Writing Samples
from Chelsea Diehl
These essays are pulled from my forthcoming travel memoir being published by Islandport Press. Expected in Fall 2023.
Turner Farm Barn Supper
North Haven, Maine
My sister, six years younger than me, is the most self sufficient person that I have ever known. As the older sister, I always expected, and frankly hoped, that she’d need me, but the opposite has always been true: I need her. She has taken on a gigantic role in my daughter’s life - being self proclaimed best friends - and I couldn’t possibly tally the amount of times that I have, quite literally, cried on her shoulder. I’m messy with my emotions; she’s pragmatic and poised. She’s a homebody; I’m either lost in the woods or surrounded by a gaggle of raucous friends. Our interests are different, our demeanors polar opposite.
But the thing that my sister will always trust me with, and perhaps the one thing that she consistently turns to me for, is a good time. I’m the fun provider, the memory maker. I like to shake up her routine, nudge her outside of her comfort zone. Even if at first I’m met with some reservation, she’ll never say no to an invite from me.
And knowing that this would be the first night away from her new baby, my sweet nephew, the invite needed to be a stellar one to convince her to escape for the night.
We boarded the Equinox, a bright blue, 40-foot lobster boat out of Rockland for a roundtrip charter to North Haven Island. The boat quickly filled with animated passengers, draped in blankets, ready for the 50 minute journey across the open sea. I hugged my sister as the boat whipped along, telling anyone that would listen that it was my sister’s first night out after becoming a Mom.
Once docked at the island, we followed the rest of the group through the farm’s gardens, passing a chicken coup and rows of vegetables, when the lit barn appeared at the top of the hill. Though quiet, as she mostly is, my sister took out her phone to snap a few pictures, her equivalent of the “OMGs” that were tumbling out of my mouth. We entered the barn, made a plate from the extravagant cheese spread and secured a signature cocktail from the bar. And then, the most magnificent night of food, hospitality and conversation commenced.
We were seated for a family style supper at long tables under the twinkling barn lights. To my sister’s right was a couple celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary and to my left a set of young parents, holding hands under the table, out for a needed date night. Across from us was an older couple who were self proclaimed nomads, living on their boat in the summer months, traveling the world and visiting their grandkids when the weather got chilly. She was a former theater professional, dabbling in both stage management and lighting design, with a resume of impressive gigs that her husband proudly shared despite her hushing. We were surrounded by so much love, both old and new.
On top of the conversation, the wine was free flowing, my glass often being filled again without me realizing. The plates kept arriving, seamlessly, laced in and out of our chatter. Polenta cakes with charred eggplant, just plucked juicy tomatoes with charred corn and pickled red onions, and grilled flank steak with roasted turnips filled the mismatched china bowls. By the time dessert arrived, an early apple tarte tatin, we had already exchanged numbers and social media information with our fellow diners.
A little buzzed, my sister and I began the walk back to the boat. Thinking we had found a shortcut trail, we convinced others to follow us. We ended up in the middle of a thick field, doubled over in laughter as we stumbled to use the flashlights on our phone to find our way back to the cut, well lit path. My sister confidently led the charge, proving once again that as long as I provide the fun, she’ll find the way back home.
North Haven, Maine
My sister, six years younger than me, is the most self sufficient person that I have ever known. As the older sister, I always expected, and frankly hoped, that she’d need me, but the opposite has always been true: I need her. She has taken on a gigantic role in my daughter’s life - being self proclaimed best friends - and I couldn’t possibly tally the amount of times that I have, quite literally, cried on her shoulder. I’m messy with my emotions; she’s pragmatic and poised. She’s a homebody; I’m either lost in the woods or surrounded by a gaggle of raucous friends. Our interests are different, our demeanors polar opposite.
But the thing that my sister will always trust me with, and perhaps the one thing that she consistently turns to me for, is a good time. I’m the fun provider, the memory maker. I like to shake up her routine, nudge her outside of her comfort zone. Even if at first I’m met with some reservation, she’ll never say no to an invite from me.
And knowing that this would be the first night away from her new baby, my sweet nephew, the invite needed to be a stellar one to convince her to escape for the night.
We boarded the Equinox, a bright blue, 40-foot lobster boat out of Rockland for a roundtrip charter to North Haven Island. The boat quickly filled with animated passengers, draped in blankets, ready for the 50 minute journey across the open sea. I hugged my sister as the boat whipped along, telling anyone that would listen that it was my sister’s first night out after becoming a Mom.
Once docked at the island, we followed the rest of the group through the farm’s gardens, passing a chicken coup and rows of vegetables, when the lit barn appeared at the top of the hill. Though quiet, as she mostly is, my sister took out her phone to snap a few pictures, her equivalent of the “OMGs” that were tumbling out of my mouth. We entered the barn, made a plate from the extravagant cheese spread and secured a signature cocktail from the bar. And then, the most magnificent night of food, hospitality and conversation commenced.
We were seated for a family style supper at long tables under the twinkling barn lights. To my sister’s right was a couple celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary and to my left a set of young parents, holding hands under the table, out for a needed date night. Across from us was an older couple who were self proclaimed nomads, living on their boat in the summer months, traveling the world and visiting their grandkids when the weather got chilly. She was a former theater professional, dabbling in both stage management and lighting design, with a resume of impressive gigs that her husband proudly shared despite her hushing. We were surrounded by so much love, both old and new.
On top of the conversation, the wine was free flowing, my glass often being filled again without me realizing. The plates kept arriving, seamlessly, laced in and out of our chatter. Polenta cakes with charred eggplant, just plucked juicy tomatoes with charred corn and pickled red onions, and grilled flank steak with roasted turnips filled the mismatched china bowls. By the time dessert arrived, an early apple tarte tatin, we had already exchanged numbers and social media information with our fellow diners.
A little buzzed, my sister and I began the walk back to the boat. Thinking we had found a shortcut trail, we convinced others to follow us. We ended up in the middle of a thick field, doubled over in laughter as we stumbled to use the flashlights on our phone to find our way back to the cut, well lit path. My sister confidently led the charge, proving once again that as long as I provide the fun, she’ll find the way back home.
Rachel & Ryan Adams
Portland, Maine
To make the decision to pursue your art full time is courageous, but to make the decision to pursue your art full time when you have young kids at home, is monumental. Because it’s a never-ending balancing act, a multiple-balls-in-the-air juggle of fostering your creative energy while carving out time for the little humans that rely on you. But if you figure out how to walk that tightrope, get really good at saying yes and saying no, your balancing act becomes one that ultimately sets the stage for your kiddo’s futures, a masterpiece highlighting what they themselves are also capable of.
It’s something I never fully figured out while performing. I think there is a general lack of understanding or a compassion gap when it comes to being both a parent and an artist - ultimately requiring someone with untethered tenacity (or a very flexible support system) to do both successfully. I remember feeling scared and isolated when I started turning down auditions or gigs because of lack of childcare, or heading home early and missing an opening night party because I had a sick kiddo at home or a babysitter that needed to be released. Time becomes an overwhelming theme: should I take the time and plan the kid’s dream vacation - risking having to say no to a valuable gig that will inevitably pop up during it? Should I use my sacred time after bedtime to memorize lines or just try to relax? Is the time spent on this project worth the time away from home?
But on the flipside: with a shrinking of time, comes a shrinking of overthinking. There’s no time to waste to make it happen, and Rachel and Ryan Adams, a Portland based artist couple, are more than making it happen in the time that they have. Parents to two young girls, they are a tag team support system, making sure they both get across that tightrope. I admire them because of their artistic contributions to Maine (and beyond) but I’m most impressed with their ability to make their girls a part - and often the intended audience - of those contributions. They trust the work, do it in the time they have allotted, all while knowing what their time is worth - to both themselves and their kids.
Their daughters get to enjoy two murals painted by their Mom in the ever awesome Children’s Museum & Theatre of Maine. Rachel’s blue and white mural is the backdrop to “Go With The Flow,” while her bright red, orange accented mural accompanies the “Ramp Up” exhibit. Any time the girls splash and play in the water tables, they’re getting to soak up Mom’s hard work just behind them, her time spent away doing what she loves.
Spray painted murals throughout Maine, installed by Dad, are on display to proudly point out to friends. Geometric murals, Ryan’s signature spray paint and latex gem designs are featured at the Artist and Craftsman Supply store and Bissell Brothers Brewery, among so many others. His lettering and signage creations are noticeable while having lunch at Highroller Lobster Co. or snacks and drinks at Novare Res. His time, his energy, his passion on display, waiting for the girls to discover behind every corner.
But they aren’t just painting what they want their girls to see, they are painting what they need them to see. Like Ryan’s recent mural in Providence, “Stay Strong, Fight On” - created in the wake of the overturning of Roe v. Wade. A daily reminder for the public, of course, but a message for his young girls as well. His daughters were on-site while he completed that project.
And then there is the work they do for themselves. And in my opinion, it’s one of the most vital parts of being an artist and a parent - you’ve got to take that time for you in order to turn it around and give it back to them. To turn off parent-mode for an hour or two, put aside opportunity and business, and give yourself room to create. I see this in Ryan’s watercolors, I felt like I witnessed it in Rachel’s installation titled “Joy” at The Press Hotel.
When I was attempting my own balancing act, Harper was too young to ever see me in a play. However, one night while snuggled up on the couch, I decided to play her a promotional video of a production I was currently in. She asked me to play it over and over, looking at me, back at the video, at me again. She hugged me, and in a moment of connecting the dots, processing what it is Mom is doing when she’s away either performing or teaching, she said: “I love this.”
Most kids don’t get the chance to really see what it is their parents do for work. What the source is behind their occasional distraction, the pull that takes their favorite people away. Being an artist has its own unique set of ups and downs, that forever shaky tightrope to walk - but what a gift that Rachel and Ryan’s kiddos get to meet them on the other side. For them, and all of us, to witness, and forever appreciate, their time spent on their artistic journey.
Portland, Maine
To make the decision to pursue your art full time is courageous, but to make the decision to pursue your art full time when you have young kids at home, is monumental. Because it’s a never-ending balancing act, a multiple-balls-in-the-air juggle of fostering your creative energy while carving out time for the little humans that rely on you. But if you figure out how to walk that tightrope, get really good at saying yes and saying no, your balancing act becomes one that ultimately sets the stage for your kiddo’s futures, a masterpiece highlighting what they themselves are also capable of.
It’s something I never fully figured out while performing. I think there is a general lack of understanding or a compassion gap when it comes to being both a parent and an artist - ultimately requiring someone with untethered tenacity (or a very flexible support system) to do both successfully. I remember feeling scared and isolated when I started turning down auditions or gigs because of lack of childcare, or heading home early and missing an opening night party because I had a sick kiddo at home or a babysitter that needed to be released. Time becomes an overwhelming theme: should I take the time and plan the kid’s dream vacation - risking having to say no to a valuable gig that will inevitably pop up during it? Should I use my sacred time after bedtime to memorize lines or just try to relax? Is the time spent on this project worth the time away from home?
But on the flipside: with a shrinking of time, comes a shrinking of overthinking. There’s no time to waste to make it happen, and Rachel and Ryan Adams, a Portland based artist couple, are more than making it happen in the time that they have. Parents to two young girls, they are a tag team support system, making sure they both get across that tightrope. I admire them because of their artistic contributions to Maine (and beyond) but I’m most impressed with their ability to make their girls a part - and often the intended audience - of those contributions. They trust the work, do it in the time they have allotted, all while knowing what their time is worth - to both themselves and their kids.
Their daughters get to enjoy two murals painted by their Mom in the ever awesome Children’s Museum & Theatre of Maine. Rachel’s blue and white mural is the backdrop to “Go With The Flow,” while her bright red, orange accented mural accompanies the “Ramp Up” exhibit. Any time the girls splash and play in the water tables, they’re getting to soak up Mom’s hard work just behind them, her time spent away doing what she loves.
Spray painted murals throughout Maine, installed by Dad, are on display to proudly point out to friends. Geometric murals, Ryan’s signature spray paint and latex gem designs are featured at the Artist and Craftsman Supply store and Bissell Brothers Brewery, among so many others. His lettering and signage creations are noticeable while having lunch at Highroller Lobster Co. or snacks and drinks at Novare Res. His time, his energy, his passion on display, waiting for the girls to discover behind every corner.
But they aren’t just painting what they want their girls to see, they are painting what they need them to see. Like Ryan’s recent mural in Providence, “Stay Strong, Fight On” - created in the wake of the overturning of Roe v. Wade. A daily reminder for the public, of course, but a message for his young girls as well. His daughters were on-site while he completed that project.
And then there is the work they do for themselves. And in my opinion, it’s one of the most vital parts of being an artist and a parent - you’ve got to take that time for you in order to turn it around and give it back to them. To turn off parent-mode for an hour or two, put aside opportunity and business, and give yourself room to create. I see this in Ryan’s watercolors, I felt like I witnessed it in Rachel’s installation titled “Joy” at The Press Hotel.
When I was attempting my own balancing act, Harper was too young to ever see me in a play. However, one night while snuggled up on the couch, I decided to play her a promotional video of a production I was currently in. She asked me to play it over and over, looking at me, back at the video, at me again. She hugged me, and in a moment of connecting the dots, processing what it is Mom is doing when she’s away either performing or teaching, she said: “I love this.”
Most kids don’t get the chance to really see what it is their parents do for work. What the source is behind their occasional distraction, the pull that takes their favorite people away. Being an artist has its own unique set of ups and downs, that forever shaky tightrope to walk - but what a gift that Rachel and Ryan’s kiddos get to meet them on the other side. For them, and all of us, to witness, and forever appreciate, their time spent on their artistic journey.
Karl Thomsen
Jackman, Maine
On my eighth attempt at calling Karl, he finally picked up. Karl, whose title ranges from Lakeside Guardian to Dock Master for Attean Lake Lodge, has never owned his own cell phone. The resort provides him with a phone for the summer season so they can reach him from across the lake, but he is by no means tied to it. In fact, he avoids it altogether after 12PM as that is usually when the telemarketers try to reach him. Karl also has no email address, no social media and has successfully avoided computers entirely for all of his 62 years. Getting in touch with Karl is difficult - just the way he likes it.
On average, Americans check their phones 344 times per day. Once every 4 minutes. It’s an addiction that we collectively know is wrong and shameful, but we do it anyway. Imagine not only eliminating, but never introducing, our dopamine dealer and depletor.
“Life is so much easier my way, I find,” Karl began, “I often hear guests say they want to throw their phones in the lake.” In Karl’s world, there is no Facebook. There are no group texts, no likes or emojis, he never received a classic chain email from the late 90’s, never suffered through a Tiktok dance video. “I like my own company,” Karl tells me. “I read a lot. I entertain myself. I laugh at myself a lot, actually.” And if you’ve ever met Karl, you’d have to agree - he is more entertaining, has stories significantly more meaningful, than any movie or television series.
While employed with the resort during the summer, you’ll find Karl in a small cabin without electricity at the landing of Attean Pond, greeting guests after they park. As soon as Karl hears your tires pull into the dirt lot, he’ll emerge to help load your belongings onto the boat that will then escort you to the island. While waiting for the boat to dock, Karl will amuse you with stories about the resident dog that roams the resort and tips on sleeping the first night if you aren’t accustomed to total, utter, beautiful silence. And once on your way, with a wave goodbye, Karl will disappear back into the solace of his own company.
There’s a comfort in knowing Karl will be there when we visit in the summer. A sort of old school, novelty-esque nostalgia of meeting at an agreed upon place at a set time. He guides moose hunts in the Fall, partakes in his own deer hunts in the winter, shovels some snow and keeps the water running for a local campground - and then the summer is back again, where he’ll meet you at Attean, with new stories to share.
Jackman, Maine
On my eighth attempt at calling Karl, he finally picked up. Karl, whose title ranges from Lakeside Guardian to Dock Master for Attean Lake Lodge, has never owned his own cell phone. The resort provides him with a phone for the summer season so they can reach him from across the lake, but he is by no means tied to it. In fact, he avoids it altogether after 12PM as that is usually when the telemarketers try to reach him. Karl also has no email address, no social media and has successfully avoided computers entirely for all of his 62 years. Getting in touch with Karl is difficult - just the way he likes it.
On average, Americans check their phones 344 times per day. Once every 4 minutes. It’s an addiction that we collectively know is wrong and shameful, but we do it anyway. Imagine not only eliminating, but never introducing, our dopamine dealer and depletor.
“Life is so much easier my way, I find,” Karl began, “I often hear guests say they want to throw their phones in the lake.” In Karl’s world, there is no Facebook. There are no group texts, no likes or emojis, he never received a classic chain email from the late 90’s, never suffered through a Tiktok dance video. “I like my own company,” Karl tells me. “I read a lot. I entertain myself. I laugh at myself a lot, actually.” And if you’ve ever met Karl, you’d have to agree - he is more entertaining, has stories significantly more meaningful, than any movie or television series.
While employed with the resort during the summer, you’ll find Karl in a small cabin without electricity at the landing of Attean Pond, greeting guests after they park. As soon as Karl hears your tires pull into the dirt lot, he’ll emerge to help load your belongings onto the boat that will then escort you to the island. While waiting for the boat to dock, Karl will amuse you with stories about the resident dog that roams the resort and tips on sleeping the first night if you aren’t accustomed to total, utter, beautiful silence. And once on your way, with a wave goodbye, Karl will disappear back into the solace of his own company.
There’s a comfort in knowing Karl will be there when we visit in the summer. A sort of old school, novelty-esque nostalgia of meeting at an agreed upon place at a set time. He guides moose hunts in the Fall, partakes in his own deer hunts in the winter, shovels some snow and keeps the water running for a local campground - and then the summer is back again, where he’ll meet you at Attean, with new stories to share.