Tag: Maine

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Dad and Daughter

My father’s death yesterday ends one saga and begins another. His grandfather purchased the farm in 1895, and the core property has remained continuously with the Wilcox clan. At one time, the expanse topped 200 acres. But portions were sold off decades upon decades ago, leaving 100 acres—60 of which is for farming and the rest is woodland.

Dad chose not to leave the portion over which he has title—nearly two-thirds, including the buildings—to family. His pastors, a married couple—and not their church—are the inheritors. The arrangement isn’t some surprise; he made clear his intentions years ago.

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For Dad

My Father has passed away—40 days exactly since life-saving treatment suspended and he left the hospital to decline in his home. A few minutes after 9 this morning, my sister Nan telephoned to say that Dad had taken a sharp turn downward and wasn’t expected the last much longer. She called again, almost exactly four hours later, to let me know he was gone.

Some weeks ago, Nan asked me to write the obituary—a task I resisted. Top reason: In this age of Artificial Intelligence scanning and rampant criminal scamming, I was reluctant to share much family information publicly. For some people, death is an opportunity to take advantage of others in their grief.

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The Son and Father Fishing

Dad is at his home on the family farm, in a hospital bed, and cared for 24 hours a day—mainly by the pastors of the local church, supported by (I think) hospice caretakers. He is lucid, but declining, which is his wish based on other health considerations. The man has proved to be physically stronger than the doctors predicted, however. Our Wilcox clan comes from hearty stock.

My parents eloped to Canada at age 16. The eldest child, I was born just as mom turned 18. My parents always seemed young to me, because they were. Only as an adult did I understand how much and the ways we kind of grew up together.

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A Maine Reflection

The weekend trip to Aroostook County, Maine, ended Feb. 19, 2024, when my sister and I joined a full flight of passengers flying from Presque Isle. Scheduled for 6:15 a.m. EST, the jet took off late due to deicing of the wings. Travel to Maine had been sudden, and unplanned; the ravages of old age accelerate, and we can’t know how long Dad will last.

As the aircraft lifted off the ground, I wondered about the abnormally low amount of snowfall; chuckled thinking about my father’s absolutely adorable and friendly Shih Tzu dogs; and longed to see more wildlife outside the Solarium windows.

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They Come to Eat

On the second—and last—day visiting Dad, he asked my sister to take out scraps for the birds. She put them beside the building just below the big windows looking out onto the backyard. She calls the room, where his little dogs like to sun, the Solarium.

During the course of the afternoon, I observed birds and several red squirrels come by for grab-and-go snacks. The glass was clean enough that I could shoot through the window, using Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra. The Featured Image sets the mood for the set. Look sharp for the red squirrel. Vitals: f/3.4, ISO 32, 1/900 sec, (synthetic) 230mm (digital and optical zoom); 1:58 p.m. EST, Feb. 18, 2024.

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Dad’s Dogs

The first morning in Aroostook County, my sister and I left our Aunt’s house to be greeted by a balmy air temperature of -10 Celsius (14 Fahrenheit). The next day: -17 C (1 F). Brrr. By the way, -40 is where the two scales of measurement meet—and, yes, Northern Maine absolutely does get so cold.

Dad’s dogs are the cutest ever. The Shih Tzu littermates are about three years old, and they are litter pan trained. Think about it. Would you want to take out two little dogs to do their business when it’s so cold outside. Wind blows constantly at the family farm, so think colder.

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That’s Not a Lot of Snow

My hometown of Caribou, Maine averages about 279 cm (110 inches) of snow per season, which typically spans from mid-November to late April. But October isn’t too early or May too late for a dusting or meaningful accumulation. Depending on your measure of cold and snow, winter is as long as six months.

But 2023-24 is anything but typical. Snowfall is significantly below normal. According to outdoor enthusiast site Snoflo: “Snowpack levels across the state are currently 35 percent of normal. The deepest snowpack in Maine was last observed at Caribou Wfo [Weather Forecast office] with a snowpack depth of 7 inches [17.8 cm], about 35 percent of normal when compared to it’s 20 inches [51 cm] average depth for this time of year”.

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WCSH Sets Standard for Responsible Reporting

Last night’s mass-casualty shooting in Lewiston, Maine, is somewhat personal. For starters, I graduated from the high school, and today one of my sisters reminded me that when teens we bowled at the alley where the killer started his rampage. Additionally, as a journalist, the reporting about the tragedy interests me, and I am simply stunned by how measuredly responsible the team at News Center Maine has covered the ongoing story.

I have periodically watched the live stream from the station’s dedicated app, on Roku, or from the web browser on my laptop. Last night, when some national news services reported 22 dead and more than 50 injured, the anchors explained they understood that numbers were being reported elsewhere but News Center Maine would wait for official—thereby, verifiable—figures from law enforcement. Hours later, the local station reported 15-20 dead, as provided by police to NBC News. Eighteen is accurate, not 22.

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Mourning Rose

I don’t have much to say tonight. This evening, Eastern Daylight Time, there was a mass-casualty shooting at two separate locations in Lewiston, Maine. I lived in the state’s second-largest city during my latter teen years and graduated from the high school. While I haven’t been to Lewiston for decades, roots there and being Maine-native twist my gut thinking about this tragedy.

As I write, the city is under stay-at-home lockdown, and the shooter is on the loose. Police have released photos of the assault-rifle-carrying suspect and (escape) vehicle taken from surveillance video.

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Three of Us

I take the hint—just need to follow-through. Tonight, my cousin Dan emailed another photo, taken by my uncle, circa 1970, with closing “call any time”. I will. I will. We Wilcox men must stick together.

Meanwhile, the Featured Image, later edited by me, is what he sent. I only share with you because everyone benefits from humbling moments of public humiliation. Eleven-year-old me looks like the prince of dweebs. I am aghast, honestly. Someone should have left that little twerp in the woods.

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Farmer @Work

In my Aroostook County hometown, students grades 9-12 returned to school last week (August 16). The summer start is so teenagers can go on break to help with the potato harvest: 10 school days, or effectively two full weeks, starting at the end of classes on September 22. During my growing up years, all the schoolkids had recess to help bring in the crop.

Confession: I hated picking potatoes, which perhaps explains the traditional basket kept as souvenir. A picker would fill one with spuds pulled from unearthed vines and then lug them to a barrel and dump in the load.

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Cousins and Buddy

Date unknown, but sometime in the 1970s during my early teenage years, my cousin pats a freshly-made snowman while I watch. I would like to thank Dan for emailing the Featured Image. The photographer likely was one of our dads. Camera is anyone’s guess but I will make one: Kowa—likely the seT R2. Leaf shutter! In the interchangeable lenses!

Snow is a constant during Northern Maine winters—as much today as 50 years ago, if not more so. Average annual snowfall at the National Weather Station in Caribou is 278 cm (109 inches). An April 29, 2022 analysis by Emily Jerkins, St. John Valley Times, appearing in the Bangor Daily News, affirms: “Maine is snowier than Alaska thanks to Aroostook County“.