The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery

I think my spirit animal might be an octopus. While raising two kids, I have been working two careers from home simultaneously. Our family has dual nationality and two religions. To unwind from a life of multitasking, I swim in the ocean or a lap pool. If only I had six more arms!

The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery is more than a natural history book; it's also a philosophical reflection on non-human intelligence, a glimpse behind the scenes at the New England Aquarium and a rally for ocean conservation. The writing is engaging and emotionally moving, narrative nonfiction at its best.

Octopuses (not octopi, because it's a Greek word imported to Latin, explains the author) have three hearts, a complex brain and even more neurons in their arms. They taste, feel and see the world through their suckers and those arms may have distinct temperaments. Their intelligence and self awareness rivals that of advanced vertebrates like primates and dogs. They camouflage by changing skin texture as well as color and have various strategies for different predators and prey. In captivity they continually try to escape, but aquariums keep them as compelling ambassadors for the wild.

Although octopuses are naturally solitary creatures, they recognize and form strong bonds with their caretakers. At the New England Aquarium, a retired scientist makes complex toys for the octopuses to alleviate their boredom. Anna, a teenager with Asperger's Syndrome, finds reprieve from depression among her aquatic friends. The book was dedicated to her. The octopuses profiled in the narrative have individual personalities and moods too. This marvelous memoir would appeal to readers of all ages and species.

Reviewer's Disclosure: In a clickhole quiz "Are You An Introvert, An Extrovert, Or A Sea Monster?" I was revealed to be a sea monster. After reading a glowing review on Beth Kephart's blog, I bought the gorgeous hardcover book at the Gulf of Maine Books. The Soul of an Octopus is the best read-in-the-tub book ever.

My DSLR photographs are of a Giant Pacific Octopus and fish from my visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium in January. I was convinced that this GPO was watching me with as much interest as she danced an aquatic ballet for the awed spectators. My daughter had to drag me away at closing time.

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@Barrie Summy

Mother-Daughter Time in California

I was surprised when my daughter asked to visit Pomona, Stanford and Berkeley on our college tour. Gemma was looking for a small liberal arts school in the mountains with active outing and nordic ski clubs and no Greek life. She would have to miss a week of high school to fly from Maine to a region she'd never seen.

I asked, "Do you want to go to college in California or do you want to visit the west coast?" When Gemma admitted to the latter, I promised to take her there after she was accepted to college. So last month we flew to San Francisco for one last mother-daughter vacation before she starts Middlebury College in February.

At Half Moon Bay, CA with my daughter and my friend's dog. Photo by Martha Enthoven Stid, our host in Menlo Park.

Middlebury admits one sixth of the freshman to start in February, allowing time for a gap term. Gemma had trekked through the Scottish highlands with her cousin and worked on organic farms in France and in New Zealand (via WWOOF). We'd reunited for Christmas in the UK with my husband's family.

After wet England, we were ready for some Californian sunshine, but somehow we brought the rain with us, nearly ending their drought! Luckily the Muir redwoods were just as lovely in a misty drizzle. We spent our first day hiking with my daughter's friend from Chewonki Semester School, whose family hosted us in San Francisco.



As the sun broke through the clouds, we hiked from Muir Beach Overlook down to Muir Beach and had a tasty pub style lunch at The Pelican Inn (his family is half British too). That's a real pelican in my opening shot. Muir Beach and the pub are on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge and up the bay.

Muir Beach

Double jet-lagged from England, I fell into the teen timezone, staying up past midnight and sleeping late.

My Snap Chat debut via Gemma.

We enjoyed cocktails and sodas at Top of the Mark, overlooking the San Francisco skyline. Our best meal out was at Range, a restaurant owned by the brother of my oldest friend. Range's chickpea fritters tasted like cheese souffle only lighter and healthier. All the ingredients were fresh and local, a joy in January. The Mission neighborhood, with its funky after hours boutiques and vibrant street art, was fun to explore at night.

My daughter revived my inner teen, suggesting we try on designer dresses at BCBG just for fun, imagining life on the red carpet. Then we rummaged through the sale racks for clothes we would wear in the real world. Stepping out of the changing rooms in our favorite dresses, we had an hilarious surprise. When Gemma leaves for college, I'll miss her laughter. It was hard enough saying goodbye to our friends in California.

When I last saw Miriam, we were at M.I.T. graduate school studying politics. There were only four women in our year so we bonded tightly. She was a fabulous cook and taught me how to make Oyakodon, a Japanese dish I still enjoy with my family. In San Francisco she treated me to excellent dim sum at Hong Kong Lounge. We reconnected like no time had passed and could have chatted for hours.

After a week of staying with friends, we pushed the boat out for the Monterey Plaza Hotel and Spa. The location, Cannery Row was the setting/title of one of Gemma's favorite novels. My dad emailed a link to a literary tour of Monterey, and we were pleased to find Doc's shack still standing. The character was modeled on a real marine scientist and friend of Steinbeck.

Our journey down the coast started out well when Enterprise Car Rental offered me a free upgrade to a BMW. Yes! It was a challenging drive in heavy traffic, thick fog, torrential rain and longer still dealing with a flat tire, but it was well worth the journey just to see the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Braying sea lions and Pacific waves breaking under our cantilevered hotel lulled us to sleep. I woke early to watch the sea otters fishing in the surf while Gemma slept in. I wasn't quick enough to photograph a pod of dolphins leaping past the pier so I phoned my daughter. She stepped out on the balcony in time to see them.

With borrowed binoculars we watched hundreds more dolphins from the shore path, passing like a parade at sunset. We reminisced about the past and discussed her plans for the future: Philosophy, Studio Arts, Psychology, Music?

Today my son and I are helping Gemma move into her dorm. I'm so lucky to have two marvelous children, and Middlebury is a wonderful school. Still, it's hard to let go.

I will cherish these memories...

My daughter at Half Moon Bay, California.

Happy Winter Solstice!

Enjoy the longer days!

See you in the new year.

Good Books on Grief: H is for Hawk & Kissing in America

Simpson's Point where I watch bald eagles, ospreys and great blue herons catch fish.

It may sound strange to pair a nature memoir with a young adult novel, but both of these books deal with the death of a beloved father. They describe mourning and depression but aren't depressing to read. Grief is acknowledged with emotional honesty and described with poetic beauty. These marvelous books celebrate life and resilience more than death.

H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald is a memoir about taming and training a goshawk. The author notes the irony of trying to overcome grief with a creature who lives to kill. Unhinged by her father's death, Macdonald is drawn to raptors - more than to people - for comfort.

"The hawk was everything I wanted to be: solitary, self-possessed, free from grief, and numb to the hurts of human life."

H is for Hawk is an unusual blend of memoir, autobiography, literary analysis and natural history. Macdonald, a Cambridge University scholar from a middle class background, found parallels between her own experiences with those of the author T.H. White. His disastrous attempt to train a goshawk verged on sadomasochism. Sometimes her book got a bit bogged down on T.H. White, but the history of hawking was fascinating. The Cantabrigian countryside was more than a setting. Grief was described in luscious metaphors, using the natural world to portray a fragile state of mind:

"The archaeology of grief is not ordered. It is more like earth under a spade, turning up things you had forgotten. Surprising things come to light: not simply memories, but states of mind, emotions, older ways of seeing the world."

"It's turned cold; cold so the saucers of ice lie in the mud, blank and crazed as antique porcelain."

What makes H is for Hawk so special was the beautiful writing and the respect for hawks as wild creatures. Macdonald goes a bit feral herself, but her hawk Mable was never anthropomorphized. Mabel was a well developed character in her own right: blood-thirsty and vicious but also intelligent and playful. Through the sharp eyes of a hawk and her trainer, we gain a fresh view of the British countryside and of my home state of Maine (chapter 27). The reader can almost imagine what it feels like to fly. The writing itself made me swoon:

"I glance up. And then I saw my goshawks. There they were. A pair, soaring above the canopy in the rapidly warming air. There was a flat, hot hand of sun on the back of my neck, but I smelt ice in my nose, seeing those goshawks soaring. I smelt ice and bracken stems and pine resin. Goshawk cocktail. They were on the soar."

I'd strongly recommend H is to Hawk to nature lovers of all ages. I'm not usually a fan of memoirs, but I loved this one. With its gorgeous woodblock print cover, it makes a great gift (thanks Henry!)

Kissing in America by Margo Rabb isn't a memoir, but it reads like one. The author lost both of her parents as a new adult. The father in Rabb's novel died two years ago in a plane crash. Sick of everyone's morbid curiosity, 16-year-old Eva tells people her dad died of a heart attack. She struggles with depression, unable to let go of her father. To the horror of her feminist-scholar mom, Eva copes with her grief by reading romance novels (ha!)

"I loved romances because when you opened the first page, you knew the story would end well. Your heart wouldn't be broken. I love that security, that guaranteed love....In real life, you never knew the ending. I hated that."

Nonetheless, Eva searches for romance in real life. She drags her Korean American best friend on a cross country road trip from NYC to LA in pursuit of the boy who stole her heart. Will is swoon-worthy handsome, enigmatically biracial and he understands her grief. Unfortunately he's frustratingly elusive:

"He didn't find small things important: returning texts, charging his phone, being on time, punctuation."

Humor helped brighten a dark story:

"She wore green pants that sat high on her skinny waist, and a green blouse buttoned to the neck. Her hair frizzed out sideways. She looked like a stalk of broccoli. Broccoli with glasses."

Other times the writing was emotionally raw and painfully honest:

"You never stop missing them. It was a simple thing to say. But I'd never heard anyone say it before. Not the grief counselors. Not my mom. Everyone seemed to think the opposite: you moved on, you forgot, it was impolite to keep talking about it."

For a book called Kissing in America, there wasn't much kissing. The content was quite tame for young adult fiction. Even the road trip was chaperoned. Although I adore the Americana cover, I wish the book had a less misleading title. Love was explored in multiple dimensions: family and friendship as well as romance. Relationships were realistically messy and well developed. There were no easy fixes, but this book ended with hope. I'd strongly recommend Kissing In America to grieving teenaged girls or to anyone who has lost a loved one. The literary style would cross over well to adult readers.

Reviewer's Disclosure: H is for Hawk was a birthday gift from my husband, purchased at the Wallingford Bookshop in England. It's also available in the USA in hardcover. I bought Kissing in America at the Harvard Book Store in the other Cambridge, USA. I was not compensated for my reviews. All photos are from my part of Maine: a tidal estuary at Simpson's Point, an ice puddle at Morse Mountain, and in the woods near my home last week. I wish I had a photo of the red tailed hawk who occasionally visits our yard.

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October Favorites in Maine

Reading in my hammock, under a canopy of gold,

Wearing flannel shirts without jackets,

Picking apples with my daughter,

Biking on country roads,

Shopping at the farmers' market,

Brilliant maples at Bowdoin College 
(my husband's lecture hall)

Painting en plein air at Lookout Point,

Bird watching on Seawall Beach

Hiking safely at Morse Mountain (before deer hunting season)

Happy Halloween!

Eider Ducks at Dusk, Monhegan Island, Maine

I'm on blog-vacation. See you in September!

Moose and Calf at Baxter State Park

At Sandy Pond, you're pretty much guaranteed to see a moose,

posing before Mt. Katahdin.  

If you're lucky, you'll see her calf too. They're born in late spring.

This little girl(?) decided to swim to our side of the pond, 

grunting all the way.

She waded through the shallows, taking no notice of my son and me.

Skimming the surface on her skinny long legs, 
she reminded me of a water bug. 

At the click of the camera shutter, she turned and stared at us 

and then vanished into the woods.

Mom followed, spooking a deer on the bank.

The deer passed right by us, more scared of moose than humans.

Mom seemed majestic with her long, splashy stride.

There is something gloriously prehistoric about these huge beasts.

This is the wilderness that calls me home to Maine.


I'm taking next week off from blogging to catch up with my extended family.  
Next post: August 15th.