himself is represented, I learned, by his nickname "Skinny" on the door separating my kitchen and ell to the barn. They tell me of the famous parties, the summer days spent swimming in the pond out back and the summer nights spent wide-eyed in bed awaiting a visit from Gertrude or Pegleg, the resident spirits.

The eldest of my guests yesterday was Patricia, who was married to Erskine and Helen's middle child, Dabney. He famously saw Gertrude in the mirror one day when he was practicing his violin. Pat sat with me and shared so much yesterday, and as the family gathered to leave, she took my hand and thanked me. "I want you to know how much the family appreciates you and your intentions for this property."

I'm not sure I've ever received a more significant blessing.

There's a lot to think about as we awaken to our Blue Moon today. There's a hurricane moving into New England, more military unrest in the world, and COVID-19 – she's hardly done with us. Tentatively, I have travel plans for live events in October and November, but no one with certainty can predict our pandemic path.

Airports, hotels and steakhouse dinners. Those are what were on my mind two years ago, looking ahead to fall 2019.

Today it's bats, cucumbers and ghosts. I'm poorer in air miles and hotel points, but richer in life experience.

Stay safe …