In reading the last handful of essays, I kept thinking about another reason why White's writing is so accessible, so easy for us to relate to even though his experiences are so different from our own: he's not perfect. The book ends in 1941, and so at that time White has been living as a farmer in Maine for over three years. He has come so far from where he was - he's gotten used to the routines of running a farm, found a place for himself in the community, and become successful in many respects. And yet, he is still making mistakes, facing challenges, and finding that he still has much to learn...and he's humbly admitting it all to us, his readers.

My husband and I just had our first grandchild, a splendid little baby boy who lives close enough for us to visit every Saturday. We've developed a custom of reading some of the essays out loud on the trip out and back. This book is too delightful not to share it!

I've been asking myself what makes these essays so delicious to read? I've come up with quite a few reasons. One major one for me is their timelessness, something all of us have commented on. I get a real kick out of reading something written 70 years ago that sounds as if it were written yesterday. I came across this again in "Fro-Joy" (what is that word anyway I wondered -- all the other chapters have such easy to comprehend titles). At any rate, in this chapter White spoofs the government's tax forms, citing Section G of Form 1040 which "was obviously written by a lawyer in one of his flights of rhetorical secrecy". I think he might be disappointed but maybe not surprised at the lack of improvement in the tax forms today.

Let me just say, I picked the essay "Maine Speech" by opening "One Man's Meat" without looking. White's October 1940 essay is exactly where the book opened to. Then let me say, I am from here. I grew up in Maine and have lived from Caribou to Cumberland, but I don't talk like E.B. White accuses we Mainers for speaking. This is one essay I must classify has historical, having little carry over from the past to present. What do other Mainers have to say? I'm sure, like myself, you fellow Mainers don't have accents either.

That said, I did find the essay to be humorous. I guess the "from away" thing still is used. But I don't call manure dressing. I call stuffing from the turkey on Thanksgiving, dressing. There's little chance I'll interchange those two terms. I've never heard a road called "the tar" either. I did use the word "wicked" quite a bit in junior high school, I don't know if that's a Maine term or not. And I cannot properly pronounce "ayuh". Although one of my grandmothers said it correctly all the time.

Let me just say, I picked the essay "Maine Speech" by opening "One Man's Meat" without looking. White's October 1940 essay is exactly where the book opened to. Then let me say, I am from here. I grew up in Maine and have lived from Caribou to Cumberland, but I don't talk like E.B. White accuses we Mainers for speaking. This is one essay I must classify has historical, having little carry over from the past to present. What do other Mainers have to say? I'm sure, like myself, you fellow Mainers don't have accents either.

That said, I did find the essay to be humorous. I guess the "from away" thing still is used. But I don't call manure dressing. I call stuffing from the turkey on Thanksgiving, dressing. There's little chance I'll interchange those two terms. I've never heard a road called "the tar" either. I did use the word "wicked" quite a bit in junior high school, I don't know if that's a Maine term or not. And I cannot properly pronounce "ayuh". Although one of my grandmothers said it correctly all the time.

It's that time of year again...I've been home sick for the past several days, confined to my bed and watching the rainy snow fall outside my window. At first it came as a welcome break, a chance to catch up on rest and have no choice but to take it easy...but after a while, it began to seem as though better health - and better weather - would never come. And so, I very much enjoyed reading White's essays on spring. At this time of year, no matter how long we've lived in Maine, no matter how used to this weather we ought to be, I think we can all use a reminder that if we hold out just a bit longer, the last snow will melt, the sun will come out to stay, and color will once again return to our backyards.

I am a dog lover. I've lived with a wide variety of dogs all my life, from a Toy Poodle named Peppy to a monstrous lab/Portuguese Water Dog mix named Zoe. Unlike E. B. White, most of my dogs have been female and were chosen by me. I still learned from the dogs in my life and I didn't pick males because I was told they were more aggressive. Did this belief affect my understanding of the sexes later in life, I don't know. I never really thought about it until reading White's "Dog Training" essay. Perhaps someone should do a study of society's perception of sexes based on the type of dog they own.

And unlike White, I never even met a stray dog, let alone bring one home with me. A few of my dogs liked to stray from home a lot, usually following me around town, like joining me in the hallways of my junior high school. I had a beagle mix who used to love to sneak out the back door of our house. I swear she only needed 2 inches and she'd be gone. The only way to get her back was to take my car for a spin around the neighborhood. When she heard the sound of my car's engine, she'd lope up beside the car, I'd open my door and she'd hop across my lap, landing firmly in the passenger seat. She loved to go for car rides. Of course, after watching hours of "The Dog Whisperer" and reading Jon Katz and John Grogan, I understand I just trained the dog to run out the door so she could get a car ride! I was always much better trained than my dogs.

E.B. White is widely known for his children's classics, "Stuart Little" and "Charlotte's Web," and before this month, that was the only venue in which I'd encountered him, I'm sad to say.

For me, there are two things that make a great book. One is when it allows me to escape my own reality - to become completely wrapped up in someone else's world, transported to another place or time. And the other is when I can personally identify with the story, seeing myself in its characters and remembering similar experiences, thoughts, and feelings from my own life. Best yet is when both of these happen in the same story, which I'm so pleased seems to be the case for all of us in reading One Man's Meat. At the same time as we're carried away to a 1930s farm in rural, coastal Maine, a place that none of us have experienced or might expect to relate to, we're finding so much that is relevant to our own lives, and our society, today.

Maine has been a trial this winter, with ice dams forming on roofs and icy water turning sidewalks and streets into treacherous paths. So perhaps I was attracted to this chapter because I needed to experience -- albeit vicariously -- a place where the water is warm enough to swim in.

Unfortunately Mr. White's chapter starts off by telling us "It is raining to beat the cars." That dashed my hopes of hearing about the author sunning himself on a hot beach with a cool drink! But I was delighted with the way he described the sea: "rollers from a westerly storm are creaming along the shore, making a steady boiling noise instead of the usual intermittent slap."

I have to agree with my fellow bloggers, I am very pleased that E.B. White's "One Man's Meat" was chosen to read this month. Beyond the reading the essays, I even enjoy staring at the cover photograph of the book, the simplicity of the stark black and white photo fascinates me. My eye is drawn to the light on White's typewriter, white hair and the window framed view of the water. The essays contained in the book are just as stark in their simplicity. Oh, but are they?

I was surprised after reading the first few essays. I wasn't expecting to connect with them at all, but I did. I find after reading a few more essays, I want to learn more about the man himself. I can relate to the stories White tells us. Don't you worry about the kids getting to school on time, the dog making messes in the house and wondering what's cooking for dinner?
We worry about the everyday things while the world with its larger worries whirls around us just outside.

I owe E.B. White's spirit an apology for doubting his enduring relevance.

Hello again! In case we didn't meet while discussing Olive Kitteridge, I'm Shirley Helfrich, a librarian for the Maine State Library. Although I have read a great many books by Maine authors, I admit that I somehow missed reading One Man's Meat, with the exception of the chapter "Once More to the Lake."

Hello, this is Sarah McGinnis, Publicist for Tilbury House and latest addition to Read Around Maine - thanks so much to Angie, Andi and Shirley for inviting me to join in the fun! Though I'm constantly surrounded by wonderful books, it's all too rare that I find the time and energy to read just for myself, and to truly savor each and every page. So, I couldn't be happier to have this perfect excuse to curl up on the couch and re-visit one of my favorites, One Man's Meat.

Since there are so many wonderful essays here to choose from, we've decided not to assign specific pages, but just to introduce a few new essays with each post. We'll each be posting once a week, so there should be plenty of great topics to discuss!

Hello everyone, and welcome to February. We'll be reading and discussing "One Man's Meat," an iconic work from famed Maine author E.B. White.

The book, now in print for six decades, is a collection of essays stemming from White's columns for Harper's, written after he left New York City to leave on a saltwater farm in Brooklin. It was first published in 1942; in a 1982 introduction that White wrote to the book, he says it was "not a premeditated book, it was an accident."