Plain Plane Talk By Janet Joyner
It was September 1998, and Harriet Jordon had just spent the Labor Day holiday with friends in Deer Isle, off the coast of Maine. Harriet’s friends had rented a large house there for the entire summer and had invited a life-time of friends to come visit according to a schedule of bi-weekly arrivals, carefully chosen to always include at least two good cooks for each “session.” HJ, as she was called, was passable in that category, but she also suspected her friends had a kinder, more compassionate motive in inviting her. It was her first trip alone, her partner of over twenty-five years having found the relationship no longer adequate.
And indeed, the trip had been good for HJ. Two weeks of digging for clams, mucking about in rubber boots and the pluff mud, rowing the boat, and even the bracing brief swims in cool Atlantic waters. Along with the good fresh seafood, excellent wine, great storytelling and laughter—especially around the “coming out” stories, the one experience they all had in common. There had been trips to Bar Harbor, numerous stops for sampling lobster rolls, and terrifying drives along the curvy, narrow coastal roads. And the camaraderie was so genuine that none of them seemed to have minded that part of the deal of which the invitées all seemed unaware, the part that involved painting the exterior of the rental house. Which was how their hostesses could afford the extravagance of an entire summer on Deer Isle. And after two weeks of this kind of “rehabilitation,” HJ was indeed improved, both mentally and physically, 15
