Maine Maple Sunday 2012

Today is Maine Maple Sunday which means that many of the sugar houses in Maine are open to visitors.  We crossed the Androscoggin River to the Thurston Family Farm in Peru.  One of Charlie's colleagues married into the amazing family whose farm supplies our CSA vegetables, eggs, and maple syrup.   It makes me smile all over to be a consumer of food from my neighborhood--and it makes me smile all over to eat anything with maple butter...............

In the '60's when I was kid, we lived in Western Massachusetts.  As maple syrup season got into full swing, my family would load up our blue dodge station wagon and drive into southern Vermont where the plump, sweet faced wives of maple farmers would ladle hot syrup over cold snow to serve to us--I loved the way the syrup thickened when it hit the cold snow--so yummy.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a young woman knowledgeable with the marketing of American-made snack foods internationally and she said that different flavors are used to reflect the preferences of consumers in different countries.  That led me to wonder what are uniquely American tastes?  I wonder if maple is one we keep to ourselves?  

Well, whether or not it is popular elsewhere, it is popular here in Northern New England and the air was heavy with it as the steam rose into the rafters of the sugar house and flew out to scent the chill afternoon.

Rejuvenation and reminder

A month or so ago one of daughter Sara's good friends e-mailed her in Macedonia and said that she was weary of her city life and needed a nature break--did Sara think that her mother (that would be me) would let her come to Maine for a visit? Sara sent me the reply email which said "Are you kidding, of course she would!" So, it was set--Louise and a friend of hers (coincidentally named Sarah) would fly up to Maine from their busy lives in Washington, DC for Halloween weekend. The excitement of the weekend began when I met their plane in Portland late Thursday night and we noticed that Senator Olympia Snowe had been on their plane. I guess she needed a nature break, too.

One of our first stops on our nature tour was my favorite tree. Since my last posting on the tree, it has been determined to be the second largest white pine in the state of Maine. If I was more competitive that #1 tree should be in serious trouble. After hiking all over the woods checking the beaver dam and the beehives, we went back to my parents' house and had a lovely dinner where my parents fell hook, line and sinker in love with these two girls.

On Saturday, we drove up into the mountains and hiked out to Angel Falls. Angels Falls is a startlingly beautiful waterfall that is really hard to get to. The path to the falls starts 3.5 miles down the Bemis Track which is sometimes navigable by vehicle, sometimes not. We hit it lucky--there had recently been some logging along the track so it had been stabilized for the first 3 miles. After that, we were on our own and the last 1/2 mile was scary. But we made it to the trailhead and then hiked into the falls crossing the river once and then a stream once, twice, three times then navigated our way around a big boulder and there it was. Surprise!

Halloween night in between passing out candy to every little kid in the River Valley, the girls discovered Molly and Archie's craft box and the sounds of their soft voices in front of the fire as they created cute little crafts made my heart absolutely grow three sizes.

On Sunday morning, we headed off to the coast. There were no big storms out to sea and it was low tide so the waves were not impressive, but the setting was beautiful. Sarah looked out to sea, I watched birds on a nearby island with my binoculars and Louise sketched.

After a final stop at L. L. Bean on the way to the airport, we said our good-byes and went back to our lives--all touched by the weekend. Louise and Sarah said that their souls were rejuvenated by being immersed in nature, by being with a family, by having their senses touched with laughing trick or treaters and soft kitties and a warm fire but my soul was rejuvenated because once again I realized that this generation of young people, just coming into their own, is really spectacular. The future is in very good hands.

Hip Hopping at the Grocery

On Sunday afternoons, I usually head to the grocery store to stock up on yogurt, skim milk and whole grain bread for the week. That is the giant yawn that has become my life here at 50 with children flown from the nest. Shopping these days is not nearly as colorful or tasty as it was back in the day when the cart was piled full with double-stuff oreos, fruit roll ups and Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Until today, though, the most excitement that I had experienced at our local Hannaford was when a daughter who should remain nameless (but linked) was home for a few weeks in between college and the Peace Corps and was bemoaning the lack of social life in her home town. As we pushed our cart into the local grocery store where everybody knows your name, we noticed an older man and a younger man pushing a cart just ahead of us. We did not know these people and more importantly to daughter--the young man was quite handsome. I will admit that we did an admirable job of stalking them that day in the grocery store discerning all sorts of things about their lives from the items that they selected. Daughter and I still talk about that--she'll say, "remember the time that we saw a good looking guy at Hannaford?"

But today, as I mindlessly walked up and down the aisles looking for low unit prices and no transfat, I noticed that my step was a little bouncier, my shoulders were a little straighter, and a smile was on my face. About that time, I realized that music was loudly playing over the PA system. The next thing I knew a youngish looking good old boy on the pickle aisle caught my eye and boogied a bit as he karaokied to Play that Funky Music White Boy. So, a note to all of my male readers in the 20 to 35 age range (I know you are out there) any time that you get an opportunity to dance to Wild Cherry with a 50 year old woman in the aisles of the local grocery store--you really should do it.

Grab bag

Is there a statute of limitations on stuff your kids friends have left at your house?

Would you say that if a friend of a daughter left a bag almost six years ago then the bag is up for grabs? Me too. So after six years of lusting for this bag as it hung on a peg in my hallway, I threw caution, patience and good manners to the wind and claimed it as my nature bag. It has pockets for guide books and binoculars and a big pouch for the camera and room for a water bottle on the side--I am OUTFITTED.

So with my new bag, I went off into the woods to see what I could see.

I found some British Soldier Lichen along the path and something that I believe is a lichen but that I have not been able to identify. Ideas welcome.

My mom felt up to walking with me and we made it down to the river. We found a few trees that looked like the beavers had recently been at work but nothing like the activity that we saw last fall and they have not repaired the dam. Their two lodges are still in the river, but do not have any noticeable fresh improvements. So, I don't know what to think about the beavers--the ice will be in soon but I'll keep checking over the next few weeks.

Where Have All the People Gone?

This morning walking to the Post Office I noticed an entire street full of empty houses. Walking along and counting I noticed that of the first ten houses that I passed, eight were empty. What is going on? Where are people going?



Scary times.

Addendum: So, about 5 minutes after I hit publish on this, there was a knock on the door. A nice lady and her husband who are buying the empty house next door. Would I do the closing? Of course! Work and a neighbor all in one day! Brighter days ahead?

Hamlet

Tucked into a small town in central Maine is the Theater at Monmouth which each year brings Shakespeare's plays alive on the stage. Charlie and I try to go at least once over the summer.

Earlier this week we went to see Hamlet. My oldest daughter lived, breathed, dreamed and spoke fluent Hamlet throughout her sophomore year of high school and still counts it as her favorite play. Charlie, as a high school english teacher, teaches the play each year. So, over the years, in spite of myself, I have had quite a bit of passive Hamlet exposure.

The performance that we enjoyed on Tuesday night was very good and what struck me is how very familiar the words are--and how familiar the thoughts behind the words.

Here are some of my favorites:

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy"

"Brevity is the soul of wit"

"Madness in great ones must not unwatched go"

"More matter, with less art"

"This above all, to thine own self be true"

What is especially interesting, is how often we hear some of the lines in everyday speech, perhaps with the speaker not even realizing where they originated.

Putting the GUSTO in August!

I woke up one morning to an email from daughter, Sara.

MOM! WHAT IS WITH THE LACK OF BLOG POSTING.
come on!! i keep waiting for an update but it never comes.... :( :(

Oops, sorry!

In way of explanation, July, 2009, was something we endured in western Maine and while there were tidbits of greatness and personal joy, mostly it was depressing and trying to blog about it in an entertaining and positive manner seemed too daunting. Our precipitation total was at least three times the normal July amount--almost every day and night had the soundtrack of raindrops and the need for sweaters. But, it wasn't a total bust--we have the greenest August grass that I have ever seen AND last weekend when we climbed Mt. Moosilauke we climbed alongside a waterfall that was breathtaking (well maybe it was the climb that took my breath--but the waterfall was full of water and just beautiful!)

We also had a bumper raspberry crop--I froze 12 quarts for future pies, baked several pies from fresh raspberries and we ate--maybe a million berries--maybe more. Enough are still coming in for my morning yogurt, but by the weekend we will start cleaning out the old canes and trimming back the new growth for winter.

The bees seem to be doing well, but as a first year beekeeper, I can't be sure. The rain has surely hindered them in their nectar gathering and I worry that they won't have enough honey to make it through the winter--or to share with us. After a few months of watching me tend the hives, my Dad couldn't resist any longer and has joined me in caring for the bees. I love sharing this with him. Mom took the picture with her telephoto lense--but I have a feeling she'll be asking for her own hat and veil before too long!

Today, our winter wealth and security was dumped into the driveway--six cords of wood. We (and when I saw we, clearly I mean Charlie) will be splitting and stacking probably right up until we need to use it.

I will try and be a better blogger, Sara, sorry to disappoint--future topics might include

• what it felt like when the quiet other daugher asked me to share a lobster risotto.
  
• what it feels like to still see youngest son out of the corner of my eye--walking up the driveway or around a corner in the hall--but, of course, he isn't there, he has left the nest and the state and the region and is not walking up the driveway or around the corner in the hall but finding his own way 600 miles from home.
• planning a trip to Europe to see the not-so-quiet peace corps daughter.

Thanks for missing my posts :-)

Is there summer out there somewhere?

Oh, it just won't stop raining.

It truly does not feel like the last week of June around here and while temperatures in the 60's suit me just fine, I need to see the sun!!!

And so do my bees.

The bees are doing well, building comb and filling it with honey and when they are able to fly out of their hives they have a smorgasbord of nectar awaiting them but they need a stretch of sunny days.

Other than the bees, I have two other summer projects and both require dry weather.

Project #1
In 2005, I began hiking the mountains above 4000 feet in New England with the hope of finishing the 67 mountains by my 50th birthday in 2009. Well, this is it and so far 23 days into June, I have not added a single one to my total. Last year was not a big year for climbing accomplishment either as we had rainy weekend after rainy weekend. I consider myself a fair weather hiker and a viewbagger more than a peakbagger--translation: I don't like to hike in bad weather.

In Maine, I still have 6 of the 14 to climb including two in Baxter State Park. One of the Baxter mountains is called North Brother--I got within 2/10 of a mile of the summit of North Brother last summer but turned back in the rain and slippery conditions--gotta try again.

In New Hampshire, I still have 7 of the 48 to climb. Two of those mountains can be combined into one hike, so with six hiking days I should be able to finish up those.

In Vermont, I still have three of the five which I can do in two hiking days and hope to accomplish my goal at the summit of Mt. Mansfield on my birthday in September IF it ever stops raining and I can get out on the trails.

Project #2
The beaver lodge and dam that I watched last fall, seems to be abandoned. If we get a dry stretch and the water level goes down in the pond, I want to try accessing the lodge with a flashlight and camera in a ziplock bag--that adventure will definitely be bloggable! So far my mother, my daughter and my husband are adamantly against this idea. Molly at least agreed to stand on the bank with a cell phone ready to all 911 to report her mother attacked by rabid beavers but so far my husband and my mother have not signed on even for that duty. My father, thinks it's a great idea although his idea is to take the top off while I insist on accessing it through their underwater tunnel even if I have to enlarge it a bit. I don't want to make it too hard for them to come back and make it their home again.

Some sunny days, please?

Summer Solstice Snapper

Yesterday Charlie was sitting at the dining room table writing a paper for a class he's taking and he looked up and noticed a big piece of something in the road. As he watched, the big piece of something made its way across the road and into the yard of the abandoned house next door.

He and the cats went out to check it out and discovered a large common snapping turtle looking for someplace to lay her eggs. There are a lot of sandy spots closer to the river than our yard so it was surprising to see a turtle prowling around. It's been a very, very rainy Spring/Summer and it could be that all of the lower spots close to the river were too wet. Who knows, but in 100 days, I'll be watching for a crop of baby snapping turtles trying to find their way to the river.

I had been off visiting my parents during the turtle invasion and when I got home Charlie had the kitties safely inside and was outside watching it. He dubbed it the summer solstice snapper.

From what I have read about snapping turtles, the mother will travel great distances from her muddy bottom home to find the right spot to lay her eggs. Once she finds the right spot, she will moisten the ground with her urine, dig the hole with her powerful hind legs, lay her eggs and then smooth the nest out by sliding over it with her smooth underside (plastron). Apparently, this nesting time is dangerous for everyone involved. Racoons and foxes often dig up the nests and eat the eggs and mother turtles traveling from their safe water homes must cross roads exposing themselves to predators and cars and cajun cooks looking for the title ingredient in turtle soup.

I was able to watch the turtle for a little while as she made her way to wherever she was going. She had a very long tail that was thick at the base (apparently the thick part of the tail is the tastiest meat for turtle soup afficionados). When she would stop and stretch out her neck it was very long. She could draw both the thick part of her tail and her head deep inside her shell.

Snapping turtles mothers (like queen honeybees) can hold the sperm inside of them for more than one season, releasing it when necessary to fertilize her eggs. A few weeks ago, Seabrooke wrote a very interesting piece about snapping turtle eggs here.

So, one hundred days takes us to late September--not very much time for the little turtles to make it to the river and burrow into the mud before the winter.

I'm lichen it

Today I spent the first day of the rest of my life walking through the woods with my young cousin.

He is visiting from Texas and staying with my parents so we went walking through their woods to get the lay of the land.

While walking through an area that I don't hike over very often, we noticed some red color under foot in an area of where the path was soft with decaying wood.

The red is the spore of a lichen called British Soldier Lichen (Cladonia cristatella).

Franklin County

As I have written about before, I handle most of the defense work for juveniles in Franklin County. In our county, juvenile court is held for half a day ten times a year--I guess that probably translates into the pleasant fact that there is not a lot of juvenile crime in the area. That is a good thing.

But whether or not it is prevalent or serious by big city standards, it is almost always heart-breaking. The purpose of the juvenile statutes is to rehabilitate and to that end I think of those of us who are part of the legal process as a team. The Judge who remembers the kids before her and who has high standards for their behavior both in her courtroom and in between court appearances, the Juvenile probation officer who knows each child individually and helps to formulate and execute a plan to assist them to help themselves, the District Attorney who has a good sense of humor and can be tough or tender as the situation warrants, and me the motherly defense attorney.

So, today is juvenile day. While I don't always look forward to dealing with the situations that the juveniles have managed to get themselves into, I always look forward to working with such a dedicated team and attempting to help untangle young lives.

Our District Attorney was featured several years ago in an award winning indie movie called Knee Deep. You can watch the trailer here. The movie is an extremely artistic documentary of a very unusual attempted murder case It has been on PBS a few times--I highly recommend this movie both for its content, its artistic value and the sociological issues that it raises.

Adventures with Jaeger--Part 2

So after retrieving the kayak from the Androscoggin, the boys put it in our barn and waited for the snow to melt.

It wasn't long before the snow melted and Archie and Brent were taking the kayaks on trips down the river with the cat along for companionship. Brent is Archie's best friend and has been living with us for the past three months and as honorary family member, I've been letting him use my kayak. My kayak is slightly bigger than Archie's and has a watertight storage container built into the bow. Jaeger seemed to like the excursions, he would sit in a lap or if he wanted to see the scenery, he would perch on the bow. The boys would stop often and go onto the bank for him to eat and drink.

One day after school, Archie decided that they should take the kayaks up the Webb River and float down to Dixfield. The Webb is a smaller river with more rocks and rapids and flows into the Androscoggin near our house.

So up the river they went in a friend's pickup truck and they put in just over the Carthage line. The water was flat and peaceful, the day was sunny, Jaeger spent time jumping from the bow of one kayak to the bow of the other. One time he spotted a flock of Canada Geese on the shore and jumped into the water, swam 20 feet to shore and chased the much larger, meaner and heavier birds. It was an idyllic Spring day--two boys, a river and a cat.

Then the water started to get a little choppy. As a precaution, they opened the watertight hatch on Brent's kayak and without the top on put Jaeger in. He peered out from his hatch as the boys paddled.

Then just as they were about to enter a rapid, Brent shut the hatch. Somehow as he followed Archie through the rapid, he capsized and was dumped out to navigate the rapid without a kayak seriously injuring his knee on the rocks. Archie who was in front, looked back, saw the capsized boat and his friend going through the rapids and realizeded that Jaeger was stuck inside the capsized boat. He left his friend to fend for himself and swam back upstream to rescue the cat. The kayak was jammed upside down between some rocks. He wasn't able to right the kayak from the downstream side as the vacuum pressure was too strong, but he managed to get to the upstream side and break the seal and right the boat. He opened the hatch and Jaeger popped right into his arms, right as rain.

So, Jaeger was safe. Archie put him to sit on a rock in the middle of the river while he got the empty kayak back to shore and then went to check on Brent who had pulled himself to the opposite shore. Brent was not able to move his knee (and even now 4 weeks later is still limping). It took Archie 20 minutes to get Brent across the river where they realized that both of their cell phones had been submerged. Jaeger was retrieved from the rock and left to stay with Brent while Archie hiked off to find a house and a phone and someone with a truck to get them all home.

What was there to say as they shared this story with me? Words failed me, I could only listen in amazement and relief that everyone was alright (with the exception of Brent's knee).

I like the part of the story best, where the water is calm and the cat is swimming and chasing Canada Geese --pretty music in my mind for those scenes but the rapids and the injuries feel like they are accompanied by loud dissonant chords.

All is well that ends well, I guess.

Jaeger still canoes and kayaks and goes fishing, camping and hiking. He is their companion and not at all an ordinary cat.

A weekend delayed

Months ago, while winter held sway in the hills of western Maine, one of my favorite writers and her spouse (both of whom my spouse and I are proud to call friends) planned to visit and shake off the doldrums of their inhospitable city in our lovely winter woods. We e-mailed and phoned and planned for the weekend, but at the last minute, had to reschedule due to a persistent flu in our house. Sadly, while we coughed our way back to health, they were experiencing great sadness due to a careless driver who did not respect a crosswalk. Emergency rooms, surgery and physical therapy have been their unwelcome companions since.

Finally, though, an e-mail last week. Beth, we are well enough to travel, the cast is off his arm and he can drive. Perhaps we could come to Maine?

Yes, of course, please do come to visit

We had a perfect weekend of talking and walking and seeing sights that were beautiful and healing. We ate good food and laughed at each other's jokes and stories.

On Sunday morning, he decided to shed a vestige of the accident and the long hair and beard fell victim to a trimmer purchased at the local Walmart. We sprinkled the beard hair under the bushes for the birds to take and weave into their nests--little babies will sleep in the softness of something that had once been a sign of despair

The Adventures of Jaeger--Part I

I hesitate to post this because I fear criticism both of my parenting skills and my responsible pet owner skills, but any one who has ever had a particular kind of son will understand--for those of you who haven't had the experience--well, enjoy not having to color your hair :-)

In March, I introduced you to Archie's funny little yellow cat. They are both still here and I don't know when I have ever loved an animal more than I love this one. My affection for the little cat is all wrapped up with my love for my son and the fact that this little creature who is all sinew and devotion wrapped up in a suit of orange stripes has been faithfully by Archie's side for several months.

I don't want to go through the events that have necessitated my monthly trips to the hairdresser for root touchup, some of the hard and sad times are alluded to in earlier posts but I do believe that it is safe now to exhale and the little yellow cat is a big part of it.

Hmmm, where to start. Maybe I should start with the story about the acquisition of the kayak and while the kitty stayed at home for the execution of that adventure, I am sure he was a co-conspirator in the planning stages.

In early March the rivers of Maine are swollen with snow melt and big chunks of ice as they start to carry the winter's precipitation to the ocean. We live on the Androscoggin River which drains the Northern White Mountains before flowing through Dixfield. Along with the snow melt and the ice chunks, the river also brings anything that is in its path--docks, trees, tires, bicycles, iceshacks, boats, whatever is in its way. There are several islands in the river as it flows through Dixfield and one day Archie and his friends noticed that on one of the islands there was a really nice kayak that had washed downstream.

Well, finders keepers, right?

So one cold March day after school Archie and his friends gathered on the river bank. Archie stripped down to his boxer shorts and with a kayak paddle in his hands planned how to swim out to the island. When I later asked him if any of the buddies on shore had a cell phone, he said "Yes, but they were mostly being used for video". There was still about 3 feet of snow along the river bank so he went upstream from the island, and slid down the snow bank into the river--in his boxers with the paddle in his hand.

He said the water was really cold. Really?

So, he swam and was taken by the current down to the island. Perfect execution of the plan so far--except.

When he got to the island, he realized that there were many trees that had also been swept downstream and the kayak was on top of them--so barefoot in his boxers with a kayak paddle he climbed up through 10 feet of downed trees and got to the kayak which he triumphantly paddled to shore. The boys then took the kayak to the nearby elementary school and used it for a toboggan and slid down the hills. I particularly like the juxtaposition of swimming and sledding in one short time frame.

By nighttime, they made their way home with the kayak which now rests in our barn in between adventures.

Now, if any of you northern Androscoggin watershed readers lost a pretty blue kayak over the winter, I don't want to hear about it.

Trail Hazards

We are fortunate to have lots of woods and uninhabited land in Maine. Most of it is owned by lumber companies and timber kings and those of us who don't pay taxes on it can still enjoy it. In Dixfield there are miles and miles of trails throughout the woods and into the hills for everyone to use. Snowmobillers, snowshoers and cross country skiiers use the trails in the winter and in the spring, summer and fall the trails are used by walkers and runners and some ATV riders.

Archie has been mountain biking a good bit recently and I noticed when he came home a few days ago from a ride that he had a shovel and a saw sticking up out of his back pack. Apparently he's been improving the fear factor on some of the trails and making jumps in the woods. So, of course I had to go see.

He chose a trail that was too overgrown to be used by ATV riders so hopefully no one will come upon this unexpectedly but local readers beware the terrain on a stretch of one trail has definitely been altered.

He built a bridge over one of the streams out of dead trees and dirt and he built jumps and landing ramps. Now, I'm not in favor of altering natural landscapes at all, but at this moment in time I'm pretty happy to have him building trails and jumps and relying on his creativity, wits and engineering skills.

Bald Mountain, Oquossoc

Well, with the bees happily building their comb and the queen freed from her box, we decided to drive over the mountain to Rangely, Maine.

We drove up over the Height of Land where the Appalachian Trail crosses Route 17. Lake Mooselookmeguntic was as startlingly beautiful as ever. The ice was starting to go out from the edges, but it will be awhile before the last of it is gone.

One of at least three Bald Mountains in the state of Maine is located near Rangely in the town of Oquossoc. The Maine Mountain Guide listed the trail as 1 mile to the 2443 foot summit. We were surprised to find the trailhead parking lot still full of snow but decided to park on the road and try the trail anyway. The snow was firm and the air was warm, so we headed up the mountain.

There were parts where the trail was kind of icy and, unprepared as we were for the conditions, I was forced to use my Poland Springs water bottle for an ice axe. Not a recommended use.

At the top of the mountain, there was a fire tower. A little known fact is that I am scared of heights that God didn't make but I'm glad that Charlie encouraged me up the tower--the view was amazing.

It felt so good to be up a mountain and to exert some energy in the fresh air. It was so quiet at the top--at other times of the year the noise of snowmobiles or jetskis would disturb the peace but yesterday in between those seasons, we were the only ones in the world.

NCAA Noric Ski Championship

We have been firmly under the weather with a nasty cold all week, but this morning Charlie rallied enough to ask me to go watch the Men's Freestyle race in the NCAA Skiing Championships being held just down the road at Black Mountain of Maine.

The best nordic skiers from colleges stretching from the University of Alaska at Anchorage to Bates College in Lewiston Maine flew up and over the hilly course for 20 kilometers. It was a perfect winter day. The sky was clear and that pure blue that we get in the winter when a high pressure system is sitting right on top of us--the temperature on the mountain was just at freezing--comfortable for spectators. We were able to position ourselves at a few different points in order to see the skiers several times as they looped over the course.

Black Mountain of Maine was developed thanks to the efforts of former Olympian Chummy Broomhall who, along with other members of the 1952 U.S. Nordic team, was present and cheering on the racers.

Another olympian and favorite daughter of Maine was skiing around and watching the racers. Joan Benoit Samuelson is probably my favorite famous Mainer. Sadly, several years ago a woman that I was watching a high school race with was quite rude to the great marathoner. That was the end of me ever standing near that particular woman again and it caused me to, very uncharacteristically, speak sharply in reprimand. I've always been embarrassed when I've seen Joan wondering if she remembered and associated me with that moment. Truthfully, she probably didn't even notice, but it still rankles with me.

As we were leaving, Charlie ran into his coach from when he was on the Bates Nordic Team in the early 1970's. Charlie has such great memories of those days, I love to hear his stories about the ski races and I love the fact that nordic skiers can still enjoy their sport 40 years later.

A good day.

Redpolls

A few days ago, I asked Archie and Brent to put a new feeder up on a pulley between the porch and the big maple tree by the driveway. The other bird feeders are over by my office and I can't see them from the house and I wanted to be able to drink my morning coffee, look out the window and see birds. So after seeing a similar arrangement at Charlie's brother's house, the boys and I went to the hardware store and procured the necessary supplies.

That first night, I dreamed about hordes of colorful birds flocking to my yard--I woke up and laughed about my silly dream--and this morning it came true!

This morning as we drank our coffee and checked e-mail, we were treated to 50 or more common redpolls and goldfinches. It was magical and I will never forget this day.

Great Caribou Bog Wicked Winter Ski Race

Today Charlie competed in the 24th Great Caribou Bog Wicked Winter Ski Tour and Race. The race goes from Bangor to Old Town over a 17 kilometer trail that winds through forests and bogs.

It was a mass start with all racers starting in one big bundle. By the 3 kilometer mark, he said the field had spread itself out. When the camera and I caught him at the 8 kilometer mark, he was coming through the woods alone.

The few kilometers that I skied were very enjoyable and made me anxious to ski the race next year with him--well to start with him anyway.