Two Farms Essays on a Maine Country Life
By Janet Galle
$15.95
Softcover, Maine Nonfiction, 143 pages
ISBN: 0-9663663-3-6
ABOUT THE BOOK Two Farms is a visit to rural
Maine, a place where you can
still see the stars, savor the
silence, and mark the seasons
by the birth of a lamb or the
arrival of snow on a "sugar-crystal January night."
Janet Galle wrote a monthly nature
column for a local newspaper that
delighted readers for 17 years. Based on
her keen observations about the Maine
woods, countryside and her family's two
farms – first a saltwater farm in
Brunswick and later Apple Creek Farm in
Bowdoinham – her musings and
anecdotes were a feast for those who
have experienced the delights of rural
Maine or for those who dream of doing
so. Two Farms is a collection of those
essays as well as new ones, covering such
diverse topics as beloved pets and farm
animals, child rearing, and nature's impact and influence in our lives.
REVIEWS "Two Farms is a carefully crafted tribute to good things that come from Maine's threatened rural heritage."
– Maine Sunday Telegram
"[Life on a small farm is] the dream few people are brave enough to attempt but many think about in the dim hours before dawn and here is why. From a charmer on the real holiday meaning of the Fourth of July to the tale of a city cat this is a book to keep by your bed and dip in and out of if, you can discipline yourself to stop at one or two or maybe just one more."
– The Courier-Gazette
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Janet Galle, a naturalist, farmer, shepherd, teacher and
mother, grew up in Indiana and moved to mid-coast Maine
in 1963 with her husband. She has lived on two farms, one in
Brunswick and one in Bowdoinham and she has taught high
school English for 18 years. She and her husband, Pete, still
live on their Bowdoinham farm. Two Farms is her second
book. She also co-authored Exploring Ecology.
EXCERPT “
So – yesterday it was spring, almost summer even, with the creek running clear
and the earth ready to stretch its nose and sniff, and then today it is winter again,
with snow obliterating the world outside my window. The garden is hidden. The
raspberry bushes vanish under the drifts. This morning the bird house on the pole
is just a bereft stick in the snow. Yesterday it was waiting expectantly like a young
man in May.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR