Hammock Time

First Time on Snowshoes!

I grew up in Maine, but until yesterday I had never snowshoe'd. I never skied growing up either; I guess my parents weren't big on winter sports. I put on snowshoes for the first time yesterday, and now I see what I was missing!

It was only 19° yesterday, so I dressed carefully: tights & leggings under my jeans, a long-sleeved shirt under a thick wool sweater; hat-scarf-gloves; and a down jacket. Double socks and good boots. Between that and the exertion, I was not even a little cold on the trail. 

Yowie (foreground) and me

My high-school best friend, trail name Bionic Yowie, is a committed hiker, and she wouldn't let a little winter stop her. Lucky for me she has extra equipment! She dug up poles & shoes, and an extra pack ( I had one but didn't know I'd need it), a fleece, and made sure we both had water. Yowie is training to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail, so she is in the habit of very thorough preparation! Me, I brought...the chapstick.

Our trail was the Libby Hills Forest Trail in Poland (that would be Poland, Maine) , home of many nice hiking trails. Yowie helped me get the shoes on (the hardest part, tbh) and off we went! It was easier than I thought: I would put the effort level at Shoveling Fluffy Snow. I got winded and a little sweaty, but nothing I couldn't deal with just by stopping to rest & drinking some water, and I'm not especially athletic. 

Here's me grinning like a fool! A happy fool tho

The trail through snow-covered woods, over a brook, and up & down a ridge, was incredibly beautiful, and silent in the way the winter woods sometimes are; not much moving, and the snow muffles sound anyway. The trickle of the stream under thin ice was musical. There is a lot to be stressed about, in the world; a snowy woods is a good place to be free of it, for a spell.  

Day of the Dad

It is said that in November the veil between the world of the living and that of the dead grows thin. In Mexico, November 2nd is the Day of the Dead, a festive celebration to pray for and remember loved ones who have died. I admire this tradition, as the taboo of death in American culture makes loss and grief more isolating.

I'm not especially religious, nor do I subscribe to any woo-woo philosophies. Despite efforts to embrace both of those idea sets at different times in my life, my thinking remains pretty firmly evidence-based. That said, no one can say for sure if there is or isn't a next life, and it can be a comfort to think there might be; that out loved ones are not lost to us forever.

My Dad passed on January 1st, 2001, a single day into the new millennium, by some accounting. If time is a dimension, like spatial dimensions, in a way he is not gone, like a person who is spatially out of sight is not gone. Anyway, sometimes I want to talk to him. I can do that anywhere, I suppose; if there is a next world it's unlikely our spirits would be tied to the resting place of our physical bones. Nevertheless, sometimes I go to the Scarborough Marsh, where we scattered his ashes, to visit. I stand on the footbridge and talk. The first few times I felt silly, but it comes more naturally to me now.
I visit a few times a year, kind of randomly; a couple years ago, I did because we were having a solar eclipse, and my dad was blessed with a great intellectual curiosity, and I deeply wished he were there to see it with me. 
It's a beautiful place, never more so than on a sunny day in late autumn, when the colors are gold an

bronze vibrating against the blue sky and water. It's accessible via the old Eastern Road, now a bike/walking trail with entry points at Black Point Road and at Pine Point Road, among several others (it's a pretty long trail, nearly 30 miles from South Portland to Kennebunk.) It's a flat, easy trail - easy to walk or jog, and you can ride a street bike on it, and it takes you through some of the most beautiful landscape in Southern Maine.
Don't let your outdoor activities end in September! Late fall landscapes have an austere beauty all their own, and cooler temps are quite conducive to delightful hikes.

The Barrens in August

My mom grew up in Cherryfield, a small town Downeast. As she hates when I tell people, she was the Maine Blueberry Queen of 1950! Who even knew there was such a thing.
For the past few years, my husband & I have been spending some time in the area. We reserve an adorable cabin on the Machias River, (gas lights & cooking! I've done plenty of campfire cooking, and while I wouldn't rule it out in future, I do like my camping on easy mode.) The way passes through miles of blueberry barrens, the late-season red foliage of which gives the town of Cherryfield its name.
These are wild blueberries, the fruit small & intensely flavorful, which grow nowhere so well as the Downeast region of Maine. They are not to be confused with their high-bush cousins, the fat berries you see in the supermarket.
(Free opinion: it is a waste of good blueberries to put them in a pie, full of cornstarch & sugar. It renders them gloppy and the flavor insipid, and also turns your teeth purple.Pancakes, yes; muffin, yes; yogurt and salads and cream cheese, yes; by the handful YES PLEASE.)

The soil of the barrens is a highly acidic thin layer over ledge. It's called a "barrens" because not much except the very low-growing wild blueberries can thrive there. The proximity of the Atlantic keeps the air humid, which helps the shallow-rooted plants survive. The image above is in mid-August, during the picking season. The bushes that have not yet been harvested are heavy with fruit. I imagine this place before colonization, what a blessing this wild abundance must have been, and just below it, Wigwam Falls, popping with Atlantic Salmon, back in the day. (Atlantic Salmon are far rarer now, but there are groups working on their restoration - the Downeast Salmon Federation has a hatchery in East Machias where they raise salmon the the parr stage and then release them into Maine rivers - salmon return to their home rivers to spawn.)

Here's my favorite blueberry recipe:

Blueberry-Banana Smoothie

In blender:
3/4 cup wild Maine blueberries
1/2 banana, frozen
3/4 cup orange juice
Quick shake of nutmeg

Blend until smooth. Enjoy!

Where the Road Took Me: Tandem Glass Gallery & Studio

Yesterday was a glorious day in Maine - sunny and dry, mid-70s. It was a fine day for a little road trip, and I happened to have one on my list: I needed to deliver pots to a new shop in Wiscasset, Mid-Coast Craft. More about them later! Today I want to tell you about my unexpected find.

It being said glorious day, and me in no hurry, I planned to stop at the numerous yard sales one always finds on Route 27 between Augusta and Wiscasset on a fine summer Saturday. The first sign I saw pointed the way down 127, which runs between Dresden and Woolwich (pronounced wool-itch, which always makes me laugh, as wool usually does itch.)

I was surprised to discover the advertised sale was at this amazing glass blowing studio, Tandem Glass. The upper floors arr living space, the lower is studio and gallery. I was immediately hit with a pang of jealousy. Look, there's even a outbuilding which would make a stellar kiln shed! I wouldn't want to mow all that lawn, though.

Inside was even more amazing: a sunlit gallery space glittering with beautiful handblown glass:

And the studio! I admit I am a sucker for a tidy studio - I should probably keep my own cleaner. The furnaces were cool the day I was there. And look at the enticing rack of canes! Materials are inspirational, all on their own.

It's maybe a mile - no more than that - off 27 in Dresden. Worth a trip! 

Sonance of the Lambs

I spent some time yesterday at the Watershed Center for Ceramic Arts. Watershed is itself an adventure, with the additional dollop of joy brought by its proximity to Straw's Farm. Sheep and lambs have charmingly human voices; the "baa" of a sheep sounds a lot like a human imitating a sheep! In the spring there are always lambs, making a very picture of Maine idyll.

Dresden Dreaming

It's 9° here, with a thick dirty blanket of snow on the ground. This came through my facebook feed today! McKeen's Riverside Retreat, an AirBnB beside the Kennebec. It's in Dresden, so though it will feed like a rustic getaway, it's a quick drive to civilization, like grocery stores and restaurants and shopping, and your cell will (probably) work. Like lots of Maine cabins, it's the House of Many Beds, so even though it's small you could squeeze in a pretty big family. And are those canoes I see?

I want to go to there.

Born on the Kennebec

Exciting happenings in downtown Augusta: this week saw the opening of our first brew pub, Cushnoc Brewing. 

I'd love to tell you that we checked it out, and the beers on offer were amazing, as was the wood-fired pizza; and maybe they are! But I wouldn't know because though we tried to check it out - the beer anyway - last night, we were unable to find a seat. Or rather, we were unable to find an appropriate seat: if you were there for beer, you could sit here but not there, or you could stand, unless of course you were also getting pizza, in which case you could sit there or there. It seemed complicated.  I was hoping for more of a Three Dollar Dewey's experience: sit where you want, order what you want, food or drink. Cushnoc shares with Dewey's the long communal tables that patrons share with strangers as well as their party so I imagined a similar casualness.

No matter! I was glad to see they got a rousing turnout for their fist Saturday night. The pizza smelled amazing, and though I don't often have money to go out to eat, I can sometimes scratch up enough for a couple of beers. Looking forward to visiting on a less crowded evening. Here are some photos I grabbed from their Facebook page:

BTW, we ended up at the Black & Tan instead last night, a smaller pub with an Irish bent. As they do most weekends, they had live music last night. The bartender was wearing a kilt! Possibly for some seasonal reason - it was the Halloween pub crawl last night - but since I cherish in my heart a hope that kilts will one day again come into fashion for men, I chose to believe otherwise. The B &T is another relatively new addition to the previously-almost-non-existent Augusta nightlife, which now includes not just the aforementioned eateries (drinkeries? Is that a word?) but also Circa 1885, a wine bar (most unfashionably, I hate wine, but still), and Otto's on the River, a high end restaurant. The Riverfront Barbeque and Grill is still on Water Street, as well.

I'm excited to see all these new establishments downtown. I feel like downtown Augusta is on the cusp of becoming what I always thought it could: it has the architecture, it has the river, it has a potential client with decent jobs nearby. It just needed a critical mass of happenings to draw people in.

Anyway! Welcome to Augusta, Cushnoc Brewing! Now we need some good shopping. Like, City Drawers? Or something akin to the old Kennebec River Artisans? Maybe Kennebec Chocolates could be persuaded to move a half mile for better walk in traffic.

While I am waiting for all that to happen, I am delighted to have more places to drink good beer. 

Batty McFly

For the third time this month we've entertained a bat visitor, in our living space. We're not sure how they are getting in, but it's an old house and most likely they are living in the attic and squeezing through some tiny hole into the living room. I like bats. I think they are cute - look at Batty McFly's hilariously fierce little face! In actuality he is not trying to intimidate, he was making those echolocation squeaks that bats use to get around.

I did a little reading and discovered that McFly is probably a Big Brown Bat, as opposed to a Little Brown Bat. "Big" is a relative term, and he (she?) was not at all a large animal. Both kinds are found in Maine. Big Brown Bats have longer fur and are more likely to be living in barns and attics.
Big Brown Bats are born in June, and the ones we are finding may well be the young of year, attempting to venture outside for the first time. Bad luck for them that they find themselves in the House of Many Cats, although none has been killed yet.
I captured McFly (and our earlier visitors) by putting on my work gloves ( I doubt they would bite but why take the chance?) and placing a wastepaper basket over them, then closing up the end with a bit of cardboard, and bring the lot outside. McFly seems tuckered out, because he didn't fly away right off the...bat, but hung out 😄for a while - long enough for me to snap this photo.

Like Little Brown Bats, Big Brown Bats can be infected with White Nose Syndrome, although their populations are not crashing like their smaller cousins.

Pickers Cabins, Columbia Falls, Maine

It's nearly picking season in Downeast Maine. The pickers will come and live at the barrens in rustic little camps until the work is done.

 The barrens are a spare but beautiful landscape, upon which little will grow except blueberries, because below a very thin scrim of soil lies solid bedrock, scraped clean by glaciers. The blueberry foliage turns deep red in early August, and stays brilliant until the snow covers it. The town of Cherryfield - right next to Columbia Falls - got its name, oddly enough, from the red foliage of its blueberry barrens. My mother is from Cherryfield, and she worked in Wyman's food processing plant as a teenager, plucking sticks and rocks from a conveyor belt of blueberries. She hates when I tell people this, but she was crowned Maine Blueberry Queen of 1950! You probably love wild Maine blueberries - everybody does. They are a superfood, you know! These barrens are, in fact, wild; the blueberries were here before there were companies to cultivate them. They may have been here before there were any people to enjoy them! The pickers cabins in the photo above are the accommodations provided by the Passamaquoddy Wild Blue Berry Company. 

Ready for picking! July 2017

What's New Downtown?

This morning I had occasion to walk downtown. One of my favorite things about my city is that I can and do walk to just about everything I need to do here: to the post office, the library, the bank (not to mention the pub.)
Today I was going to ship a package & buy stamps. On the way back, I walked beside the river, in hopes of seeing a sturgeon jump. I did see a few, but nothing like yesterday, when they were popping up like fireworks on Independence Day.) My route took me beside this concrete retaining wall below downtown, and lo! A mural!
That wasn't there the last time I walked by here!

Less noticeable but also fun downtown are edible plantings! I see the city has placed tomato plants among the celosia.

Augusta gets better every day!

Chillin on the Deck - Independence Day 2017

Moose on the Bridge: Just Another Day in Maine

From the Bangor Daily News:

BELFAST, Maine — An unusual jaywalker briefly tied up traffic on a busy Belfast bridge Wednesday morning.
Belfast police Sgt. John Gibbs said a moose crossed the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge, which carries Route 1 over the Passagassawakeag River, shortly before 8 a.m. The lanky-legged animal jaunted over the bridge from Belfast’s East Side before continuing his trek south down Route 1.
People heading into work captured the moose on camera as it swerved from one lane to another, slowly making its way across the span. 

Maine Beer News

I was delighted but unsurprised this morning to read that Portland recently ranked the #1 city in the WORLD for craft beer. YOU GO, Portland! I love Portland, and I love a well-made beer, favoring IPAs & lagers - less interested in pumpkin-spice and blueberry varieties, but hey, whatever floats your teeth.
Portland is an up-and-coming tech hub, and those lads & lasses have expensive tastes and the money to satisfy them. Craft beer tastes, and craft beer budgets = 😋😜!!

I was surprised, and even more delighted, to read that Augusta is getting a craft brewery of our very own. Cushnoc Brewing is set to open a location on Water St. this fall. I've been waiting & waiting for the booming economic health in Southern Maine - and especially Portland - to reach Augusta, in the same way that the economic health of Boston crept north to Portland in search of more affordable living options. I may have a long wait yet, but at least soon I can enjoy a craft beer half a mile from my house to pass the time!

Not to mention a wood-fired pizza.

They Always Come When it Snows

Cardinals and mourning doves. They come for the sunflower seeds; then I have finches on the thistle feeder, but they are more timid, so I couldn't even get this good a shot.

I have a suet feeder as well, but the squirrels - clever little bastards that they are - figured out how to open it, so that never lasts long.

This Old Staircase

My blessing and my curse is that I can see what things could be more easily than I can see what they are; so when I bought my century house more than ten years ago, I saw what I would make of it, overlaying and obscuring the reality of it.

As I say, this is a blessing and a curse. The house was and is perfectly livable, and I got it for super cheap; but the grand dame I imagined still awaits behind a miles-thick layer of hard work and expense. I've been chipping away at it here and there; did some external painting, painted a guest room & added a wallpaper frieze at the ceiling level. The biggest projects, however remained untouched. My kitchen is a horror show of dirty-looking dark yellow cabinets, a cracking, curling lino tile counter, and a hideous, hokey backsplash. Each of these things seems to require fixing the others simultaneously - no point putting a new counter on cabinets you hate, right? So the job remains too huge; there's nowhere to begin.

Partway between "pecking at the edges" and "impossibly daunting" lie my front hall stairs. They are badly scuffed and chipped, in a gray more suited to a cellar floor than an entryway. For more than ten years I have looked at them thinking they need an update, and, finally, this week I set about making it happen.

First that awful old paint had to go. There were many layers, and someone had already painted over chips and peels and divots. There was just nothing to do but take it off. So: paint stripper.

Paint stripping is nasty work. The chemicals are caustic and smell like the fumes alone ought to kill you. I had to close up the kitties in bedrooms, for fear they would step into the stripper and burn their little pads or worse, poison themselves trying to clean it off!

I discovered the wood underneath was discolored and unlovely, which meant I would be repainting rather than staining. Nevertheless, I tried to strip off nearly all of it before sanding - in an old house like this, there's a good possibility of lead paint, and I'd rather not have that dust flying around. Since I would be painting over it, there was no need to remove ever speck of old paint, though: it just needed to be smooth and clean, to take the layer of primer.

Here's where I left off yesterday, with three stairs left to sand. Should be easy to complete this step today, along with all the taping; tomorrow I start painting, primer first, of course. I am still considering my color options: I am thinking a dark chocolate brown for the stair, and either a teal or some version of spring green for the riser.

I'm excited to finally be making the changes I envisioned eleven years ago, and it marks a change for me as well: Do the thing. The thing won't do itself. 

My Favorite Lunch Spot, South Portland

On Monday afternoons, I often find myself in the Portland area with some free time. If it's a warm day, I like to grab a sandwich and head for Spring Point Light. There's a nice shore walk to get there, or you can park nearby the campus at SMCC. The granite block breakwater is about 300 yards long, and provides many spots to sit, dangle your legs, and watch the passing boat traffic. On any given day you can see the ferries on their way to the islands of Casco Bay, and some times The Cat, the giant double-hulled ferry which runs between Portland Harbor and New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, as well as innumerable fishing and recreational boats.

As the weather turns, the jetty will become treacherous! Enjoy the Big Light walk before the snow falls. If it's Monday afternoon, I may see you there.

"I Love This Place!"

I had the nicest interaction this morning! I walked the greenbelt to Portland's East End beach. As I was standing at the fence overlooking the water, a young Ethiopian man stopped beside me. 
"Is this the ocean?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, "that's the Atlantic Ocean."
"Is it cold?"
"Yeah, it's pretty cold. "
"Too cold to swim?"
"Probably right now."
"But you can swim? It is safe? If I swim, I won't get sick?" 
"It's clean. People swim in it all the time."
He broke out in a huge grin: "I love this place!"

So do I, friend. 

This Is Why We Live In Maine

I want to hold this moment in my mind, so I can call it up next January when the sun is setting at 4 pm, the snow is falling AGAIN, and the temp never gets about 20 degrees. This is what makes that worth the wait. Sitting on the deck, with my feet up, drinking my (iced!) coffee, watching the garden grow...

...aaaand, here comes my neighbor with his weed whacker. I swear that man has more noise-making devices than anyone else alive. Weed whacker, lawn mower, leaf blower, snow thrower. A motorized whine for every season! Ah, well. It's meant to be 90 degrees today. He'll have to sit down eventually, right?

Then Leaf Subsides to Leaf

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay. -

Robert Frost

I've been meaning to take photos for this post for over a week, and I almost missed the window: the brief hour of gold. 

I took a walk today on Macworth Island, just north of Portland. A causeway leads to the island, which houses the Governor Baxter School for the Deaf. It's an easy hike, about 2.2 miles, with lovely views. It's good to go early in the season - Macworth has a very small parking lot, and when that lot is full, no more visitors are allowed. Even today, only one spot was open when I arrived, although there were more by the time I left. 

Must Eden always sink to grief? Maybe. But Macworth abides.