Witchcraft and Femininity: Examining Gender Roles in the "Disastrous Witchy Picture

The disastrous witchy picture Once upon a time in a small village nestled in the mountains, there lived a young artist named Emily. She had always been fascinated by the world of magic and mystical creatures. Emily had a special talent for capturing their essence on canvas. One stormy night, as lightning cracked across the sky, Emily had a peculiar dream. She saw a magnificent witch with flowing silver hair and eyes that danced with fire. This vision inspired her to create a masterpiece.

In the morning, the fairy godmothers from lean-to #3 had left a care package outside our tent door. A banana, an apple, two sandwiches, some gorp. When I went up to thank them, they pressed a container of Maine blueberries into my hands. Fortified with the goodies, the oatmeal packets went a long way.

As the soup was simmering, Aidan and Anya took turns sticking their hands into the empty jar of simulated peanut butter product and licking their fingers clean. Over the years we have done a few day trips to Isle au Haut but we are doing three nights there later this summer with our 6 and 2 year olds and looking forward to it.

This vision inspired her to create a masterpiece. Determined to bring her dream to life, Emily spent days sketching and painting. Finally, the day arrived when the painting was complete.

High Adventure on Isle au Haut

With nothing but water between you and the horizon, sunsets on the island are spectaculamazing.

Click here to read Part I

It wasn’t total deprivation. We did have a bag of those enormous oversized marshmallows, dark chocolate chips, and graham crackers. The kids roasted the marshmallows over a roaring fire and stuffed themselves with s’mores. After dinner we climbed down to the shore to watch the sunset. Looking back to the mainland over miles of water made for a spectacular show. The sun, an immense glowing orb, dipped to the horizon, electrifying the sky.

Our third day on the island started inauspiciously when Aidan showed me a nasty dirt-filled slice in his heel, invariably incurred while scrambling over rocks in flip-flops. I had neglected to stock the first-aid kit with that namby-pamby “hurt-free” antiseptic stuff. I did, however, have a bunch of alcohol swabs.

“Okay, this might sting a teeny bit,” I said as I gave the cut a swipe.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. ” he screamed. And screamed and screamed.

Eventually we slathered the cut in Bacitracin, covered it in a Band-Aid, and got his sock and boot on. We planned to hike the Western Head and Cliff trails this time, tracing the shoreline. I volunteered to carry him the whole way by piggy back. He weighs 80 pounds, so it’s not comfortable for him or me, so he soon agreed to walk on his own power before calling my bluff. As we started down the trail, he let out yet a second primal scream, a top-of-the-lungs howling. He’d been bitten on the leg by a black fly. While Aidan was turning purple in agony, Anya held out her hand. She had also been bitten and had the same tell-tale welt on her hand. Not a whimper. This is not a gender judgment, mind you, only an observation.

While beach combing, Aidan found this enormous lobster claw on the beach.

We soldiered on and soon found the first blueberries of the season along the trail. It distracted Aidan from his heel and bug bite. On the trail, we ran into our neighbors, a trio of women from lean-to #3. Mitzy, grandmotherly and gregarious, was a retired cab driver from the Bronx with a penchant for pantomime. Jeff and I had at various times lived in New Jersey, Long Island, and Manhattan, so we bonded about the NY Yankees, which, as a rule, is hard to do when you’re in Maine. Mitzy told us how she’d played it cool when George Steinbrenner once climbed into her backseat.

The trail meandered through cool forests with moss-covered boulders and berms, beetle-killed trees draped in witches hair, and all manner of lichen splattered on the rocks, Jackson Pollock style. Soon we made it to the eastern shore of the island and had our picnic on cliffs over the surf. The waves crashed up against the rocks in an explosion of sea foam, the water churning in varying shades of jade and turquoise. After lunch we walked across seaweed-covered rocks to explore tidepools filled with periwinkles, mussels, limpets, and crabs. Twice, Quinn slipped on the seaweed, banana-peel style, landing with his backside in the tidepools.

As we continued along the cliff trail, each cove we discovered was littered with plastic junk and broken lobster buoys. The park ranger had told the kids if they collected 10 washed-up buoys and brought them back to the campsite, they would earn a National Park pin. The kids gathered the buoys, tying them together with old fishing rope. Here’s the thing about lobster buoys: they look small when they’re out in the big ocean, but when you’ve got them attached to your pack on a long hike, you realize they are enormous. Considerably bigger than a breadbox. Heavier, too.

Naturally, the kids grew weary of dragging the booty so Jeff and I attached them to our packs. For good measure, I strapped an industrial-sized plastic bottle of Gain detergent to my waist belt. As we rounded corners, the buoys would clunk and catch on branches. We looked like some sort of band of gypsy tinkers with high-tech backpacks.

Back at camp, we left the buoys in a pile by the dock and started boiling water for dinner. We were down to a big bag of dried soup mix, a few Lipton chicken noodle packets, and oatmeal packets for the morning. We crossed our fingers that the kids would like the minestrone, this particular brand being untested. It was a paltry meal. I popped up to Mitzy’s lean-to just as they were taking their dinner off the stove. My eyes must have grown wide at the abundant spread on their picnic table. I may have let it slip that we would likely zero out on food at departure time. They offered to share their food, but I insisted we were fine. We would survive, by George!

As the soup was simmering, Aidan and Anya took turns sticking their hands into the empty jar of simulated peanut butter product and licking their fingers clean. I heard Aidan opening the pantry box. I assumed he was sneaking marshmallows (again).

“Aidan, get out of the box!” I called.

“I’m just checking to see how much food we have before we starve to death. ” he responded.

Panic had set in. The trouble in the packing, I realized in hindsight, was that I had accounted for the three squares meals and a few modest snacks in between. But at home, my kids graze all day long. I should have planned for second breakfast, thirdsies, middle lunch, and a pre-dinner appetizer, not to mention the after-dinner-before-bed nosh. In the absence of all those in-between feedings, the reconstituted minestrone and the chicken noodle were delicious. We slurped it to the bottom of our plastic camp bowls.

Survivor picture. They gypsy caravan arrives back on the mainland.

In the morning, the fairy godmothers from lean-to #3 had left a care package outside our tent door. A banana, an apple, two sandwiches, some gorp. When I went up to thank them, they pressed a container of Maine blueberries into my hands. Fortified with the goodies, the oatmeal packets went a long way.

Bellies full, we packed up and headed for the dock to meet the mail boat and the park rangers. The kids had filled out Junior Ranger books and were looking forward to getting their Acadia National Park patches and the pins for the buoy collecting. Having hiked some 12 miles around the island over three days, they’d earned it.

On the boat ride back, we put up our hiking boots—all soles intact—and enjoyed the view. We passed a spit of rock covered in seals, a sleek kaleidoscope of brown, red, gray, white, and black. Some lazed in the sun, others shimmied across the rock and slid into the water. Scores of lobster buoys bobbed in the sparkling water. They looked small, but we knew better. Jeff and I, having dropped about six pounds between us, ate the two remaining sandwiches while the kids nibbled on gorp. We hit the mainland with only a handful of walnuts and raisins to our names.

Comments

This trip sounds truly amazing and your kids are troopers (although I know they love it all as much as you and Jeff! Kudos to you!)! We are getting ready to take our kids out for 1 night of rigorous car camping with another family to a local state park next weekend. Maybe we’ll be ready for Isle u Haut with you next summer! Cyndi
PS I’m glad you didn’t starve to death…

It really was a most fabulous camping trip. The island is gorgeous and every hike was an adventure. I was amazed that little Anya, at 6 years old, tromped 5 miles in a day and never complained!

Good for Aidan – trudging on with dirty wound, and Yay for you Helen, willing to carry that 80-pounder! My kiddos know better than to hop on my back, as they explain ‘mom’s got old bones’. I am never short on food though, and some all natural banana leather from the bottom of my pack has saved the day. Your kids are old enough now for their own day packs, so perhaps they can start managing their own food stores. . .

Well, volunteering to carry him was a total bluff. I can get 80 pounds (which is about 85% of my body weight) about 20 yards down the trail. I knew he would get down soon. The funny thing is that whenever we car camp, I tend to overpack on food. we are never wanting. But when you have to get it all in a pack, it’s a different ball of wax. Plus those 80 pounders are growing fast!

Thank s for sharing your story.
Last weekend we (wife, jonathan(8) Annika(10) and I) went 1-day camping in a close-by wood. It’s such great family time’s spend walking, pitching tent, cooking and playing together in the nature. After a couple of days everyone is filled with a deepened sense of the family-bond, that ties us close together. I’ll be sure to come back to your blog to get more inspiration 🙂

Agreed, it sounds cheesy and cliched, but we do our best family bonding when we camp with the wee people.

Helen, loved your story. Over the years we have done a few day trips to Isle au Haut but we are doing three nights there later this summer with our 6 and 2 year olds and looking forward to it. (Of course now we will overpack the food.) One quick question: Did you all contemplate hiking to Long Pond? It’s supposedly great for a swim, but we haven’t done it ourselves. (The two year old will be in a backpack.)

Hey Josh,
You will love it! It was such a great way to decompress with our kids to be on the island for three nights. If you can, go for lean-to #4. it’s closer to the water, better view and is more open feeling than the other sites. The ranger on the boat suggested hiking just up to Duck Harbor Mountain for the view but taking the road across the island. we decided to go up and over and we took the road back. I figure that was somewhere around 4 miles, including a significant elevation gain/loss. That was plenty for our youngest (6). The other hike the ranger suggested was The Western Head trail and Cliff Trails, which hug the shoreline, combined with the road back, which we did. That route I figure was in the neighborhood of 5 miles, including a side trip to the water pump. Again, we were pushing the mileage with the kids. The pond looks pretty far from the lean-tos on the map, but may be less difficult if it’s a road. I’d pick the ranger’s brain when you’re on the boat. My kids are crazy. They liked swimming in the freezing water in the waves. Tell me how it goes! PS: the water pump is surprisingly far from the lean-tos. make sure to bring a few water containers you can carry easily.

Hi Helen – we did it – had an awesome time. Really really great. Ended up at site 3, not as nice as 4, but still very good. We had great weather, the kids really loved the hiking. We made it to long pond along the road — about 6 miles round trip — but a nice place for a swim. And we had a full moon, so nighttime was nice too. Paranoid given your experience, we probably had a tick too much food, but better safe than sorry. All in all, a very memorable three nights!

Josh, so glad your trip was great. We’ll have to try Long Pond next time. How were the bugs when you went?the skeeters were pretty ravenous in late July when we were there. So glad you didn’t starve.
–helen

Bugs were bad. I think they always are. Badger sunscreen+repellant seemed to work ok for the kids — no huge complaints. The grown ups needed DEET to keep sane at times. Walking the road to long pond was good for us given I had to carry our 27-pound 2 yr old in a backpack so I didn’t want to do something like the cliff trail with that. But it’s not nearly as interesting or fun — it’s just a gravel road. So it was right for us, but may not be right for everyone.

Oh, and one more thing: On our last trip, it occurred to me that someone would be really brilliant to invent some kind of freeze-dried wine or beer. Just sayin’…

Bevin, yeah, the pack thing is crazy. the pediatrician’s suggest 10 to 20% of a child’s weight. if you go with the lower limit, my daughter’s pack could weigh only 4.5 pounds. That’s pretty much the pack unloaded!! And yes, freeze-dried chardonnay nuggets for all! I didn’t put it in the story, but the fairy godmothers from lean-to #4 also slipped me a mug of wine when i went up to visit them. I loved those ladies.

I will say, Clif (yes, the energy bar makers) makes a delightful Cabernet Sauvignon that comes in a bag with a spigot. It’s called the Climber’s Pouch. It is super yum and the bag has a hole in the top so you can attach a caribiner and hook it on your backpack’s waist belt.

It wasn’t total deprivation. We did have a bag of those enormous oversized marshmallows, dark chocolate chips, and graham crackers. The kids roasted the marshmallows over a roaring fire and stuffed themselves with s’mores. After dinner we climbed down to the shore to watch the sunset. Looking back to the mainland over miles of water made for a spectacular show. The sun, an immense glowing orb, dipped to the horizon, electrifying the sky.

Emily carefully positioned the canvas on an easel, illuminated by a beam of sunlight streaming through her studio window. As she stepped back to admire her work, a sense of both awe and unease washed over her. The painting depicted the witch exactly as Emily had seen her in her dream. The colors were vibrant, the details were meticulous, and the witch seemed almost alive. However, there was something eerie about the painting that Emily couldn't quite put her finger on. As the days went by, strange occurrences started happening in the village. Crops withered, animals began to act strangely, and a sense of unease settled over the once cheerful community. It wasn't long before rumors spread that Emily's painting was cursed. Although skeptical at first, Emily couldn't ignore the growing evidence. She began to notice odd shadows moving within the painting, shapes that were not supposed to be there. The witch's eyes appeared to follow her every move, and a malevolent energy seemed to emanate from the canvas. Fearful of the consequences, Emily decided to seek the help of a wise old witch who lived deep in the forest. She traveled through the dense woods, clutching the painting tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. As Emily entered the witch's humble cottage, she could feel ancient magic pulsating in the air. The wise old witch examined the painting with a furrowed brow. After a long pause, she spoke in a solemn voice, "This painting has become a vessel for dark energies. It has captured the spirit of a vengeful witch." Emily's heart sank. She had unknowingly brought a terrible curse upon her village with her art. Determined to make amends, she asked the wise old witch how she could break the curse. The old witch explained that Emily needed to channel powerful positive energy into the painting. She advised her to gather the villagers and organize a ritual to infuse the canvas with healing vibrations. This would counteract the dark magic that had taken hold. Emily wasted no time. She spread the word among the villagers, and soon they gathered around the painting, holding hands and chanting incantations. As their energy filled the room, the witch's malevolent presence gradually weakened. Hours passed, and finally, a blinding light erupted from the painting, engulfing the entire room. When the light subsided, the witch in the painting had transformed into a benevolent figure, radiating kindness and warmth. The curse had been broken, and peace restored to the village. Emily learned a valuable lesson that day: art is a powerful force that can both create and destroy. She vowed to use her talent for the betterment of her community, ensuring that her paintings would always bring joy and harmony. From that point forward, Emily's career flourished as she continued to capture the beauty and magic of the world around her. And though she would never forget the disastrous witchy picture, it served as a constant reminder of the importance of wielding her artistic gifts responsibly..

Reviews for "The "Disastrous Witchy Picture" and its Role in Popularizing Witchcraft"

1. John - 2/5 stars - I have to say, "The Disastrous Witchy Picture" was a major disappointment for me. The plot was all over the place, making it difficult to follow along and engage with the story. The characters were underdeveloped and lacked depth, making it hard to connect or care about their fate. Additionally, the special effects were subpar, making it hard to immerse myself in the mystical world that was portrayed. Overall, I expected much more from this film and it failed to deliver.

2. Sarah - 1/5 stars - I found "The Disastrous Witchy Picture" to be a complete waste of time. The storyline was cliche and predictable, lacking any originality or creativity. The acting was subpar, with the lead actress failing to convince me of her role as a powerful witch. The dialogue was laughable and full of cheesy lines that made it impossible to take the movie seriously. The special effects were amateurish and felt like they belonged in a B-rated movie. Overall, I would not recommend this film to anyone looking for a quality magical fantasy experience.

3. Karen - 2/5 stars - "The Disastrous Witchy Picture" had so much potential, but it fell short on many levels. The pacing of the film was uneven, with slow and dragging scenes followed by rushed, chaotic moments. The plot was convoluted and confusing, leaving me with more questions than answers. The character development was lacking, making it hard for me to care about their journey or the outcome of the story. The visuals were lackluster, failing to create a visually stunning world that is expected in the fantasy genre. Overall, this film had promise but failed to deliver an enjoyable experience.

The Power of Visual Imagery: How the "Disastrous Witchy Picture" Sparks Fear and Curiosity