Showing posts with label Maine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maine. Show all posts

Friday Fiction - For a While

It's the first official day of summer! 

In Maine, we don't have very many days that really feel like summer, but school is done, the leaves are out, and the grass is green. We flock to the coast to enjoy the sunshine and water. It's time to hike and camp and get outside. Regular routines are set aside to enjoy the warm, lazy days of summer.

Do you remember the feeling of doing nothing when you were a child? (maybe even as an adult when you're on vacation)  You gaze at the clouds or the rhythm of the waves. Your imagination soars. You forget about clocks and schedules. Time is suspended.

Is this what eternity is like? 



FOR A WHILE

Sammy slouched on the couch, his eyes riveted on the animated figures. With a snap, they disappeared.

“Hey! You said I could watch cartoons today!”

“You’ve been staring at that TV for three hours. I want to you to go outside for a while.” His mom tugged him to his feet and handed him his jacket. 

Sammy looked over his shoulder with pleading eyes. “How long is a while?” 

“At least a couple hours. Come back before suppertime.”

“Ahh…..” 

“Now, go on!” She gave his backside a pat and nudged him out the back door. 

Sammy scuffed along the driveway until his toe hit a long stick. So, he picked it up and dragged it behind him, making a satisfying scratching sound and a wiggly line. Then he used the stick to bat some pine cones into the pasture. 

He climbed on the fence and stared at Bessie chewing her cud. A chorus of honks overhead drew his attention to a flock of geese heading north. The wavering V got smaller and smaller until it faded into the horizon. A cloud looked like a bucking bronco. Now, it looked like a dragon, with puffs of steam coming from its nostrils. Now, it looked like a row of soldiers marching along. Now… it didn’t look like anything. 

Sammy jumped down and plucked a long piece of grass. He whipped it back and forth until he saw a grasshopper. He tried to catch it, but it kept fluttering away. Finally, he captured it between his cupped hands. He peered between his fingers and had a staring contest with it. The grasshopper made a daring escape through an opening. 

At the top of the hill, Sammy could see so far it looked like forever. The wind blew at his face. He spread his arms and flew back and forth down the hill until his plane crashed. Then he rolled over and over to the bottom. He lay on his back with his eyes closed – panting and listening to the rushing water. It sounded much louder than usual. He sprang to his feet to investigate.

With the melting snow and recent rains, the creek was quite high – much higher than it had been last summer. He found a branch and threw it into the water. The current carried it downstream on and on until he couldn’t see it anymore. He threw in another and watched it bounce down the rapids. One by one, he sent his fleet down the rushing river to meet the enemy. 

He noticed a fallen log across the creek and scrambled along the banks to get a better view. It looked safe enough – as long as he was careful. Just to be sure, he took off his shoes, so he could grip the bark with his toes. He shimmied up on the tree trunk, squatting for a while to get his balance. Then slowly he stood – arms outstretched. Inch by inch, he scooted along the log. At one point, he had to close his eyes to keep from looking at the tumbling waves beneath him. Finally, he reached the upturned roots on the other side. With a cheer of triumph, he pranced about on the mossy bank. 

A huge rock jutted into the stream. Sammy scaled to its top and peered over the edge. It had created a sheltered pool behind it. Sammy could see some fish in the quiet waters. He watched them sway back and forth, keeping their position without the slightest effort. When he shifted his position, a pebble rolled down and plopped into the pool, scaring the fish away. When the ripples calmed, he could see his reflection. He dropped another pebble. The ripples grew bigger and bigger until they melted into the grassy edges. He dropped one tiny pebble after another to keep the ripples going and going. Finally, he ran out of pebbles, and the water calmed again. 

He noticed some stars in the pool – or maybe they were fireflies. He looked up. The dark purple sky was dotted with a million sparkles. He decided he had better go home. Straddling the fallen log, he scooted across the creek. Grabbing his shoes, he huffed up the steep hill, across the pasture, and under the fence. He burst through the back door. 

His mom looked up from doing dishes. “There you are! Do you know what time it is?”

Sammy shrugged. “I forget all about time when I play outside for a while.
~ ~ ~
Find this story and others in 

a Country Store Collection 
for little folk. 
You can find this book at
and


Spring Snow Beauties

It's the first day of spring, but there's a foot of snow on the ground. Farmers love spring snow. It fills the ground with nitrogen for their crops.


I noticed the flakes were big and fluffy this morning and l could see each design on my dark sleeve.


What beautiful examples of God's great power and design to make such delicate and individual patterns!

"Fiddlehead Island"

When the calendar is turned to March, thoughts of Mainers turn to spring. It seems to take forever to come, and although we see the snowbanks melting and bud forming on the trees. Spring will come - it always does.





FIDDLEHEAD ISLAND

Not quite a mile off the coast of Maine

In a chilly northern bay

A speck of land claims a spot of earth;

They call it Fiddlehead Island.



When snowy banks dissolve in May,

In a shady meadow nook,

The ferns uncurl their feathery necks,

And bluets dance with daisies.



Above the splash of the crashing waves,

In the top of a scraggly pine,

An osprey builds its twiggy nest,

As the squawking gulls soar above.



At lowest tide, in a sandy cove,

In the lee of the constant wind,

A picnic of clams is shared by some crabs,

While a seal pup beds in the pebbles.



On the sunny side of Fiddlehead,

In the cracks of the shaley ledge,

The bushes droop with ripened fruit,

As a treat for chipmunks and mice.



When sea blends with sky, and sails skim by,

In the pinkish twilight hours,

The buoy ding-dongs a rhythmic beat

With the swishing of waves on the sand.



As leaves turn crimson, orange, and gold,

In the nip of the changing air,

The long summer days must bid adieu

To the geese as they’re honking home.



“Neath fiercesome waves that beat the isle,

In the face of a nor’eastern wind,

The stinging spray is cold and cruel,

But the speck of land endures.



Beneath the crystal, snowy nights,

In silent patience waiting,

The island dreams, with assurance deep,

Of fiddleheads and berries.

Friday Fiction - "The Giant Green Blob"


This is for all the kids (and teachers)
that wait for school cancellations on a snowy day.





THE GIANT GREEN BLOB

“Timothy! Jessica! Michael! It’s six o’clock—time to get up!” Mom’s voice spirals up the staircase like smoke up the chimney this cold morning. Frosty feathers decorate the window panes, and noses snuggle farther under the blankets. “Don’t make me come up there!”


She sips her coffee and waits for a thump, then a squeal. “It’s snowing!” A stampede of footsteps rumbles across the ceiling. “Cool! Awesome!” Like a herd of buffalo, they thunder down the stairs. “Have they called off school yet?”

“Not yet…and until they do, you need to act as if there IS school and get ready.”

“Ahhhh…”

The children warm their backsides before the woodstove, turning around to toast their fingers and noses for awhile. Jessica pulls the collar of her fuzzy pink bathrobe around her neck. Timothy’s socks flop beyond his toes as he dances from one foot to another. Michael stirs some cocoa into his mug of hot water and saunters into the living room. He sprawls across the couch, his long legs dangling over the end.

“Mom! Michael’s hogging the whole couch!”

The teen mutters and scoots over. He thumbs the remote, surfing the channels until he finds the local news. Timothy curls up next to him. Jessica claims the recliner for herself. The windows rattle and whistle with a blast of wind. The boys tussle beneath the fleece blanket, pulling it back and forth to cover their shivering shoulders.

“A low front is traveling up the coast. High winds, up to 70 mile per hour, are expected.” On the screen, a map appears with giant green blob oozing toward their area. The weather man traces the path of the storm with his marker. “Much of the state will be blanketed with snow, causing major power outages.”

As if on cue, the lights flicker, and three voices gasp. Jessica pauses in mid-text to her BFF Cindy. The television blinks off and no one moves—all frozen in anticipation. Finally with a snap and buzz, the screen revives. They sigh with relief, only because a day without power would be totally boring. Jessica punches in another text to Cindy.

Mom smears peanut butter on slices of bread and looks at her watch. “It’s six thirty. Jessica, if you’re going to take a shower, you better get in there now.”

“It’s too cold, Mom. My hair will freeze and break off like icicles.”

“I don’t think so—not if you get in now, so it will have time to dry.”

Jessica pads off to the bathroom in her stocking feet, texting as she shuffles down the hallway. Timothy scampers into the kitchen for a bowl of Sugar Squares. Michael smiles and gathers the blanket all to himself.

“Mom! Michael’s hogging the blanket!”

“Shhh…stop being such a baby!” He lifts one edge for Timothy to slide under.

After the results of the lottery game and a few car commercials, the weatherman returns with his blobby map. This time the green blob covers most of the screen.

“There are storm warnings for most of the state today. Police recommend only necessary travel on the highways. The airport reports that many flights are being cancelled or delayed. Watch for school cancellations at the bottom of your screen.”

Timothy tugs on his brother’s arm. “I can’t read it, Michael. It’s going too fast. Tell what schools are closing.”

Michael groans and reads the scrolling words. “Clifton, Dansport, Fairfield, Farnsworth, Gilford, Grange…”

“Where’s our school?”

“We’re not till the end of the alphabet. I’ll tell you if it comes up.”

Mom lays a pile of clothes on a chair. “Timothy, I want you to get dressed.”

He takes off his pajama shirt in slow motion as he stares at the pink bunny energizing a space ship. He pauses with one leg in his pants as he watches a car zoom through fields of flowers waving their arms. The news returns with the town names sliding across the bottom.

“Michael, is it near our school yet? What’s it say?”

“Pittsfield, Preston, Richmont, Rockland, … SEARSTOWN!"

Timothy throws his sneakers in the air. “Yay! NO SCHOOL!!!” He gallops around the house. “I’m going outside to make a snow fort.”

Jessica emerges from the bathroom, with a towel around her head and her phone to her ear. “Cindy, did you hear? Isn’t that so cool? Whatcha doing today?”

Michael slumps off the couch. “I’m going back to bed.”

Mom sighs. “I think I need another cup of coffee.”

~ ~ ~

For more Christmas/wintery stories,
see my latest edtion of the
Country Store Collections

Toddy Pond Days - Meeting my New School



MEETING MY NEW SCHOOL



If you've been reading my posts, you probably know that I was  NOT  excited about moving between my junior and senior years of high school. I didn't want to go to a new school. I wanted to graduate with my friends, but we did move . . .  and I needed to register at my new school.

As we were signing in, the secretary was very helpful. She signed me up for my senior pictures and told me of a summer job program. (Maybe it would help me get used to the building before September.)


In a few days, I met someone else going to have her senior pictures done, too. Her name was Pickles - actually Karen Pickering, but hardly anyone called her Karen. She made me feel so welcome. I wore my green home-made gingham dress for my pictures. (I'll scan it sometime.) 

I reported for my new job and met Mr. Raymond Gross and Mr. Pearly Chipman, the janitors there. My first assignment was to paint the boys' gym lockers. They were disgusting! I tried not to read the graffiti as I painted over them. (I think a boys' locker room is one of the stinkiest and dirtiest places ever!) I finished that job as quickly as I could.

Next, I painted the radiators in the jr. high building. Mr. Gross liked my work and gave me a more prominent painting job - the front of the stage. Being satisified with that work, he taught me how to paint the classroom doors with a very high gloss paint. Each door was a different color. The gloss was so shiny that I could see myself in the reflection.

One day, I was painting the posts outside a back door of the high school. My bucket of gray paint was on a small shelf on the back of the step ladder. Mr. Chipman, a jolly bald man, opened the door and bumped my ladder. Just like a slow-motion cartoon, the bucket fell upside-down on his head. What a mess! I was glad he had a good nature and found it as funny as I did.

That was one of the few times, I earned money with SS and taxes taken from each check. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was enough to buy my senior pictures and some new clothes for the coming year. I'm glad I worked there that summer. I made friends with some of the kids and staff, which helped the first day of school to be easier than I thought.

(to be continued)

Friday Fiction - Lunch Is Served



LUNCH IS SERVED

It was a perfect summer day, with not a single cotton puff cloud in the sapphire sky. A gentle breeze scooted a few sloops across Balsam Bay. This was truly summer—-the days that everyone dreamed of when freezing gales of winter swept over the frozen inlets.

Colby scanned the beach for a familiar face. Yes! There she was - sunning herself on an outcrop of rocks. Colby's heart melted at her sleek, soft shape and slender legs. For weeks he had tried to win Cecilia's attention, but she'd been playing hard-to-get.


As Colby sauntered past the Dock Side Cafe, he noticed his reflection in the window. That one pesky tuft always stood straight up on top of his head like an Indian headdress. He put his head under the dripping faucet and plastered it down as best he could. Giving himself another quick check, he swaggered down the beach toward Cecilia.


His heart pounded in time with the clanging buoy, and the lump in his throat felt like he had swallowed a giant clam—shell and all. As a stone shifted beneath his feet, he hoped he didn't slip and make a complete fool of himself. Cecilia glanced at him as he approached. He could see the sparkle from the water reflected in her dark eyes. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. He swallowed and tried again. "Ahhhk!"


Cecilia turned away and hopped off the rocks, meandering along the beach toward the lighthouse. She stooped occasionally to inspect a shell or piece of sea glass. Every once in a while, she'd peek over her shoulder and bat her black eyes at him.


Poor Colby! Girls knew how to get his feathers ruffled, but he was determined not to let this pigeon get away. He plucked a pink wild rose that grew beside a sun-bleached piece of driftwood and followed her footprints in the damp sand. He puffed out his chest, threw his shoulders back, and marched up to her as she played in the swishing waves.


Colby dropped the blossom at her feet. When the next wave swished across the sand, the flower floated around her toes. She picked it up by the stem and cocked her head.


Oh boy! Colby flapped his wings and fluttered his feet with joy. She liked him! She liked him! He splashed and danced around her, until the salt spray sparkled like a fountain. She liked him! With an inviting "Squawk," he called her to dance on the ocean's breeze. They soared and swooped and dived low above the rippling waves until they perched on the end of Fisherman's Wharf to coo softly to each other.


Today would be the perfect day for a picnic—not an ordinary picnic of snails or minnows — not even one of tasty morsels found in the burger parking lot. He must find a special delight for sweet Cecilia.


A chatter of voices revealed a family parading down the steps of the cafe to the shore. They carried an assortment of boxes and bags. The woman flapped a checkered cloth over a smooth spot on the beach, while the man opened an umbrella contraption. The children squealed as they raced through shallow waters along the emerging sandbar.


Colby's stomach growled as a waft of boiled lobsters floated by his nose. He turned his head this way and that as he observed the people. This could be interesting! Humans, especially tourists, could be so gullible. If he worked things right, he and his girl might have a feast fit for a king crab. Hopping close to Cecilia, he whispered in her ear.


Gliding out to a mound of barnacle-encrusted rocks, Colby got the children's attention with a cheery "Ayuh!" He then hopped down to the edge of a tidal pool and peered at the creatures beneath the shimmering surface. Just as he had hoped, the children's curiosity brought them farther away from the lunch on the beach.


"Mom! Dad! Come, and look at these funny prickly balls in the water! There are some pretty starfish, too."


Colby smiled, as only a sea gull can smile. His plan was enfolding just as he had planned. As the family explored the wonders of low tide, Colby and Cecilia fared sumptuously on a fine meal, served with melted butter and seasoned fries.


Toddy Pond Summer - Buddy


 BUDDY

First of all, I have to explain that every few years my father has this irrisistable urge to visit an animal shelter and bring home a dog. He especially like German Shepherds. Why he got one while we were in the middle of a move, cramped in a borrowed cabin, I don't know - but Buddy was the best dog we ever had.

Buddy wasn't a tiny puppy, but he wasn't full grown either. He still had the bouncy playful characteristics of a young pup. I don't remember him chewing things, but he probably did - as puppies do. He would cock his head when you talked to him, but he didn't bark. He whined sometimes if he wanted something, but he never barked - but once - but I'll get to that.

That dog LOVED the water. He was wet all the time. If we were swimming, he was with us. He liked to climb on top of our inner tubes while we floated around. He especially like rides in the rowboat. Every day,rain or shine, he'd beg for a ride in the boat. His favorite spot was at the prow of the boat. He looked like a hood ornament with all four paws perched on the little triangle of wood and staring down at the water.

 My brother Phillip was the one who usually took him out. Phillip liked to get going really fast and then stop the boat quickly, causing Buddy to fall forward SPLASH into the lake. Of course, Phillip would pull him back in the boat, and Buddy would take his place in the front again.

My mother often worked the night shift as a nurse in the Ellsworth hospital. One evening, when my father took her to work, some bigger boys came to the cabin next door. Usually, no one was there - except for an occasional afternoon picnic or swim. These guys were having a wild party with loud music and hollering and we assumed alchoholic drinks.

Since we rarely had neighbors at night, we hadn't bothered to close the curtains, so the boys knew we were there - perhaps they had seen my parents leave. Anyway, they came over and began calling for us girls (Debbie and myself) to join their party. We locked the doors and covered the windows, but they didn't give up. They circled the house knocking on the windows and hollering.

We were scared. Buddy was scared, too. His fur was standing up on his back, and he was whining. Debbie said to him, "Bark, Buddy. Woof! Woof!" He cocked his head, and at first, he gave just a muffled snort, but soon he was barking. He barked and barked and barked until those boys left. He never barked after that day either.

Sadly . . . (This is getting ahead of the story, but I might as well put it in here) . . . when we returned to Canaan for our furniture at the end of the summer, Buddy was hit by a car and died. It was a very sad day for our family. He was a special dog and had a big part in helping us through a transitional part of our lives.

*sniff, sniff"

(Come back next week, for more of our summer adventures.)

The Toddy Pond Summer

 It's been months since I've written a memoir.
I think it's time to continue the saga.
To read all of my memoirs,  (CLICK HERE) 

This next section only lasted a few months, but it was so jam-packed full of memories, it had to have it's own series.


( Map)


 Toddy Pond

In the last post of my memories, my father had announced that we were moving to Bucksport. It was the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. (Leaving Canaan)

Some friends in Bucksport, Vince and Hildred Conners, kindly let us use their camp on Toddy Pond. It wasn't very big- basically one room with a bedroom curtained off and a loft, but it was only a few feet from the water - Toddy Pond (actually, 2nd Toddy) in Orland, Maine, on the Surry Road. What a great place to spend a summer.


Loons woke us and sang us to sleep. 
(If you've never heard a loon call, it sounds something like "Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo!"
(LOON SOUND)

 - like a person might say when wading into freezing water.)



We swam everyday out to a floating dock or paddled about in an old rowboat. Toddy Pond is filled with tiny island and shallow inlets. I'm sure my brothers and I didn't explore all of them.

Not only was our family (my parents, myself, and my two brothers) staying in the cabin, but we had two "adopted kids" with us - Bob Briggs and Deborah Haney. They needed a home and a family, and we took them in. So . . . needless to say, we were a bit cramped with seven people living in one room. Sometimes we got on each others' nerves, but we also made some great memories that summer.

(to be continued . . . )

Friday Fiction - Ally and the Big Moose



animals,antlers,fields,grasses,horns,mammals,moose,nature,photographs,plants


 Ally and the Big Moose

Walking in the woods was the perfect way to spend the first day of spring. Ally had roamed their land ever since she was twelve. She knew every stream, rock, and gully. Her dad had said she was more of a woodsman than any boy. He had taught her how to mark a trail, how to build a lean-to, and how to light a fire. She even had her own compass and hunting knife.

"Ally! Wait for me!" Nicky, her six-year-old sister tried to catch up.

"C'mon, Pokey-pants." Ally hoisted the backpack higher on her shoulders. It was filled with two sandwiches, a few apples, and her survival kit with Band-Aids, her compass, some paper, and a box of matches — just in case.

They squished over the muddy paths for miles. The squirrels chattered and chased each other through the pines. The chickadees chirped their happy songs. Even though the snow still lay in patches in the shadowy places, bigger stretches of bare ground showed signs of spring. Green shoots peeked above last year's dead leaves.

"Ally! Wait for me!"

Ally stopped and looked back. Nicky was straddling the fallen log which she had so easily hopped over. She had forgotten how short Nicky's legs were.

"Ally! My boot got stuck and fell off." Her mittens were off, too. Ally hoped she hadn't lost them.

She sighed and backtracked to help her sister. It reminded her of the time when she had fallen in the creek and Dad had carried her home. He had always been so patient. Nicky didn't remember Dad. Ally guessed it was up to her to teach Nicky all about the woods.

They found some deer and rabbit tracks and ate their sandwiches on the big rock near the creek. Ally didn't dare cross the rushing stream today — not with Nicky. The melting snow tumbled and swirled around the boulders, carrying branches and chunks of eroding sod downstream. One slip and a person would be swept miles before they were rescued, if they survived the ordeal.

Ally squinted up at the sun. It dropped fast this time of year. It would be behind the hills by five o'clock. "We better head back." She wished she could stay out longer, but Mom would have a fit.

Going home was harder, since it was mostly uphill. Ally stopped to catch her breath. She turned around to check on Nicky. She was crouched and staring at something on the ground.

view details Look, Ally! I found some huge deer tracks."

Ally trotted back and examined the soft ground. "Moose!" They were gigantic— at least eight inches long. Ally liked moose, on postcards or in movies, but meeting one face to face in the woods was a different matter — especially in rutting season and with a little sister to slow her down. "Let's hurry. It's almost dark."

Just then, they heard a loud snort in the bushes. Ally pulled Nicky to her side. A bull moose, the size of a horse stepped into view.

Nicky clutched Ally's arm and whispered, "Ally, I'm scared!"

The moose snorted again and pawed the ground. Ally scanned the area. "Quick, climb that fir tree. Go!" They scooted up through the prickly the branches about twenty feet. The moose circled the ground below them. His wide antlers were still shaggy where the fuzz clung to the bone. He rubbed them back and forth against the rough bark.

Nicky peered down through the branches. "We're going to be up here forever!"

Ally leaned against the trunk. She could see all the way down to their farm. Her stomach grumbled, so she dug around in her backpack for the apples. A breeze picked up. They shivered there for hours before that big moose finally rambled off. The sun set, leaving a rose-colored glow to the air, but Ally knew her way home. She knew she would be scolded for being late.

Mom was waiting at the back door window when they arrived, and she did yell a little; but after she heard the whole adventure, she hugged them, and all was forgiven. "There's supper in the oven for you."

Nicky scooted into a chair. "I'm starved. Apples don't fill me up very much, but it was fun throwing the cores down to the moose."

Mom shot a look at Ally and caught the slight smirk on her lips. "Well, if I didn't know better, I'd think . . ."

apple cores,apples,dining,food,fruits,produce



For more fun stories, go to

P . . . is for Periwinkles




 Periwinkles 

 I live on the coast of Maine. We have beaches, but they aren't the white sandy kind that you see in the Caribbean. Our beaches are mostly rocks. In the few places where it is smooth, you might see little wiggly trails through the damp sand. These are periwinkle trails.

 

 Periwinkles are edible, like clams or scallops, but you either have to crush the shell or pick out the meat with a toothpick. It takes a bucketful full of them and a lot of work to make a meal.

 I'd rather just look at them. Periwinkles are round mollusks that range between 1/2 in. to an inch in diameter. Like most mollusks, they have a muscular foot which they pull into their shell when they are disturbed. They seal themselves in with hard fingernail-type door.
.

Each one has his own style. They sport stripes and spots of brown, yellow, or sometimes green or red. I haven't tested my theory, but I think it would very hard to find two that were exactly the same.

 The next time you come to Maine 
and it's low tide, 
let's go 'winkling.



M is for Maine




A few of my blogger friends and I have been having fun posting stuff with a letter of the alphabet each week. We're half way through the second round of Peej's Blog - A2Z.

I have lived in Maine since I was 12 years old. I feel blessed. It's a beautiful and interesting state. I thought I'd play a game with you.

How many of these things do you know about Maine?

1. Who were the first to settle in Maine?
2. What state was Maine part of in 1776?
3. What other state joined the union in 1820?
4. What is Maine's nickname?
5. How many other states border Maine?
6. How many islands does Maine have?
7. What is the name of its tallest mountain?
8. What is the eastern most spot of the contiguous states?
9. Which county is larger than Conn. and Rhode Is. together?
10. What fruit does Maine produce over 99% for the country?

(Click on "Comments" for the answers.)

K is for Katahdin


Maine boasts of one big mountain (over 5,000 ft.) Mt. Katahdin.
It tops the end of the 2,184 mile long Appalachian Trail.



To many Mainers, climbing Katahdin is a rite of passage or an item on their bucket list. To some, climbing its trails is a yearly tradition.

I've only climbed as far as Chimney Pond. I was told, "It's only 3 miles." I thought, "I can do that." No one told me it was climbing a rock staircase, with each step a foot tall, for 3 miles! I didn't go all the way up the peak with the rest of the group.




I sat at the Pond's edge with a snack and binoculars. I could pick out my son's bright red shirt all the way up Cathedral Trail and across Knife's Edge. I saw A mother moose and her calf walk right by me and swim to a small island. A pair of squirrels, used to pinickers at that spot, were determined to get into my backpack.

The mountain and the woodland wilderness is beautiful, but it is also dangerous. The trails can get icy or foggy. If a hiker wanders off the trails, he can easily get lost. Every year, the rangers rescue stranded visitors.

The story of a lost boy, Don Fendler, has been made into a book and movie.





I doubt I'll ever climb Katahdin again, but I like to look at it. I prefer gazing up at mountains, rather than looking at the world from the top. Mountains remind me of how small and insignificant I really am. To me, they are a symbol of God's greatness and steadfastness.



My dream house is a log cabin on a lake
beneath a magnificent mountain.


For more A2Z blogs, go to

Poetry - Fiddlehead Island


Not quite a mile off the coast of Maine
In a chilly northern bay
A speck of land claims a spot of earth;
They call it Fiddlehead Island.

When snowy banks dissolve in May,
In a shady meadow nook,
The ferns uncurl their feathery necks,
And bluets dance with daisies.

Above the splash of the crashing waves,
In the top of a scraggly pine,
An osprey builds its twiggy nest,
As the squawking gulls soar above.

At lowest tide, in a sandy cove,
In the lee of the constant wind,
A picnic of clams is shared by some crabs,
While a seal pup beds in the pebbles.

On the sunny side of Fiddlehead,
In the cracks of the shaley ledge,
The bushes droop with ripened fruit,
As a treat for chipmunks and mice.

When sea blends with sky, and sails skim by,
In the pinkish twilight hours,
The buoy ding-dongs a rhythmic beat
With the swishing of waves on the sand.

As leaves turn crimson, orange, and gold,
In the nip of the changing air,
The long summer days must bid adieu
To the geese as they’re honking home.

“Neath fiercesome waves that beat the isle,
In the face of a nor’eastern wind,
The stinging spray is cold and cruel,
But the speck of land endures.

Beneath the crystal, snowy nights,
In silent patience waiting,
The island dreams, with assurance deep,
Of fiddleheads and berries.



S...is for Searsport



There is only one Searsport in the whole world!
(Google it and see for yourself.)

This is what Wikipedia says about us.


I first loved Searsport because that's the home of my husband, but as I've made it my home, I've learned to love it for many other reasons.



It has a very picturesque harbor. Not only do we have our own island, but we have a deep water port where boats dock from all over the world.


It has an interesting history. Many of the elegant houses on Route #1 were the homes of ship captains.


Downtown hosts dozens of shops - antiques, books, home-crafts, home decor, etc. There is campground on the bay, plus many motels and bed & breakfast accommodations.



We have a state park and a town park, both having a gazebo and a beach. There are also four churches, various restaurants, a library, a museum, and even a golf course.



The residents gather for community activities throughout the year - the biggest probably being the Fourth of July celebrations with lobster boat races, a parade, and of course, fireworks in the park.



Those who live out of town enjoy being surrounded by blueberry fields and wooded lands, where we often see a variety of wildlife.



I have lived here for 34 years, and I'm proud to claim Searsport as my hometown.

~ ~ ~

For more A2Z articles,
and click on the other participating links.
You never know what you'll discover.


Ordinary Lives. From a 2 z 4 u & me


M is for Maine



I've lived in Arizona, Bahamas, and New York,
but I love living in Maine.

I love the ocean,



the trees,



the people,



and the way of life.



Don't tell anyone,
but I even love the snow.



Yes, I like to travel and
see other places,
but there's no place like
my HOME in Maine.



STATE OF MAINE SONG
by Roger Vinton Snow

(CLICK HERE FOR TUNE)

Grand State of Maine, proudly we sing
To tell your glories to the land
To shout your praises till the echoes ring
Should fate unkind send us to roam
The scent of the fragrant pines,
The tang of the salty sea will call us home.

Oh, Pine Tree State
Your woods, fields and hills
Your lakes, streams and rockbound coast
Will ever fill our hearts with thrills
And tho' we seek far and wide
Our search will be in vain
To find a fairer spot on earth
Than Maine! Maine! Maine!


Ordinary Lives. From a 2 z 4 u & me


Peej's Blog





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