Some may not know the name Rachel Carson. Born in 1907, she is probably most famous for the book Silent Spring, which described the negatives of DDT and launched the environmental movement. Before her book, DTD was thought to be a panacea for the insect problems in the world: mosquitos, lice, and fire ants, too name a few. It was used in WW2 to deal with the insects causing malaria and typhus among civilians and troops, then broadly accepted back in the US. The chemical industry, who was making lots of money, had glazed over the harms.

A biologist and writer, Rachel won several national book awards for her descriptions about life in the sea. She died in 1964 of breast cancer, leaving the cabin Maine to her great nephew whom she adopted at a young age when his mother, a diabetic niece died. Rachel summered there, spending time in tide pools, writing, and taking refuge during the worst period of the media attacks with the publication of Silent Spring.

We were supposed to go in early June, but Maine closed to travelers outside the state. We were lucky to rebook in early September. We did demonstrate negative Covid tests to enter the state.

The cabin is perched on the rocky cliffs above the Sheepscot River, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean, on Southport Island, located near Boothbay Harbor. The river is deep enough that whales sometimes swim through. We didn’t see whales, but celebrated the dolphins and seals as well as a variety of water fowl. In the morning, lobster boats motored by to check their traps marked by different colored buoys.

There we enjoyed the gift of silence and the opportunity to disconnect from the grid. Cell phones worked, but I turned my off and checked in once a day. I didn’t look at the news—good to take a respite from this loud political season and the pandemic. The silence provided the space for creativity and living with the flow of nature: when the tide rolled in or out, the haunting call of a loon, the osprey flying by with a fish, the blue heron hunting on the rocky shore at low tide.

Books filled the many bookcases: copies of books Rachel authored; books about Rachel; references about birds, flora and fauna, a bible size tome about lichen; and lots of science fiction and children’s books. I finished several books during the week, and savored reading from first dawn light and continuing well past dusk alongside the fire in the cabins’ fireplace.

Rachael was an inspirational woman, ahead of her time. The cabin was filled with her spirit. Her pencil sharpener was screwed into a bookshelf near her desk. Reed found a wonderful podcast about Rachel as a leader – A woman who pursued a career that was not teacher or nurse, but settled with a Masters instead of a PhD because she needed to support her family who had no income after the depression. A scientist who could translate research into everyday language but wrote with a poetic flare. She wrote scientific pamphlets for U.S. Bureau of Fisheries so well, her boss encourage her to submit something to the Atlantic Monthly.

She tried to get others, including E B White, to write what became Silent Spring, and finally followed her gut and wrote it herself. She called herself a slow writer, producing 500 words a day, much to the chagrin of her editors, working and reworking her writing, reading it aloud to perfect the flow.

Finally, she weathered accusations of spinster, crazy, and a few other choice labels, but crafted all of her books with solid research. Despite valiant efforts and millions of dollars, the chemistry industry could not refute her claims. Despite being in the final stages of her battle with an aggressive breast cancer, she made her case, one of her final interviews with CBS.

Rachel’s cabin reminded me of the power of nature for grounding, the value of reading, the importance of persistence with one’s craft, and the importance of doing what you know is the right thing. Wishing you a happy autumn during these crazy times.