William Coperthwaite
In this post, my friend Elaine shares memories and photographs from her life-changing journey to meet with Bill Coperthwaite in Maine. Today, as Bill is being buried in a private ceremony near his home (after his unexpected death earlier this week), we are reflecting on the impact his lifestyle and spirit had on those who met him, and those who did not…
When I found his book at Blue Hill Books in Blue Hill, Maine, I was first taken by its aesthetic look and feel in my hands. When I read it, I felt a sense of knowing (in the deepest sense) what he was saying. It resonated with many questions I had about how we (all) live and work. I wrote to him, on the fly, on a piece of scrap paper telling him I’d like to meet him and when we would be in Maine next.
He wrote back (on an older piece of scrap paper) and gave us directions (a little hand drawn map) on where to park and how to find the trail (1 1/2 miles in). He asked what day we’d be coming (not the time, just the day). I told him. We’d agreed on a Tuesday. He had no phone and no computer so there it was.
That trip up to Maine in October was the year after my knee injury which left me unable to walk for six months and then only with a brace for a few months after that. I did a lot of knitting during that time and was working on a scarf as Bryan drove us up to Machiasport to meet with Bill. We’d picked up a bread at the local bakery in Blue Hill to bring him.
When we reached the parking lot I’d put the final stitches in the scarf. I hadn’t intended it for Bill, actually, though somehow those final stitches made it obvious it was for him.
We started the walk in. For me it was slow, because of the still healing injury………Along a dirt path, part hand-built boardwalk, through poison ivy patches, watch for the Beaver Pond on the right (clearly designated on the map). Here and there along the walk there were hand-crafted chairs for visitors to rest…….some sling chairs, some oddly shaped. I used them when necessary. It got quieter and quieter.
And then…….in the opening was this magnificent building. The main house. We walked to the front door. No one. We went inside. Bill was sitting there, fashioning something of wood (the first floor of the yurt was the wood supply, which circled the first floor, the widest floor of the building). He smiled.
“So,” he said, “what is it you want to know?”
That was it for me. I wanted to know everything! We spent the afternoon with him.
I want to say here that my first impression of Bill, seeing him sitting there, not rising to greet us as you might expect a host to do, but warm and friendly, impressed on me how very comfortable he was in his skin…….how no pretension of who we thought he was would be confirmed or dismissed, how we were in the presence of a true human being who has spent a lifetime learning, caring, sharing, and ignoring the non-essential.
He took us upstairs to the next level (you had to pull yourself through the door because of the angle). I gave him the bread and the scarf. He asked who had made them, where they’d come from and only when we told him the name of the bakery did he nod and accept it.
“Oh, sure, I know them,” he said, naming the bakers. “I go to Blue Hill now and then when I visit the Nearing homestead.” (He was on the Board of the Homestead.)
And the scarf he accepted only when I told him I’d just finished it. I put it around his neck. We have a photo of Bill wearing it. It’s on my desk as I write this.
Then we sat on the handmade couch, he showed us his desk, how he’d made the furniture, and on and on. We talked about books, philosophy, child-rearing, economics, education, tools. We went up to the top tier of the yurt where his bed was. He had made it with used sweaters that he’d fashioned into coils like he had the couch. We went out and walked around the property, saw the different yurts (outhouse yurt, food storage yurt, etc.), and where he had made an outdoor shower by the water. It was October and cold. He winked when he offered us a shower if we’d like to try it.
He showed Bryan a unique tool he had learned to make in Scandinavia and let Bryan try it. Then he showed us materials from the Inuit movable museum he had started to teach Inuit children about the tools used in their culture.
He had a poster he’d made for Scott Nearing‘s 100th birthday. It was affectionate and yet still a humorous tribute to his friend and mentor.
Every item in Bill’s house was either made by him or by someone he knew. He believed strongly in knowing where what you buy comes from. For economic, political, social reasons. He said he didn’t build yurts for people, only helped them build their own. He bartered for services, even dental care.
We spent the afternoon with Bill. And all I can say is that, for me, it was a life-changing experience.
Bill was one of those people you meet in your lifetime that affirms some things you believe, challenges others, and was clear about what was important.
He is one of the only people I’ve ever met who did not espouse theory, but lived the values he talked about and taught.
Bill Coperthwaite walked the talk. With a firm step.
I feel grateful for having had an afternoon with him. To have brought him my questions. To have listened to his answers, which in many ways, affirmed my own and gave me greater resolve.
When I forget, get caught up in the nonsense of what is so truly meaningless, I need to, as Bryan says, go to where the skies are dark and the stars are all I see and the silence is what’s most present (for me…..a place like Blue Hill). And……also like the trail along Dickinson’s Reach on the way to Bill’s.
