And Some Ya Bleed For...

"MORSE MOUNTAIN"
Phippsburg, Maine

Original Oil on Canvas (NFS)

Roland Giclee Ltd. Edition
$275 USD (unframed)

16" x 16"

Tucked away on Route 216 is the entrance to a rare jewel simply known as Morse Mountain.

Though the mosquitoes are thick, it is worth the two-mile walk to behold one of Maine’s most enchanting secrets – old growth forests thick with ancient moss, glacial granite monoliths and marsh corridors leading to a broad sand beach bordered by marsh rivers on each end. Only a few cottages and old homes sprinkled along the way. The high point is Morse Mountain, which offers this lovely view of the marsh corridor below. Little evidence remains of the Navy installation that once presided over this view, except for the road itself, for which we are most grateful. Because Morse Mountain is a bird sanctuary, dogs are not allowed on this hike. Apparently the biting pests have full license to roam, and roam they do.

I hiked into Morse Mountain one day, weighed down with paintings supplies in the backpack, canvas stretchers in each hand and most definitely the wrong pair of shoes. The morning trip in wasn't so bad with the sun high and the swarm moderately well behaved. I painted the image called Popham which precedes this post. On the way out, I could not resist the lighting and exquisite beauty of the overlook, so in that daft, tunnel-visioned artist glaze, I set up and began to paint. Out in the open and protected by the breeze, the afternoon was sublime. However when it came time to walk out... oh dear, dear, dear.

Envision bone tired woman (painted brains out) hiking with heavy pack, wretched shoes and a wet painting in each hand and no one to swat mosquitoes for this poor fool. The little darlins attacked every exposed centimeter of skin, and then some. One moment I felt the sting in my outstretched palm (remember the canvas) while another little sucker landed on the other vulnerable palm. Shrieking, I thumped the first little bastard with the corner of a canvas, and then the other. Miraculously, neither painting was smeared.

If only I had wings. Where is the Navy when you need them? This would be the last time I ever attempted two canvases at Morse Mountain. I still have scars to remember that day from months of scratching, along with these particularly satisfying images to revisit now and then.

More than anything, when I stand atop this hill it is the feeling of the people who came before us that overwhelms me -- the ones who vanished in our wake. I can see them, navigating the marsh, gathering shellfish by the ocean, living simply in a way that we seem to have evolved completely out of... and just who is going to save us poor fools?

At Morse Mountain, the sun rises, the sun sets. The wind blows ever constant. The smaht ones hike in during the off seasons.