Recollections

Some Hot!

I recall that on the coast, way back when, the older ladies would sit on the porch on July evenings complaining of the heat. I’m in my garage workshop carving a sign and idly listening—” Ahhh! Some hot!” Aunt Grace would declare, and Cora, my mother-in-law, would pipe an agreement. Off to one side, my father-in-law, the Cap’n, would grunt agreement while puffing his pipe to life. Life was tranquil, and truly hot days were uncommon on the coast.

Now, for this to sound right, there has to be that little inhalational gasp of amazement before ” some hot”, and you have to use New England Coastal English to have the right effect. 

I’ve been away from that little coastal community for many years. At the time of that porch conversation, I was getting ready to depart and never return. But the mark of having lived there, been immersed in that family and worked there left its mark on me.

Being an anthropologist is kind of funny because your life in the field is immersive. I was training, writing about the community, and making a living there. I absorbed it like a sponge. In a way, it absorbed me.

While doing some work at one of the local boat yards, one of the guys suggested that I give directions to some New Yorkers. I did so, and one of the women remarked that she loved my “Yankee” accent. No matter how hard I tried to insist that I was from New York, but they laughed it off as a joke. I was so used to speaking to my friends as they talked to me that I had slipped into their speaking style without thinking. My friends had set me up for a joke. I was not too amused.

Later that night on the porch, and after the comments on how hot it had been, the Cap’n found it amusing, too. Being a cultural chameleon was not a form of hypocrisy but a way of learning. He remarked that I was fitting in, and eventually, people would forget that I was “from away.“

The Applied Anthropologist

The family had high expectations that I’d stay, give up dreams of fieldwork in Spain, university professorships, and publication in journals for life on the coast. Take up a job at a boatyard or join Lowell as a stern man on his lobster boat.

Well, none of that happened. I became an applied anthropologist working primarily in urban ethnic communities in Massachusetts. The marriage had failed, and I never returned to the small coastal community.

Then, in 1992, I learned that my job was about to be “reinvented” out of existence by the Clinton administration. There was some time before the ax fell, and I decided to dance on the edge of the abyss just a bit. Part of my job was to manage the traditional crafts area of a major folk festival. That year, I persuaded a lobsterman to bring his boat to the weekend festival and talk to people about lobstering. A boat builder also came to demonstrate boatbuilding skills. Guess where I spent my weekend during the festival that year.

Well in for a nickel, in for a dime. I invited the boatbuilder to build a boat in our Folklife Center. Guess who one of the helpers was.

Then came the moment that changed everything. I started hanging around the boat shows with my friend, the boatbuilder. Someone came up looking to have a transom banner carved, and my friend pointed to me, ” Speak to Lou.” I had started carving again; I was ready for the challenge. I probably undercharged for that board, but the experience was transformative.

New Lou

Not long after the ax fell on the government job, I found myself teaching maritime carving at a boatbuilding school along the coast of Maine. Walking along the roadside one evening on my way to the little harbor, I felt curiously at home. I recalled the proverb attributed to Mark Twain that –“History never repeats itself but it rhymes.”

It’s curious how history and experience shape our lives—not quite one thing but a blend of them all. We all seek some form of security and assurance that life is stable. But we often wind up on adventures brought about by factors beyond our control. You need to grasp the opportunities to shape life as you can. I was fortunate that I was able to pull together elements from my family’s maritime history, my time along the coast, anthropology, and the craft. The new synthesis allowed me to make my way through some troubling times.

We have some say about how the elements fit together in our lives. Our choices are important.  It’s not random unless we let it be.