Sixty Degrees North: A Memoir of Finding Home

COMMUNITY IN 2020

There are many things I could write about in this year of shutdowns and sickness, separation and lack of travel. It has been a lonely time for many, and also a time where households could spend more time together, welcomed or not. There is no doubt that COVID-19 and the changes made in society to prevent its rapid spread have changed "community"--how it looks, acts, and feels--and communities. I’ve been too overwhelmed by it to feel enabled to write clearly about it, and yet there has been much to say about how the Internet has kept not only companies and schools (Who had heard of Zoom before late March?!?) going but also brought groups together in new and unexpected ways (my local PTA saw a dramatic increase in attendance from home), and how the lack of community (job loss, being or feeling alone) has led many down roads of despair and suicide or to innovative ways to succeed or change course. COVID-19 has wreaked its havoc on our world in many ways including community. As have unjust deaths of men and women at the hands of law enforcement, the riots and neighborhood takeovers!

Has this episode in our world’s history taught us anything about the importance of safe, strong community ties and a place to call home. YES, or at least I hope so! There are many personal and public examples of how community has changed for the worse or better this year, and it really depends on what demographic you are in, your resources, previous community ties, your experiences this year, and your ability to access technology.

BOOK REVIEW

All this to introduce a review and personal thoughts on the book Sixty Degrees North (softbound, Pegasus edition reprint, 2017) by Malachy Tallack. It was an enjoyable read as far as reading for pleasure, but as I was reading I formed some thoughts about how the book relates to my own views about place, community, and home, and found the writer’s journey mirrored what I believe is a human instinct to find “home,” that place where the heart and memories reside as well as the body and soul, even when those things can’t be present all at once in that place one calls home. 

Part travelogue and memoir, this book travels with Tallack as he circles the globe westward along the 60 degree parallel. For the geographically challenged, this is north, about as far north as is inhabitable for humans. He is spurred to travel out of personal loss and upended life plans, including an unexpected move. Feeling restless, he makes his way from his physical home of Shetland Island to Greenland and land hops all the way around the globe stopping in Canada, Alaska, Siberia, Russia, Finland, Aland, Sweden, and Norway, following the 60th parallel, before discovering that Shetland was home.

With vivid geographical descriptions of the lands and towns he visits while trying to get as close as possible to that imaginary 60th "line," Tallack brings readers on his westward and inward journey, as he explores anthropology, history, and culture with honesty and an open mind to experiencing these places for what they are. The personal, thought-provoking, and quiet memoir explores how mankind interacts with and lives off the land in a symbiotic relationship in the harsh terrains and unforgiving climes. He explores how land at the 60th is both life-giving, beautiful, and dangerous, and not for everyone!

 

Near the end of this book, Tallack writes about finally finding home for a while in Fair Isle, part of Shetland, Scotland, but its own island 25 miles from Shetland itself. He writes of the community he grew to love while visiting his brother who was working in a bird observatory: “It was Fair Isle’s community that drew me in. It was the connections that people had with each other and with their place-connections that were obvious to even the briefest of visitors. To live in Fair Isle was unlike living anywhere that I had known before. It was to become a member of something bigger and more important than any individual. It was to belong to a community that was greater than the sum of its parts, independent from and yet dependent upon each member. On that island, among those people, I came to understand and to experience a sense of attachment that was stronger, more intricate, and yet somehow simpler than any I had felt before. Fair Isle was the first place in which my desire to be at home felt welcomed and reciprocated” (pps. 186-187).

Home may be where
you hang your hat,
but it is something more?

As I read Tallack’s lovely clear writing, I couldn’t stop thinking about the story of Adam and Eve, and how they were kicked out of their home that had all the accoutrements of life they needed. Within the human heart lies this very loss, want, and need of home. There are many stories in literature that speak to this longing. We also know how social, mental, emotional, and physical health depends on our relationship with others and the world around us. We are made for relationships. Without them, from the smallest baby to the eldest world citizen, we will literally die for lack of connection and meaning. This book also caused me to think about Christian’s journey in Pilgrim’s Progress, the metaphor for the journey of life with God to an eternal home.

Within us all there is a longing for our home, our people, our place, our community. 

Tallack’s book, while informative about the cultures and traditions of the lands he visited, is more about finding home, community, and belonging. His description of the attraction of living in Fair Isle sums up what community is and should be. 

This would make a great library, church, or community center book club read for a group discussion about what home and community means. Armchair travelers and students of anthropology and northern climes may find this a lighter read to offset their studies. It is also just a good read if you are so inclined.

Where is home, not just the physical building you reside in, but where is your home community? Where do you really feel you belong?

For the book, see: Malachy Tallack's Website

For a completely heady and more critical review (including two photographs from the book), go here: The Guardian: "Book of the Day," July 8, 2015

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

We just returned from a day and a night in Boston, which is a hop, skip, and jump from Maine. We took the train. Driving in Boston can be a nightmare, and many Mainers skip the stress and hop on the bus or Amtrak.Whenever someone has to drive to Boston, they get a lot of sympathy, and everyone has their driving-in-Boston stories. When the Big Dig was going on, it was more nightmarish, but it still seems like signs and streets move on a dime and we never know when a road is going to be closed or where there might be traffic backup. We have spent a few weekends or days visiting Beantown, and we always look forward to it and also grit our teeth and pray for good traveling. One time we payed the toll twice on Tobin Bridge-don't ask. We've also had our T and train nightmares too, but this time we had a smooth journey.

We went to see the Red Sox, who got whomped by the Dodgers. Too bad. The night before the Sox had beat the Dodgers. (In context for all you non baseball fans, this was a big series because last October the Sox won the World Series against the Dodgers and one of the Sox star pitchers, Joe Kelly, switched hats over the winter and became a Dodger. Boo!)

We aren't advocating underage drinking,
but we did eat sandwiches, wings and
sodas at Boston's tv-famous bar/restaurant;
 however, no one seemed to know our name. 

Boston is a very fun city. It is also gritty and fast-paced. My brother has told me there is a saying about Boston that its a little drinking town with a big sports problem! It is a historic, artsy, and collegiate town with lots of great restaurants and culture. Running is, of course, huge.

I don't know if it was the heat or getting up at 3:30 a.m. to catch a super early train, but by gametime I was ready to get back home to smallville Maine where everybody really does know your name. (We always hit Cheers at Quincy Market.) I think what hit me this visit was the general unfriendliness of the Boston natives. I have to say the Parisians were friendlier! Although we didn't have any truly rude encounters, its always the other tourists in Boston that are friendly and helpful to each other. Mainers always seem to find one another as well. One year a family asked us for helped with the T. They were from Maine. They looked at us and thought we looked like we knew what we were doing. We did, momentarily, because we had just spent three days  navigating the T using maps and my husband's skilled sense of direction. (This trip, likely thanks to the French firm the city has hired to fix their public transport, we found more vested MTBA workers in the T to ask questions of--not many but one or two, which is more than usual.)

The folks that work at Fenway are, of course, friendly, so long as you aren't trying to run on the field. But I really couldn't wait to get home. We heard more F words and people yelling into phones on this trip than any other time.

I know Boston must have its own sense of community within neighborhoods and groups of likeminded people, but as in most cities no one looks at each other directly, no one smiles at you, and officials often seem annoyed when you ask dumb questions. Even though life in Maine is somewhat unvaried and small in terms of what there is to do and see (no night city life or regular sporting events), I do like that many people know your name including grocery clerks, corner store clerks and the postmaster, or at least they ask "How are you?" I regularly run into people I'm distantly related to, and while that used to sometimes feel socially claustrophobic, I'm realizing it's not a bad thing at all that everyone knows your story (the public version) and your name.

That's where community often starts--knowing one another, at least by name.

Children create opportunities for community-friendship

Many weeks ago we had dinner with our very good friends in their yard. While the food was good, the conversation is always the best part of our time together. Venting, idea sharing, and just getting caught up on life was a part of the conversational adventure. For me, I enjoyed getting out of my own head, forgetting my life problems a bit, and listening to what someone else has been doing lately. I get far too few of these kinds of connective conversations, although their value is immeasurable.
These friends I've had for many years and our children are growing up together. This is community.
How I long to sit on my front porch, back deck or front yard with you, and let our children grow up together playing in the front yard so they can learn the value of love, respect, honesty, sharing, friendship, community.

While out doing some errands, we visited with my grandparents at their farm. An aunt and uncle live nearby and when we stopped at their barn to get some eggs, my son wanted to go in to see his cousin. I didn't feel like we had time, but we did for a minute. I didn't accept the pie, but my son did get to play for a minute. We had a few more stops, and he was downright grouchy that we couldn't continue down the road to his friend's house. He loves visiting. The home we lived in when he was a baby was on a cul-de-sac-- a quiet neighborhood with families of all ages. After a while, and after many stroller walks, he caught on that their were friendly people that lived in those houses who we would often greet in the yard or go knock on their door for an errand or visit. Every time after those first few visits were ingrained in his memory, he begged and cried to go visit. He had a great longing for community even before the age of two.

Stroller boy who loved to visit
neighbors on our walks!

I love it when he can play outside with our neighbor's son, who is about a year younger than him. In the summer when the windows were open, if he would hear voices he would stop and say, "Is that H...? I want to go see." He would hurry to go outside to see if his friend was playing, and sometimes he'd be disappointed if they were leaving.

I remember growing up in a neighborhood without kids. It seemed like forever but I was about 6 when kids (girls even!) moved in across the street. I was so excited because there were 3 of them and one was in my class! I remember they walked down their long driveway with their Mom to visit and meet us, and I was mortified when our large collie grabbed the youngest's blanket and proceeded to drag her around the yard. He was playing, but I thought for sure I'd never see them again! I was wrong.

While 4 girls of vast age differences had our social hiccups and girl fights, I still reveled in having friends nearby, no matter the struggles. I still tend to brag about it. "They lived across the street from me!" It's as if they belonged to me!

One summer when the one my age was going away, even though we talked the night before, I was so sad knowing she had left. Later, I found a note she'd left in my mailbox about friends and jeans always being there for you, and that she would miss me.

Because kids naturally gravitate toward each other, children tend to create instant community through their friendships with each other. Community creates friends, or sometimes a neighborhood does. It's a beautiful thing when people can go outside and make a friend.