What a find is “Observing the Darkness”, which takes the Day for fantastic color, composition, and clarity; perfect self-title, too. Corey Templeton captured the Portland Observatory (in Maine, not Washington State) on Oct. 12, 2015, […]
Tag: Maine
Moose are Loose
While finishing up an appointment with the eye specialist, Dad texted. He sent these two photos, which granted aren’t National Geographic caliber—more a problem of their bieng hugely downsampled during transmission. He used one of […]
Flickr a Day 70: ‘Reading Light’
Lighting is today’s selection’s winning quality. Illumination behind the subject, enveloped by darkness all around, creates cozy feeling. Don’t you just want to grab a book and join him? Carol Blyberg shot self-titled “Reading Light” […]
Flickr a Day 64: ‘Harvest Storm Clouds’
I debated long about whether this photo should be today’s selection. For starters, Richard Robles is no longer active on Flickr, which he joined in January 2006, and I could find little else about him—even confirmation that the gentlemen still lives. The image also isn’t the sharpest, taken with the Kodak EasyShare CX7525, which by today’s standards is a vintage digital compact. But the colors appeal, and bleak landscape is home: Aroostook County, Maine.
Aroostook, or “beautiful river”, but referred to as the “Crown of Maine” on maps and in tourism marketing, is a single, isolated county. Aroostook is so expansive—larger than the states of Connecticut and Rhode Island combined—that many Mainers refer to it as “The County”.
The Bear Cub
On an autumn evening in November 2005, I recalled true story “Somewhere Between Dickey and Rivière-Bleue“, which gives glimpse of Aroostook County hunting lifestyle. In August 2013, I greatly expanded the tale into the “The Bear Cub”, which I submitted to Amazon as consideration for a Kindle Single. Unlike my previous, and only other submission, the retailer didn’t dignify the nearly 5,000-word story with a rejection email.
Last year, I had planned to expand the vignette into a short book with other stories, and some family recipes. that reveal something about Aroostook culture then and now. That project sidelined, like several others, because of blurred vision problems that are in 2015 remedied enough to return to serious writing. I hope to finish the book, tentatively titled Growing Up Aroostook, sometime this year.
For today, I share the text as submitted to Amazon—for your reading education and entertainment. Please note: Because of its length, the Henry David Thoreau book excerpt is italicized rather than put into block quote. Enjoy!
Maine Decides Whether to Shoot Bear Like Ducks in a Barrel
On this election day, I long to be back in Maine, so that I could vote on the initiative to ban bear barrels. It’s a practice unfamiliar to me. I grew up in a family of hunters, which killed for sport and food. They tracked the animals, not lured them with sweet throwaways.
I only learned about the referendum this morning, from a news story in my RSS feeds. National Geographic violates Betteridge’s Law of Headlines by asking question: “Should We Bait Black Bears With Doughnuts?” I am embarrassed for being so out of touch with important issues and politics in the Pine Tree State—they matter to family there, and to me. I may be long-time removed, but Maine will always be home. I identity myself as a Mainer, more than by any other measure.
O Canada, What Say You?
What do two forts share in common? Kaci Hickox, the 33 year-old healthcare worker from Fort Worth, Texas, taking refuge in Fort Kent, Maine. Surely you know of the so-called Ebola nurse and the legal scuffle about quarantining her. As an Aroostook County native born about 70 kilometers (okay, I rounded up) southeast of FK and having traveled widely across the Lone Star State, I know something about the character of both regions. Think independent-mindedness times two, which equals “Don’t tell me what to do”.
The simple story: She volunteered in Sierra Leone, where the disease rages. She returned to the wrong state, New Jersey, which put her in isolation. She fled to one of the most rural and remote areas of the Northeast. Maine’s governor demanded voluntary quarantine. She defied it. A federal judge ruled against the Gov. News reporters who couldn’t find Fort Kent with a Google Map ruined the autumn tourist trade by filling up the only hotel. We all wait to see if she stays symptom free through November 10. Pass the popcorn. The suspense is thicker than a horror flick.
Red Hot Dogs from Maine!
I rarely post food photos, but this I can’t resist. A seafood store nearby our San Diego auto service station has red hot dogs from Maine. What a shock! I’ve looked for these forever! The […]
Le Soleil and Me
My cousin Dan emailed several old photos he recently obtained while vacationing in Maine. That’s me, probably age 11, but only a guess. The newspaper’s date isn’t visible. I don’t recall the photo or its taking but the shot must have been posed by either my father or uncle. I don’t read French. (Le Soleil was published out of Quebec City. This evening, a quick Web search left me wondering if the newspaper still exists.)
Fill Her Up
When I was 14, the local radio station—with 50,000 watts of power—broadcast from neighboring Presque Isle, Maine. I found one DJ, whose name is lost to memory, quite exciting. One summer afternoon, the he put […]
Go Maine!
University of Maine is refusing to cooperate with the RIAA, which wants the names of students accused of downloading music, presumably from file-sharing sites. I say good for the home state and University of Maine system. […]
Bean-hole Beans
It’s Saturday, and that means baked beans throughout Northern Maine. Most grocery stores sell fresh-baked beans (no canned stuff) and bread hot from the oven. It’s longstanding tradition with roots going back to the Pilgrims/Puritans. The tradition mingles with another: Bean-hole Beans.
Early Massachusetts settlers adopted the Native American tradition of baking beans in pots buried in the ground. For the religious folk, beans baked overnight would feed people on the Sabbath, the day of rest, which started on Saturday evening. The Puritans adapted Native bean recipes, also replacing—or rather changing—corn bread for brown bread. Nearly 400 hundred years later, throughout much of Maine, the tradition of Saturday night baked beans is steadfastly observed, with family replacing religion.