Tag: Aroostook County

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 7, 20269:21 pm

Mystery Pup

The process of reviewing the vast quantity of slides left behind by father continues. My guess is that the majority are from the 1970s, when my father was an amateur photographic fiend. He shot with a Kowa—likely the seT R2—preferring slides to film for their shareability and presumed better longevity.

The Kowa appealed to him for interchangeable lenses with leaf shutters—an innovative design that made the camera nearly silent, which made scaring off wildlife less likely. An avid hunter, later in the decade he put aside the rifle and only shot animals with the camera.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 5, 20269:30 pm

A Fresh Pot of Bean-hole Beans Unearthed

This is what absolutely authentic photography looks like. To digital content, I can apply film or vintage filters using any of several editing apps to make a photo look like the Featured Image. But this is the real deal, as captured by someone using my father’s film camera—likely in June or July 1972 or ’73. That’s a pure guesstimate.

Likely location: The lumberjack camp the Wilcox brothers called “Dodge City“. During the early 1970s, a group of hunters would spend as much as three weeks in the Allagash Wilderness, which is along the St. John Valley in an area also called the Maine North Woods. My Uncle Glenn had jacket patches made identifying the group as the Falls Brook Rangers, Yankeetuladi.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 3, 20269:38 pm

Across the Snow

Two years ago, my sister Nanette and I discussed traveling to Maine to visit our father, whose health appeared to be declining. We made the trip, and visited with him February 17-18. He died on April 16, 2024.

As I explained yesterday, the Old Man left to me a treasure-trove of photographic slides, most of which he presumably had shot. They’re all mixed up, which makes sorting through them kind of a memorial journey—no, an adventure! The current batch is so far from 1973 and ’74, and I have seen so few.

Photo by Joe WilcoxFeb 2, 20269:10 pm

She Feels Poorly

The process of sorting through my father’s stash of photographic slides continues, sputtering along. I cannot dedicate the time necessary to sort through them quickly, nor to clean them up (if such process is possible). They are filthy.

The Featured Image has a processing date of January 1973. The young girl beneath the blanket appears to be one of my sisters, two of whom looked more alike. Nanette says “pretty sure it’s me. The eyes would be a bit crossed if it were” our youngest sister. “That’s exactly how I lay on the couch when I’m sick today. My guess is I was sick”.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJan 31, 20269:22 pm

Hello, Baby Bird

The lasting legacy left by my father is a significant number—hundreds at least—of photographic slides that remain from those he said had been damaged by water. I don’t know the specifics of the incident that destroyed perhaps half of them. That’s what he inherited to me, and I got more than did most family members.

The co-pastor couple of his church got the family farm to hold in trust intact. They did, for a whole 13 months, until May 2025, when a sale closed and they profited from it. Fortunately, the young farmer buying the property is son of the man who had leased the land for decades; I am sincerely glad for that.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJan 14, 202610:24 pm

We Three Cousins

If you wondered what native, rustic Aroostook County, Maine men looked like in 1978 (or thereabouts), I present the Featured Image taken by my Uncle Glenn. Cousin Dan (left) used an HP film scanner to digitize the photo from an original slide. He emailed the portrait, and two other photos, this afternoon. The scary dude in the middle is me; my arm listlessly hangs over my younger cousin’s shoulder—and holds what looks like a rock; why would that be?

Since I haven’t spoken to the cousin on the right for more than two years, and I know he is a somewhat private, I withhold his name out of respect. Dan, on the other hand, is easier going— as am I—and his identity was revealed in other posts.

Photo by Joe WilcoxMar 7, 20257:32 pm

Oh, Bearded Me

After my father died nearly a year ago, my sister sent some of his memorabilia—thousands of slides (mostly) from the 1970s; journals from the same era (not yet read by me); and a handful of photos.

About six months passed before I opened the boxes containing the stuff. Nearly three weeks before dying, he gave away the family farm to strangers, which poisoned my interest in my father’s personal things. I am still quite unresolved about the situation.

Photo by Joe WilcoxMar 1, 20256:16 pm

State Champs!

An unusual and exciting circumstance came to pass today. Both my hometown (Caribou) high school basketball teams—girls and boys—played in the Maine State finals; Class B. They last advanced together in 1983, when the Lady Vikings won and the men lost.

The boys’ game was a blowout, as Caribou beat York 65-44. But the girls gave a show that people in Aroostook County will talk about for decades. Playing the Biddeford Tigers, the Vikings dominated until the last seconds of the fourth quarter, when their rivals tied the score at 40 and put the game into 4-minute overtime.

Photo by Joe WilcoxAug 8, 20245:31 pm

He’s Still the Owner

The Featured Image, which I poorly enlarged from a digital reprint, is a sign of its time that should still be true enough today. The Allagash wilderness of Maine’s Aroostook County isn’t as much “God’s country” as year of this portrait (1965). Four wheelers during summer and snowmobiles throughout winter let more folks noisily traverse territory that was barely accessible decades ago. But the Heavenly owner, so to speak, still holds claim.

Presumably my uncle took this photo, of my cousin Dan. Is that a 410-guage shotgun? That’s what I would expect to see a teenage partridge hunter holding. Safety is one consideration. Then there is using birdshot for, well, shooting birds.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJul 16, 20249:46 pm

Brothers and Hunters

We return to the Allagash, Aroostook County, Northern Maine, and the single-cabin camp that my Uncle Glenn rented from one of the timbering companies—for $100 a year, back in the 1970s. He and my father stand near center in the Featured Image, which my cousin presumably captured.

Real outdoorsmen, real hunters. Yeah, there are too many beer guts, but the brothers were nevertheless hearty and strong. My uncle, the bigger and better-natured man, was about nine years older than his jealous, surly sibling. I often wondered how they could ever be blood relations, because dispositions so differed.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJul 9, 202410:57 pm

The Farmhouse

I continue to mourn loss of the Wilcox farm—the majority of which my father unexpectedly deeded to the pastors of his church during the last weeks of life. He died on April 16, 2024.

The deeding deed was kept secret from immediate family until after he had passed. I attempted to contact the main pastor—twice. He ignored me. Inaction has shaped, or reshaped, my perspective about the incident, which won’t be publicly shared here.

Photo by Joe WilcoxJun 28, 20247:47 pm

Requiem for the Farm

Two months ago, or thereabouts, on March 27, 2024, my father signed over title to a large portion of the family farm to the two pastors of his local church. The transfer of ownership was quite unexpected and was not disclosed—to my sister—until after he died on April 16. We all understood that he intended to will the property to the couple, but his estate would pass through the typical legal process first.

Since my grandfather’s will hadn’t been probated, the older document might supersede the other—something I presumed a lawyer and judge would sort out. That process would be opportunity to also open a discussion with the pastors about final disposition of the approximately 100 acres. The unexpected transaction nullified everything—unless the older will is legally enforceable. I wouldn’t know.