Tag Archives: Maine

Letters From Away moves to a new home, while keeping the old

Letters From Away, my blog about what happens in Maine and to Mainers, has a new home. But I’m not nearly ready to get rid of the old home. I like it too much.

I plan to keep Letters From Away on WordPress.com, but now I’m going to have a (nearly) identical version on Blogger, too. It’s called the same thing – Letters From Away – but has a slightly different URL. It is http://lettersfromaway.blogspot.com/. There is a link on the WordPress.com version to the Blogger version and a link from the Blogger version to the WordPress.com version.

Why?

Well, I started the original version – the WordPress.com version – because I wanted to keep writing during my unemployment, reach out with information about my (limited) online portfolio and my LinkedIn profile, and keep idle hands from being so idle.

Frankly, it has been a bit more time-consuming than I first expected and I’m not getting the number of visits I would like, but I do realize blogging is a bit new for me and that it takes time to generate a following. And I rarely have a chance to promote Letters From Away – or another blog I write, Coffeehouse Observer – and when I do promote it, it usually is to my Facebook friends. But I’m hoping things will pick up.

And I think this is something that I can keep up once I have a new job.

And it should be something I can do should I return to Maine. The “from away” part in the title of the blogs refers to a Mainer phrase to mean anything or any person that is from outside of Maine. It is a phrase usually spoken by a Mainer with a bit disgust. Well, quite a bit of disgust.

So, if I do return to Maine, I can simply change the name of the blogs to Back From Away and just keep on going. Or I can create new blogs and link back to the older blogs to give readers context.

To make a short answer longer, the “why” in adding the Blogger version is to spread out a bit more, to give my writing, portfolio and hunger to get back to work a wider audience.

I hope you visit either version of Letters From Away. They are on slightly different templates and the Blogger version has a news feed feature for news from Maine and the rest of New England. For that reason, I may limit the links to news stories from Maine newspapers on the Blogger version. I’ll figure out all that later.

Well, enjoy! Or not. It’s your choice.

And as always, please feel free to contact me via the blogs or email me at keith.l.michaud@gmail.com to report bad links, copyediting errors or whatever. Thanks!

Maine duo set stage for 2010 games – Bangor Daily News

Maine duo set stage for 2010 games – Bangor Daily News.

Concern over captain’s health tempers crew’s excitement

MIAMI — Preparations shifted into high gear in Haiti on Monday to receive the estimated 200 tons of donated relief supplies aboard the Maine ship Sea Hunter, while hopes rose aboard the ship that its five days in limbo here could finally end today.

But even as the crew lashed down cargo and looked forward to this morning’s arrival of a shipmaster who has volunteered to sail the rest of the humanitarian mission, new worries arose about the health of Sea Hunter owner Greg Brooks of Gorham.

Brooks said he spoke at length Monday morning with Dr. William Lynders, a Connecticut physician who has sailed with Brooks’s Sub Sea Research Inc. on several of the company’s treasure-salvage voyages.

The cell phone consultation followed a call to Lynders by Brian Ryder, the Sea Hunter’s chief engineer and shipboard medic. Ryder said he was worried about Brooks’ physical condition, including what appears to be a lung infection.

“I thought I was a strong guy, I still think I am,” Brooks said. “But it’s been a month of overwhelming things.”

Brooks said he would decide by this morning whether to continue on to Haiti or fly home to Maine after seeing the Sea Hunter off. Either way, he said, the decision will not be easy.

Click on the link for the rest of this column by Bill Nemitz of the Portland Press Herald.

Mr. Nemitz also added a Reporter’s Notebook about the Sea Hunter. A notebook typically are bits and pieces a reporter gathers, but never seems to find place in the main story or column. Here’s a link to the notebook by Mr. Nemitz.

 

I’ve been a very, very bad blogger

It is clear to me that I have been a very, very bad blogger the past couple of weeks.

In many ways I have completely failed. But in a few others I think I have excelled.

Well, “excelled” may be a bit much, so let us agree that I have not done as well at some things as I have others. And I vow to strive to do better at the things I failed to do well, while continuing to do the things that I might have done better than, well, the things I did not do so well. Well …

What I have not done well lately is write fresh, new content for this blog about Maine and Mainers from a perspective of someone “from away.”  It has not been because of so-called writer’s block or want of trying. It simply has been a matter of time and not seeming to have any to write new content.

Frankly, I am still getting over the holiday haze, but now am looking forward to what great and special things will happen in 2010. Top among those things is finding employment. I am hungry to get back to work.

If you have read this blog before – I am a “blogger,” but what are people who read blogs? – you will know that I have been out of work since March 2009. I was laid off after 22 years working in the newspaper industry. And you would have to be from the dark side of the moon not to know that the newspaper industry has been hit very hard the past couple of years – continued high costs of paper and other materials, continued high profit margins for stockholders, lower revenue due to lower advertising sales due to the housing crisis and the auto industry crisis and the national economy crisis.

Leaders in the newspaper industry failed to heed the warnings that came to them a decade or two ago that a new age in information dissemination was coming – the Age of the Internet – and they made little effort to adjust. And what little effort they made came much too late for tens of thousands of very talented people in journalism and for many newspapers which have now long ago shut down their presses. I blame newspaper owners and publishers the most, although everyone in the industry has a share of the blame.

Because of all that I have been looking not only for a newspaper job, but for employment in the nonprofit or government sectors. There is a chance that what they used to say is still true, that writing skills are appreciated in very nearly any field. I am not 100 percent convince that is true given the traditionally low salaries in newspapers and other media, the decreasing salaries in newspapers, other media and for freelancers, and the low wages for “writers” in industries in which writers are not traditionally thought to work. And the disintegration of language because of what passes as “allowed” writing in emails, texting, blogs and other electronic media belittles and besmirches what professional writers do. That is the way of the universe.

And I also have given thought to returning to college to earn a master’s degree in another field, perhaps pubic administration. I believe I would go with an emphasis in nonprofit management over government agency management, because for some time I have wanted to do something for the greater good and working for a nonprofit has the feel of doing something more directly good for people.

What I think I have done fairly well for the past couple of months is to: 1) aggregate news about Maine from various sources, usually from Maine newspaper websites; and 2) post stories and other information about the plight of the people in Haiti following the earthquake last month.

Of the former, I usually have posted a headline of a story of interest and maybe some comment along with a link back to the newspaper’s website. I sometimes use the share feature on newspaper websites and sometimes the effort requires a little more work than that, but I always link back to the newspaper so the newspaper is getting the Web visit and the full credit. I gain nothing from the exercise other than keeping idle hands busy.

Of the latter, the effort to help spread information on what happened, what is happening, and what people can do to help Haitians seems a very tiny effort comparatively speaking. I wish I could do more. It is the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere and we have an obligation – not as Americans, not as members of one of the richest nations in the world, but as fellow human beings – to do what we can to help. Mainers have represented themselves well in the effort to help Haitians and it makes this Mainer “from away” proud to post those stories of Mainers’ efforts.

When I started this blog only a few short months ago, the intention was to write about and comment upon Maine and Mainers from the perspective of a person now “from away.” I had planned to comment each day.

Things have been hectic lately and sometimes it is a bit overwhelming to try to live up to my own intensions.

But I will strive to be more diligent about updating my blog.

Come back to Letters From Away every so often, won’t you.

Baldacci strikes the ‘right tone’ for tough times, observers say

Many lawmakers and observers said Thursday that Gov. John Baldacci’s final State of the State speech struck the right balance for uncertain times.

“I thought he hit the right tone,” said Rep. Patricia Sutherland, D-Chapman. “He was realistic, with some hope. I think Maine people are ‘cut-to-the-chase’ people, and would accept nothing less from the governor.”

Baldacci highlighted achievements of his seven years in office as well as plans for the future, particularly in the areas of renewable energy, government efficiency, education and forest conservation.

Click here to read the rest of “Baldacci strikes the ‘right tone’ for tough times, observers say” by the Kennebec Journal’s Ethan Wilensky-Lanford.

And click here to read the prepared text of Gov. John Baldacci’s final State of the State speech.

Oh, oh, oh! I know this one!

OK, so DownEast.com’s trivia question stumped me two days running, but the question today was, well, a little too easy. Here it is.

How many states border Maine?

Answer:

Only one, New Hampshire.

Everyone knows that. Sheesh!

I was nabbed by a ‘legendary’ Maine game warden

It is not easy speaking about my “criminal past,” but the statute of limitations is up on this so I think it’s pretty safe to talk about the time I was “nabbed” by a “legendary” Maine game warden.

I’m not kidding. This guy is a legend. He’s even in the Maine Warden Service Hall of Fame. The Maine Warden Service is the oldest in the country, by the way, so while that doesn’t put me on the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted List, I think it gives me a certain amount of street cred.

Well, it’s more like dirt road cred, but you get the point.

One fall decades ago, my father, a family friend and I were out cutting firewood in a wood lot not far from where I grew up in Aroostook County. At one point during the day, my father told me to grab the .30-30-caliber rifle we had taken along and my hunter orange vest to go looking for a deer. It was deer hunting season, but I was too young to be hunting by myself, according to state law at the time. Hunting is a rite of passage for Maine youngsters, because it teaches responsibility, accountability, and a love and respect of nature. Hunting was an experience my father had when he was a youngster and he wanted me to experience the same thing, even if the state of Maine didn’t think I was old enough.

Problem is that the road my father sent me ambling down, up came driving the regional game warden, John Robertson, who just happened to live down the hill from my childhood home. So, John knew how old I was since I was in the same class with his youngest son, Alan. But he asked how old I was anyway. Of course, I fessed up. My folks preached not lying, especially to the law. And, frankly, John Robertson was a fairly imposing man in size and because he carried a large gun.

He took the rifle, removed the shells and drove me back to where my Dad and a family friend were cutting firewood.

John graciously acknowledged that when he and my Dad were younger it was OK – even encouraged – for youngsters to grab a rifle and go out into the woods for game or to simply plink in a gravel pit they happened to come across. But not that day – and certainly not now.

The game warden did not issue a citation that day. I think he saw the embarrassment in my face and that of my father, for we both knew what I had done by walking down the road to hunt was illegal and, because of that, simply wrong. John Robertson could tell the lesson was learned.

But he was a neighbor, too, not just a game warden. As I recall, he felt bad enough to call my father later that day to make sure there was no ill will between the two. And there was not and I recall that my father was humbled and impressed that the local law enforcement officer – there was a part-time constable in town, but no police department – had taken time to call to make sure neighbors could be neighbors.

It is a lesson – perhaps the kind of lesson you learn growing up in a small town more completely than any place else – that stays with me today. No matter what the situations that come during the course of a day, at the end of the day, neighbors still have to be neighbors.

And what got me started on this whole thing? Well, last week I ran across a DownEast.com blog item written by George Smith of Mount Vernon, who is described as “a columnist, TV show host, executive director of the state’s largest sportsmen’s organization, political and public policy consultant, hunter, angler, and avid birder and most proud of his three children and grandson.” The blog was about how this past hunting season had been particular safe, and that part of that came from hunter safety education on hunting laws and enforcement by the state’s game wardens. And that reminded me – as if I really needed reminding – about John Robertson.

Here’s a link to the blog for those of you interested in hunting.

Here’s a story – a story and a letter to the editor from a cat – about John Robinson that was included in a history of Portage Lake, Maine, when the town turned 100 this past year. (The history, compiled by the entire community, is called “Portage Lake: History and Hearsay – Early Years to 2009.”)  The story on John Robertson was accompanied by a photo of Robertson in uniform in a canoe – one I’m certain he either built or repaired – on water. The letter to the editor was accompanied by a photo of, well, the cat.

Legendary game warden honored

The Star-Herald, Presque Isle, Maine, 2005

When retired Game Warden Sgt. John Robertson of Portage Lake went to Orono on March 11 (2005), he expected a celebration, but he didn’t expect that it would be partially in his honor. The Maine Warden Service used their annual spring meeting and awards ceremony to celebrate their 125-year anniversary, making it the oldest warden organization in the country. This made receiving an award even more special. Warden administrators take the opportunity every spring to thank the most exemplary wardens with recognition going to those demonstrating investigating skills as well as other enforcement and field skills.

One of the most coveted citations is the Legendary Game Warden Award, which recognized the lifetime achievements of a retired warden who has dedicated his life to the warden service and who demonstrated the leadership and skill necessary to survive in the Maine woods and keep others safe as well. To his surprise, Robertson was the 2004 recipient of the award.

Robertson, who typically attends the banquet, didn’t know about the honor, though his wife Wilza knew for weeks.

“You can’t talk about certain things as a warden’s wife,” Mrs. Robertson recalled. “You learn not to talk about things. I didn’t tell anyone.”

Mrs. Robertson recalled her husband’s 33 years with the service recently.

“His job was his life,” she said. “He’s honest, almost to a fault, hard-working and conscientious.”

All were points of Robertson’s personality agreed upon by wardens nominating him for the honor.

“He was a warden’s warden,” said Jim Dumond, retired game warden from Portage. Dumond recalled Robertson saving the state of Maine money by using his skills as a mechanic to repair warden service trucks himself.

“There was one night that a guy lost a transmission in the woods,” Dumond said. “It was 20 below and John got out there and changed the transmission for him.”

Robertson spent most of his career with the warden service office in Ashland doing various jobs such as servicing trucks and canoes, being a firearms instructor, and teaching new wardens skills they’d need in the field.

As a sergeant, he was in charge of riding with new wardens and covering territory from Route 11 to the Canadian border.

“John knew the woods like the back of his hand,” said Investigator Sgt. Terrence Hunter, who worked for Robertson before John’s retirement in 1985.

At 71, Robertson still hasn’t slowed down. He is a registered Maine guide and can be found leading hunting and fishing expeditions as well as Boy Scout camping trips.

He also goes out in the winter on snowshoes to mark town lines and shovel camp roofs.

“He’s not a city man or a town man,” said Mrs. Robertson. “He’s a woodsman.”

Robertson continued to work for the warden service for 15 years after his official retirement, caring for guns as an armorer.

This is not the first award that Robertson has received. In 1975, he was given the Game Warden of the Year Award.

“He has been a huge asset to the warden service,” said Warden Jim Fahey. “He’s well deserving of this award.”

Retired Warden Robertson is the cat’s meow

The Star-Herald, Presque Isle, Maine, (Unknown date)

To the editor:

I owe my life to a very special person. Let me tell you the story. It is a simple story that not very many people know.
Once upon a time (late November 2003 to be more exact), I figured that I was at the end of my very short existence. I do not remember what happened prior to that cold November, or how I got there, but somehow I ended up in the Great Northern Maine Woods at a location that had a pond and a cabin. This is 37 miles west of Potage, the closet sign of people and civilization. This was a great place for hunting and fishing, but not a place for me!

I had been alone out there for quite a while. I don’t even remember if I had any brothers or sisters or what happened to my Mom. I was getting pretty discouraged, very thin, scared and had to look out daily for my survival. I knew that cold weather was setting in and that I had not had much to eat other than a few mice. (Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that I am a cat.)

I finally found a cabin and sought shelter underneath it. One day I heard sounds and voices associated with humans. One of them discovered me and started feeding me. (Boy, dog food and pizza were a great and welcomed combination!)

During that week, my fate was being contemplated by this man. He was guiding a hunting party and was to leave at the end of the week. I later found out that this man had three options in dealing with my future: do nothing and let the elements and nature claim me; humanely destroy me (of course, I was under his camp and he would have to crawl under the camp to order to retrieve my body and to dispose of it); or try to catch me and to give me a new lease on life. You have to realize that by this point in life I am pretty wild, scared, starving, and leery of everything.

Toward the end of the week, a live trap with delicious smelling food was placed within my sight. I went in to investigate and lo and behold I was on my way to a new chapter in my life. The trap and I were placed on the back of a pickup truck and we traveled for a long time to my new home. I was delivered to a local farm house where this man had made prior arrangements for my arrival.

Yes, I was only a kitten then, but I am now a grown cat having had a wonderful life. It has taken quite a while to overcome my fears. I now curl up with my cat and dog friends, have access to all the mice that I would ever want to chase, sleep with my human every night, have all the food that I want to eat and have very few worries in my life.

I have one person to thank for saving my life. That person is retired Game Warden Sgt. John Robertson of Portage. John has recently received the state of Maine Game Warden’s Legendary Warden Award. (Folks, that’s getting inducted into the warden’s Hall of Fame.) His life-long commitment to protection of wildlife, preservation and appreciation of the outdoors and outdoors values, saving of lives, his value of life, his family values, his compassion and his heart of gold are evident in what he did for me. There are just a few qualities that are evident in his nomination and receipt of this prestigious award.

Just think how easy it would have been for John to have done nothing or to have ended my life. I am proud and grateful to know him. Thank you, John Robertson!

Your friend,

Rusty Pete

My family is trying to make me fat this Christmas

The Mom and The Sis have joined in a conspiracy, I fear, to make me fat.

Or, at least, pleasantly plump.

Two men dressed in UPS brown – two co-conspirators, although I believe unwitting co-conspirators – arrived at my doorstep early Tuesday evening with a package that The Sis had told me to expect. The storms back East had convinced me that the package would arrive later rather than sooner, but Big Brown came through during the holiday rush.

I signed on the glowing line – everything is electronic now, you know – and received the holiday package.

And, of course, I placed it under the hugely beautiful ornamented Christmas tree in the corner of my apartment living room, where it will wait until Christmas morning to be opened. …

OK, so I didn’t bother to unpack my Christmas ornaments or get a Christmas tree this year. I have a camera tripod in the corner of my living room. I suppose I could string some Christmas lights on it and hook a few ornaments on the knobs and paste a star or angel on the mounting bolt. Then I’d be good to go for Christmas. Or not. It just seemed like a lot of work for one person.

And if I fibbed about having a “hugely beautiful ornamented Christmas tree in the corner of my apartment living room,” you can guess that I also fibbed about placing the package anywhere … except on my dining room table so I could open it.

Now, Christmas purists will say “Christmas morning is when you open Christmas presents, not on Christmas Eve and certainly – CERTAINLY – not on Christmas Eve Eve Eve.” (Enough eves? One, two, three, yep.)

But technically – and I think this would stand up in a Christmas tribunal should one be called – I was simply opening the outer package. It is not my fault that Zeb’s General Store in North Conway, N.H., where The Sis and The Mom very likely purchased the wonderful treats within, did not take yards and yards of decorated parchment to carefully wrap each individual item and tie each with ribbon with surgical care. (Frankly, Zeb’s is a really, really cool place and I very much want to visit it again the next time I vacation in Maine. It’s a very New England town and a very New England general store … that caters to tourists, but it is still very, very cool.)

So, I immediately opened the outer box, dug my way through the form peanuts – the guy who invented those things should be hung by his toes in the public square before being made to go from home to home to home on Christmas afternoon to clean up those dastardly things – and found the treasures inside.

What follows is a partial list of the wonderful tastes of Maine and New England that The Mom and The Sis bestowed upon me this holiday season. (Note: I had planned to include photos of some of the treats, but ran to a couple of technical difficulties. I hope to update with photos within a couple of days.)

And here is the evidence I have for believing in the conspiracy to make me fat. Everything in the package – except the stoneware mugs in the shape of moose head – were jammed with sugar and other things that are likely to make my waist bigger.

But this is the holiday season and it is perfectly – PERFECTLY – OK to indulge, and I can do things the rest of the year to counterbalance the evil that is blueberry syrup.

Beautiful blueberry breakfast

OK, blueberry syrup is not in any way evil. It is quite the opposite and nothing short of wonderful.

This time around, it was a bottle of Pemberton’s Gourmet Food Mountain Mornings Breakfast Syrup made of Maine wild blueberries. Yeah, that’s right, syrup made of wild blueberries. And it is all mine, mine, mine!

OK, sorry, got a little carried away. Pemberton’s is located in Gray, Maine, according to the label, and the syrup contains Maine wild blueberries, sugar, honey, lemon juice, spices and pectinase. I haven’t opened or tasted it, but I’m pretty sure I will enjoy it and mourn once the bottle is empty. Here is Pemberton’s website: www.pembertonsgourmet.com .

While we’re on syrup, they threw in a bottle of Brown Family Farm Pure England Maple Syrup. The business is based in Battlebore, VT. Vermont is not Maine, but it’ll do.

The bottle came with a card listing Top 10 Maple Tips:

  • Add a light flavor to apple pie. (Hmm, that has to be good!)
  • Drizzle on a turkey wrap. (Gotta try this.)
  • Mix with salad dressing. (I’ll try anything at least once.)
  • Add to yogurt or vanilla ice cream. (Done this and it is very good.)
  • Add splash while cooking to sausage or bacon. (Nothin’ lovin’ quite like maple bacon or sausage.)
  • Baked beans are always better with a bit of maple syrup. (Yes, it is.)
  • It works with sweet potatoes and carrots, too. (I’ve done sweet potatoes and carrots with brown sugar, but I bet maple sugar would be good, too.)
  • Blend with Dijon mustard to marinate salmon. (Oh, yeah!)
  • Mix with butter and glaze baked squash. (Hmm!)
  • Add to fresh berries and cream. (I’ve done this, too, and it is great.)

Brown Family Farm has more tips; go to http://www.brownfamilyfarmmaple.com/ for more info.

If you’ve got all that syrup, you’re gonna need something on which to pour it – beside the things listed above. Why not go with The New England Cupboard Blueberry Pancake Mix, made with Maine wild blueberries. It claims to provide “old-fashion flavor with modern convenience.”

The label on the package – mix ingredients include unbleached wheat flour, blueberries canned in water, sugar, nonaluminum baking powder, salt and cinnamon – promises 16 to 18 4-inch pancakes. This very likely is Christmas breakfast, but not 16 to 18 pancakes.

The New England Cupboard website is http://www.newenglandcupboard.com/ .

Heating up lunch or dinner

I like sweet, but I love hot and spicy. My family knows this.

So, it is not unusual for me to receive something from Captain Mowatt’s line of very fine hot sauces. How could you not like products from a company that puts on its bottles: “Burning the planet one tongue at a time.”

I am most partial to Captain Mowatt’s Canceaux Sauce, but I also love Captain Mowatt’s Blue Flame. As the label says: “Blue Flame is the ultimate, salacious rendezvous. Wild native Maine blueberries coupled with fiery nubile red chilies. It’s passionate … it’s hot … it’s sweet … it’s blissful.”

W.O. Hesperus Co. makes the stuff in Portland, Maine, and go to http://www.wohesperus.com/ for more info.

The second sauce I’m holding as evidence that my family is not just trying to make me fat, but also may be trying to kill me … from the inside out. Anything called mad Dog 357 Pure Ghost Sauce should be handled with asbestos gloves and in full firefighting turnout gear!

Frankly, the distributer – Ashley Food Co. of Sudbury, MA, at http://www.ashleyfood.com/ – seems a tiny bit delinquent in its labeling. The only warning on the label reads: “This sauce is very hot. Use it at your own risk.”

And while that seems mild, what makes an experienced hot sauce enthusiast take pause are two – not one, but two – warnings “World’s hottest peppers.”

OK, there is one other subtle warning: “Carefully crafted with the world’s hottest pepper, the Ghost Pepper, aka Bhut Jolokia, this sauce delivers hauntingly pure heat with a killer sting only a ghost can deliver.” I know this is gonna hurt!

Something else very, very sweet

I’m not the kind of guy to say that if something is good, make it great by pouring chocolate all over it. Chocolate is great by itself, especially with a nice glass of red wine.

There are some things, however, that do take on a different complexity when milk chocolate is poured over ’em.

Wild blueberries are perfect – yes, perfect – directly from the bush. Or with some cream. Or in muffins. Or pancakes. Or … Well, you get the point.

But chocolate covered blueberries are a different level of perfect. In the package was a packet of Bangor Blues Milk Chocolate Covered Blueberries. I won’t get into the nutritional facts from the label, because it isn’t about nutrition when you’re eating this – it’s about savoring a bit of heaven … with the Aurora Borealis thrown in for color.

You should be able to get more information about Bangor Blues at http://www.bangorblues.com/ .

DownEast Coffee Munch, at least in its name, has everything I need. It has reference to Mother Maine, it has coffee and it has munch. DownEast Coffee Munch is a brand of chocolate covered Maine roasted espresso beans, and mighty tasty, I might add.

The tasty, caffeine-laced snack is made by Gladstone’s Under the Sun based in Bar Harbor, Maine, not far from Acadia National Park. Let’s see – Bar Harbor, Acadia National Park and DownEast Coffee Munch. That would be three very good reasons for anyone to hit the midcoast region.

Check out Gladstone’s website at http://www.mainemunchies.com/ .

Nothing says New England quite like Maine Saltwater Taffy. The Mom and The Sis included a larger-than-necessary box of Maine Saltwater Taffy. I’m sucking on some just now. Hmm, a mellow, sticky sweetness. Suck on it, don’t chew or you’re libel to pull out a filling or two … or even a tooth. It’s sticky.

Again, let’s not talk ingredients, shall we. Just know that it is worth it from time to time to partake of Maine’s Saltwater Taffy.

The brand The Mom and The Sis picked up was manufactured by Cabot’s Candy of Cape Cod out of Provincetown, MA, and you can get more info at http://www.cabotscandy.com/ .

Spice of life

Two things: I love sea salt; and I love that some seasoning jars now come with their own grinders. (Disclaimer: I immediately see a recycling problem because of the extra material used to create the grinder part of the jars, but jars seem to be reusable – and should be reused whenever possible – so it is just a matter of adding sea salt, pepper corns or whatever.)

In the package was Maine Sea Salt from the Maine Sea Salt Co. out of Marshfield, Maine. More info can be found at http://www.maineseasalt.com/ .

The Mom and The Sis a year or so ago sent me a jar of sea salt. Let’s just say, great stuff, that sea salt.

For my hot beverages

The Sis likes to send me stoneware. Over the years she has sent me some lovely bowls, pots and cups.

There has been a theme the past couple of years, however, that includes big floppy ears, a hug snout and an expansive aerial. One year it was a chili bowl – with a moose on the side – and another year it was a syrup pitcher – again, with a moose on the side.

This year, two mugs with a slightly goofy-looking moose on each. They are great!

They were designed by Richard Adam Dabrowski of Kennebunkport, Maine (Yep, summer home of the Bush family), and they come from Birchstone Studio in Fryeburg, Maine. Its website is listed as http://www.birchstonestudios.com/ .

Each of the mugs came with a note, including: “The mug of the moose mug you hold is loved by his mother were the truth to be told.”

It also includes “a word about the moose”:

  • The name moose comes from the Algonquin Indian language.
  • Moose stand about 7 feet tall as the shoulders, measure 10 feet from the nose to tail, weigh 1,500 pounds with 75-pound antlers, which are at times 5 feet wide.
  • Moose can run at about 35 mph.
  • Moose eat twigs, leaves, ferns, pond weeds and other vegetation.
  • Bull moose grows a new set of antlers each year.
  • Males frequently battle other males for females.
  • Males are in rut from September to mid-December and will stop eating while searching for a mate.

The information does not indicate – and it probably should – that moose can do great damage to vehicles when struck. Oh, and to the occupants of the vehicles, too.

Fun and games

I nearly forgot!

Also included in the package were three ol’ style games. Two of them were travel size dice games, one called Parlor Football Game and the other was called Game of Golf, both from a manufacture called Channel Craft. You can find out more at http://www.channelcraft.com/ . I have been playing golf for the past 40 years and I do enjoy a good football game, so I should have fun playing the games.

Also included was a deck of playing cards and a cribbage board. I haven’t played cribbage in the past 20 years or longer. I’ll have to go online to refresh my memory about the rules, but it’ll be worth it. It will be great to relearn the game.

I also like the board; it has a moose etched at one end.

I’m going to enjoy all the treasures delivered by the men in brown. But I still think my family is trying to make me fat!

Or, at least pleasantly, pleasantly plump.

Christmas Past Part 4: ‘Santa, I have a short list’

Here it is! This is the fourth and final in a series of holiday columns I wrote some years ago when I was the opinion page editor of The Reporter, the daily newspaper in Vacaville, Calif.  I have links at the bottom of this column to the other three if you missed them and want to take a look.

This one is a letter to Santa. (Yeah, I know! Incredibly original.) It’s ironic that those things I asked Santa for four years ago are pretty much the same things I would ask for today. All I’d have to do is change the year.

Here is wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Santa, I have a short list

The author was the opinion page editor at The Reporter in Vacaville, Calif., when this was first published Dec. 21, 2005.

By Keith Michaud

Dear Santa:

I certainly hope this note finds you healthy and well. And Mrs. Claus, too. She sure is a cutie, ya ol’ dog, you; you’re a pretty lucky ol’ fella for having her, especially considering the traveling you do every year.

Granted, all that traveling is done in a single evening, but it’s a lot of mileage to put on that sleigh of yours. You must pay a pretty penny at the end of your lease agreement.

I hope all those helpful elves and lively reindeer are healthy and well, too. I know you all work pretty hard all year to get gifts to children around the world. And if we don’t say it enough, thanks for helping to keep alive the holiday spirit of giving.

Well, despite what some will say, I’ve been more nice than naughty this year. Yeah, I know, it’s been a rather boring year since we last spoke, but I’m hoping to remedy that in 2006. Hopefully, I’ll be able to admit to being a tiny bit naughty next year.

Anyway, my list isn’t very long this year. You know me. I don’t need much.

Santa, if you can swing it, how about peace on earth and good will to all men, women, children and animals? There is far too much strife in the world – fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, suicide bombing in the Middle East, revolts on the African continent, rioting in Europe, and race riots in Australia, for heaven’s sake. A little peace would be good just about now, don’t you think, Jolly One?

Along with that, how about a bit more safety for our fighting men and women in those faraway lands? They are spread thin and it would be easy for them to think that we have let them slip from our minds, that we do not care. Santa, please let them know that servicemen and women remain in our hearts and minds this holiday season, whether we back armed conflict or not. Surely, Santa, we can separate the war from the warrior. After all, wars are started by fat men and women in houses of politics. And wars are fought by strong, young men and women with a sense of patriotism and honor, and a bit of adventure.

St. Nick, how about a bit of tolerance, too? There doesn’t seem to be enough of that around. I mean, we’re such a wonderfully diverse people in this world that it’s a shame we cannot all get along better, accepting and embracing each others’ differences, rather than picking chest-thumping fights over silliness.

Santa, I’ve got a niece and nephew, and I’d like to have children of my own someday. I’d like to think we could leave them a better world than the one we’ve got now. What do you say, Santa, can you build peace, hope, harmony and tolerance in your workshop?

Previously posted:

Christmas Past Part 1: ‘Holiday spirit takes off’

Christmas Past Part 2: ‘Calling too late for wishes’

Christmas past Part 3: ‘Hey, call me Mr. Christmas’

One charter school in Maine highly touted

Here’s today’s DownEast.com trivia question. Educators might find it interesting.

What is Maine’s only public charter school?

Answer:

The Maine School of Math and Science in Limestone, established in 1995, was recently declared the twelfth best public high school in the United States.

Christmas Past Part 3: ‘Hey, call me Mr. Christmas’

You’re back?! Wow, I thought I would have lost you long ago.

But since you’re here, take off your coat, loosen up the belt, sit down and relax, while you read the third in a series of four holiday columns I wrote years ago when I was an opinion page editor for a newspaper in Northern California.

In the first column I wrote about the holiday spirit – and adults wrestling for cheap toys – and about a Texas lawmaker who irked Texas Christmas tree growers by putting in the Texas House of Representatives a plastic tree made in China. And the second column poked fun at me for my tardiness in shopping for the holidays.

This, the third in the series, again pokes fun at me for not beginning my holiday shopping until Boxing Day. This time I explain TGS, or typical guy syndrome.

And, as you see from the note at the end of the column, it did irk a few people. You never know what is gonna rile people.

Hey, call me Mr. Christmas

Editor’s note: The author was the opinion page editor at The Reporter in Vacaville, Calif., when this was first published on Dec. 22, 2004.

By Keith Michaud

’Tis that wacky season once again to be jolly and full of holiday cheer, to gather with family and friends to exchange gifts, good tidings and hopes for the coming year. It’s time to fa-la-la-la-la, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas. Just call me Mr. Christmas or Hap Holiday. Either will do.

Longtime readers – and you both know who you are – will recall that I occasionally suffer from seasonal onset TGS, or typical guy syndrome. TGS is caused by something attached to the Y chromosome or beamed into our heads during televised Sunday football games. It causes traits in guys that we just cannot shake, even if we wanted to.

TGS sufferers, who can live long, productive lives in captivity, are typically known for leaving shoes strewn throughout the living room, leaving half-eaten sandwiches on bookshelves and nightstands, and for not remembering which pile of laundry on the floor is clean and which is dirty, causing TGS sufferers to face the added ridicule associated with wearing dirty clothing in public.

And as I have written before, TGS sufferers can turn a simple house chore into a task equivalent to figuring out quantum physics. Things left in our refrigerators take on the air of a scientific experiment. (Remember, mold can be your friend.)

Perhaps the most significant trait of seasonal TGS sufferers is to postpone until the very last possible moment the purchasing of Christmas gifts. Why battle for weeks with the crowds at the mall? Just wait until Christmas Eve before starting out. The battle with the crowds goes on for a few hours and not for weeks.

Admittedly, the holiday gift selection is a bit limited for TGS shoppers. That may be why their family members sometime receive, well, interesting gifts. Sure, Aunt Girdy might not appreciate the bag of corn nuts in her stocking nor Uncle Bob the convenience-store coffee mug, but these are gifts from the heart for a TGS sufferer.

Fortunately, I was able to break the ugly grip of TGS just long enough to ship two packages to family in the Deep Dark North Woods of Maine. The packages made it there in plenty of time after a schooner trip around Cape Horn and up to Boston, a train ride to Kennebunkport, a mule train to Bangor, and two dog sleds north. So what if the packages my family received last week were the ones I sent last February for the previous Christmas. It’s the thought that counts. Besides, it’s not as if the spirit of Christmas past really comes to visit. Right? No, that’s a real question. They don’t, do they?

Like I said, call me Mr. Christmas.

Believe it or not, this column actually stirred up a touch of holiday controversy in Vacaville. More than one reader took me to task in phone calls and letters to the editor for the use of the phrase “Hap Holiday.”

One letter writer wrote in part:

“Although I applaud Keith Michaud’s willingness to be called ‘Mr. Christmas’ amid an era of ever-increasing political correctness, I couldn’t help but notice he went on to say that we could also call him ‘Hap Holiday’ in his recent column.

“This perhaps unintentional willingness to eliminate the name Christmas from this holiday has me baffled, yet not surprised.”

I really wasn’t trying to eliminate “Christmas” from the holiday, but my experience at this sort of thing led me to believe then – as it does now – that whatever I had to say in my defense would not have been accepted on face value.

The letter writer ended his rather long letter:

“Yeah, I know, this would make believers extremists. How ironic. The few who oppose Christianity have managed to turn Christians into radicals. Thus, perhaps unknowingly, Mr. Michaud proliferates politically correct propaganda and tells readers that calling him ‘Hap Holiday’ is fine with him.

“Well, it’s not fine with me. So you can call me Mr. Christmas.”

Well, at least someone is Mr. Christmas.

Previously posted:

Christmas Past Part 1: ‘Holiday spirit takes off’

Christmas Past Part 2: ‘Calling too late for wishes’

And I was trying to stay out of the whole vampire thing …

I am not into fads, especially those rising from the wreckage that is the entertainment industry.

That is not intended as an insult to my very hardworking and very talented friends working as journalists covering the entertainment industry. No, those hardworking and talented people come up with their very own fads … that I tend to ignore, also.

So I have stayed away from bothering with the resurgence of vampires on TV and cinema screens and in posters and whatnot purchased by teenagers. Just not interested.

But here I go writing – although very briefly – about vampires.

As I do often, I was checking out DownEast.com and went to its Maine trivia question. Today’s was:

What town is the basis for Collinsport in the Gothic horror soap opera “Dark Shadows”?

The answer surprised me:

Bar Harbor

I am not sure why it surprised me, after all, for as long as I can recall movies and TV have filmed in Maine or been “set” in Maine. (i.e. “Murder She Wrote” was set in Maine, but the bulk of the filming was done in California. My first job out of college was in Mendocino, Calif., where some exterior scenes were shot. Sunsets were shot at sunrise, etc.)

 “Peyton Place,” “Captains Courageous” and “In the Bedroom” were filmed in Camden, which is the community that jumped to mind when I first read the question. They even have the Camden International Film Festival.

“The Cider House Rules” also was filmed in Maine.

Stephen King is perhaps the most famous Maine resident and many of his tales are set in smalltown Maine. But as far as I could tell, only “Pet Semetary,” “The Storm of the Century,” and “Thinner” were made in Maine.

You might have noticed that two TV adaptations of King’s vampire tale, “Salem’s Lot,” were not listed here. That is because the 1979 version was filmed in Eureka, Calif., and Ferndale, Calif., according to the Internet Movie Database, which are two fine Northern California towns that Mainers would not mind visiting, trust me. And the 2004 version was filmed in Australia. That’s what IMDB says, Australia.

I looked for a more comprehensive list of films shot in Maine, but did not immediately find one. I will update this post with the list or a link to the list should I find it.

Here are links to a couple of other Maine/New England film and video websites.

Oh, by the way, IMDB says the 1966 version of “Dark Shadows,” the show mentioned in the trivia question, was filmed in Connecticut, Rhode Island and New York City. The 1991 version was filmed in Beverly Hills and Los Angeles. Go figure.

Getting wired throughout Maine

OK, $25.4 million is a lot of money. It is more than I have on me just now.

 

And I have no idea where it will come from other than from all of our pockets and the pockets of generations to come.

 

But if the intent is righteous, it could be a huge economic lift for typically underserved rural communities.

 

First, there will be jobs, from manufacturing to installation to maintenance of the planned broadband system. Some will be immediate and some will be more sustained.

 

Second, the three rural regions – northern Maine, western Maine and Downeast – get broadband, which means hopefully faster and more dependable Internet connections to rural areas.

 

Third, entrepreneurial opportunities the likes of which Mainers in rural settings have never seen before are wide open. Small business owners can better research their market audience, order supplies, promote their products to a global client base, arrange for deliveries, chat in real time with customers around the world, make immediate shifts in manufacturing if necessary, and more. It levels the playing field in so many ways.

 

It is a lot of money and I very much hope the pricetag does not go the way of all things. The region needs this.

 

Building an information highway – Bangor Daily News.

Christmas Past Part 1: ‘Holiday spirit takes off’

Truly the most satisfying part of being a journalist is coming up with timely, meaningful topics about which to write passionately. Journalists take great pride in finding an issue – homelessness, hunger, corruption, for examples – and writing or producing a product that sheds light on that issue and positively affects the people in their audience.

This is not one of those instances.

Instead, this is a case of a journalist recycling a handful of holiday columns, because, well, he can. Over the next couple of days I will present those holiday columns I wrote years ago. These are not particularly poignant tales of redemption or reunion. For the most part, these were columns I wrote on deadline to fill a hole on a page. (There! I admitted it!)

But there may be nuggets of wit here and there, so I urge you to read on just for fun.

Holiday spirit takes off

Editor’s note: The author was the opinion page editor of The Reporter in Vacaville, Calif., when this column was first published on Dec. 10, 2003.

By Keith Michaud

It’s beginning to look a bit like Christmas around Vacaville – the Christmas tree downtown and garland on the lampposts, holiday decorations at every turn, and the throng of holiday shoppers have arrived from parts far and wide.

Yep, there’s nothing quite like seeing grown folks wrestling in the aisles of local department stores pitted in battle over an $8.99 toy or a $2.99 Christmas ribbon.

Ah, even I’m beginning to feel that holiday spirit growin’ inside me. Or it could be heartburn from my breakfast burrito.

At any rate, I’m thinking about perhaps possibly beginning my holiday shopping list to be checked not once, but twice. And I might actually get to the actual shopping by, say, Christmas Eve. Boxing Day at the latest.

I’m not one to rush into such things. After all, I’ve had all year to plot my holiday shopping strategy. I don’t want to blow it now by rushing it at the end.

Of course, first on my holiday shopping list will be my Mom and sister and her family. Shipping packages back to the Deep Dark North Woods of Maine requires planning and timing. It also requires knowing plane, train and stagecoach schedules in order to get the packages there on time. But after living in California for the past 20 years, I think I may have mastered the technique. I think.

More on that later …

 * * *

California lawmakers should feel fortunate. They only have to deal with a state budget that looks much like Swiss cheese and a governor the size of a Swiss, er, Austrian mountain. They don’t have to deal with a Christmas tree scandal.

The speaker of the Texas House of Representatives, Tom Craddick, put up a plastic, made-in-China Christmas tree in the House and now has the state’s Christmas tree farmers up in arms, according to a Reuters story.

“I think people can deduce for themselves about what it means to have a plastic Christmas tree from China in the Texas State House,” the story quoted Lanny Dreesen, a Texas Christmas Tree Growers Association spokesman.

Hm, Mr. Dreesen seems to have a Texas-size temper.

I’ve been in this business a while now and I deduced a couple of things – don’t mess with Texas, and don’t mess with Texas Christmas tree farmers.

If I had my choices, I’d want to deal with budget woes over fending off an attack by Christmas tree growers. Imagine the political clout these growers have, especially at this time of the year. Imagine the lawsuits they could bring.

Yep, I’m getting that holiday spirit.

Why does this not surprise me in the least? …

Went to the DownEast.com trivia question and was not terribly surprised by the answer to the question:

“How did the city of Belfast get its name?”

Answer:

“Many of the community’s founding fathers wanted to name their new settlement Londonderry, but a strong-willed settler, John Miller of Belfast, Ireland, made a protest and a coin was flipped. Belfast won.”

It doesn’t surprise me because Mainers – whether their families originated in Londonderry or Belfast or wherever – tend to be independent-minded. Stubborn even.

Maine’s history is full of cool little stories like this.

Offshore wind power sites to be named tomorrow

Maine already has land-based windmill projects and tomorrow a panel will name locations to be tested for offshore wind fields. Here’s the Associated Press story printed in some Maine newspapers.

Big – or not so big – debate: Blueberries vs. strawberries

It may be a tossup for me which are the best – wild strawberries or wild blueberries.

Trust me, I could eat a vat of either plain.

Then there are the options. Strawberries and cream vs. blueberries and cream. Strawberries on pancakes vs. blueberry pancakes. Strawberry pie vs. blueberry tart.

And don’t even get me started on strawberry cheesecake vs. blueberry cheesecake. That would get me going like a pup chasing its tail.

But you get the point. It’s all good to me when it comes to strawberries or blueberries.

I recall as a child clambering out of my house overlooking Portage Lake, Maine, and running to the wild hayfield just beyond our backyard. There, scattered by the berry gods, were tiny wild strawberries growing on tiny stems among the hay stalks.

My sister and childhood friends would take various containers – usually cleaned plastic Cool Whip containers – and crawl through the wild hay to puck the tiny wild strawberries from their little stems. We would pick until the containers were full or we were, since often we ate as much as we put in the containers to be used later for strawberry shortcake or in the morning to top pancakes.

A horse trail used by the local stable ran along the back of the wild field at the edge of the forest and there were times we would sit in the field munching on the sun-sweetened fruit and staining our fingers red as the horses plodded by and butterflies fluttered here and there.

Portage Lake is a bit north for blueberry growth or we most likely would be filling those Cool Whip containers with those tiny blue spheres of heaven. (I hate it – hate, hate, HATE it – when people say something is a “tiny bit of heaven,” but in the case of strawberries and blueberries – especially WILD strawberries and WILD blueberries – it is the case.)

Cultivated strawberries and frozen blueberries are poor substitutes that I must suffer now that I am “from away.”

Of course, wild strawberries and wild blueberries are not the only foods I miss being from away. Lobster, of course, tops the list. I miss the chance to have lobster on a distinctly more regular basis than I do now. Sometimes boiled or steamed over an open fire on the beach or on the stovetop or barbecued on the grill on the patio or deck, drowned in melted butter and accompanied by steamers, corn on the cob and beer. Now that’s eatin’.

Fiddleheads, cabbage rolls, and fresh maple syrup are among the foods I miss being “from away.”

One of my fondest memories as a youngster comes from stopping on the way to my Uncle Clayton’s home just outside Fort Kent at Rock’s Motel and Diner, for some griddle-cooked hot dogs. My parents loved ’em. I loved ’em. I remember entering the tiny diner – the place always seemed to be crowded with hardworking woodsmen and farmers taking a break from their toil – and being hoisted onto one of the red vinyl stools to have one of Rock’s dogs. Or two. And onion rings, as I recall.

Today, familiar flavors from Maine are limited to canned sardines – several Maine and New Brunswick brands can be found in stores here in California.

And Christmas food baskets from home: Captain Mowatt’s Canceaux Sauce and assorted chocolate-covered blueberries, blueberry salsas, baked beans, and beer bread come from my sister, who lives on the right side of the border with New Hampshire, and my mother who still lives in the tiny town where I grew up, Portage, about a three hours drive north of Bangor.

And thank God that BevMo and other West Coast stores carry products from Sea Dog Brewing Co., Shipyard Brewing Co. and Allagash Brewing Co. How could a Maine boy get by without a brew from time to time that reminds him of home?

California is American’s bread basket – and fruit, vegetable, nuts, dairy and beef baskets, too. The climate and rich soil of the Central Valley make it prime for growing most things with relative ease. (Farmers, I know, there is nothing easy about farming. I did write relative ease.) The growing seasons in California are long and bright and sunny. Finding and keeping enough water to irrigate the fields is a continual and growing problem for California farmers.

And while blueberries do come from the Northwest, there are not the same as good, ol’ Maine wild blueberries.

And try to explain fiddleheads – or cabbage rolls or ploye [buckwheat and whole wheat pancakes introduced by French-Canadians to the Saint John River Valley] – to anyone who has not tramped through Maine woods to track the curly delight is like trying to explain baseball to a Mongolian sheep herder.

Two fun recipes

OK, enough of all that, because it is making me hungry. I have two very minor recipes involving blueberries, one for kiddies and one for adults. Don’t mix ’em up.

Purple Monster Oatmeal

½ cup Quaker Oats

¾ cup water

Handful of frozen blueberries (I know, I know, if you’ve got access to fresh blueberries, use them.)

Pinch of salt

Combine the water, blueberries and salt and bring to a boil. Stir in the oatmeal, reduce heat and cook for a minute. The juice from the blueberries will turn the oatmeal purpleish and should trick, er, entertain children into eating up all their oatmeal. That combines the positive aspects of oatmeal with the very positive aspects of blueberries in a colorful, fun dish.

OK, that was the recipe for kiddies … for all ages. Here’s the blueberry recipe for adults.

Blueberry Vodka

Citrus vodka (Oh, who am I kidding? Use whatever flavor of vodka you enjoy … in moderation.)

Frozen blueberries. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, use fresh if you’ve got ’em. But using frozen means the need for less ice and more room for vodka.) Put about an inch – or more, if you’d like – in the bottom of the glass.

Pour the vodka over the berries. Add cracked ice if you want it even colder, say for a summer drink.

See? Pretty minor recipes by any standards. But I’m guaranteeing that if children do not enjoy Purple Monster Oatmeal, they are bound to turn into very unhappy adults who won’t enjoy Blueberry Vodka. And, let’s be perfectly honest, we need more people who enjoy Purple Monster Oatmeal and Blueberry Vodka.

Fun blueberry facts

I did not find fun facts about strawberries, because, well, I didn’t look for them. The world of late has been pretty excited about blueberries. Here is what I found on the University of Maine Cooperative Extension website.

  • There are 60,000 acres of wild blueberries growing in the southwest portion of the state.
  • American Indians were the first to use fresh and dried blueberries for flavor, nutrition and healing qualities.
  • Blueberries were not harvested commercially until the 1840s.
  • The direct and indirect impact on Maine’s economy was $250 million.
  • Maine is the largest producer of wild blueberries in the world and produces 15 percent of all blueberries in North America, both wild and cultivated
  • Just 1 percent of the wild blueberry crop is sold fresh; the remaining is frozen and most is used as an ingredient.
  • Lowbush blueberries are harvested by hand raking or by mechanical harvester in late July or early August when most of the berries are ripe.

Wild blueberries are good for you

The biggest thing about blueberries everyone is learning about is their antioxidant properties. I say, if they taste good they must be good for ya. But here is what the website had on that.

“Wild blueberries have the highest antioxidant capacity per serving, compared with more than 20 other fruits. Using a lab testing procedure called Oxygen Radical Absorbance Capacity (ORAC), USDA researcher Ronald Prior, Ph.D., found that a one-cup serving of wild blueberries had more total antioxidant capacity (TAC) than a serving of cranberries, strawberries, plums, raspberries and even cultivated blueberries. Antioxidants help our bodies protect against disease and age-related health risks by canceling free radicals, which are unstable oxygen molecules associated with cancer, heart disease and the effects of aging. Potent antioxidants are highly concentrated in the deep-blue pigments of wild blueberries that neutralize free radicals and help prevent cell damage. Antioxidants also protect against inflammation, thought to be a leading factor in brain aging, Alzheimer’s disease and other diseases of aging. The potent antioxidants found in wild blueberries include other phytonutrients such as flavonoids and other phenolics such as anthocyanins; wild blueberries were higher in anthocyanin content than other tested fruits and vegetables.”

Continue reading

I knew this, but it is worth repeating

Once again, I find myself going to the DownEast.com trivia section for a bit of entertainment. Today’s entry was a no-brainer.

What’s the best oceanfront drive in Maine?

Answer The Loop Road in Acadia National Park.

Here is a brief description from the National Park Service website:

“The 27-mile Park Loop Road system offers outstanding views of the park’s ocean shoreline, coastal forests, and mountain silhouettes. This historic road system is open from April 15 through November 30, weather permitting (small portions remain open all year).”

However, there are quite a few other options to scenic oceanfront drives in Maine and it just may be an enjoyable life-long task to seek out a suitable alternative. Please leave a comment with your favorite oceanfront drive.

Or, just for fun, don’t limit yourself to the oceanfront. Break it down to regions and give me your favorite rides in Maine.

Winter driving tips that make (some) sense

Also spotted on DownEast.com the “Coffee With That” blog about driving in the snow. It is written by Maine novelist Richard Grant. The tips can be used by winter drivers in Maine or in the Sierra Nevada, for my California friends. Also, some of the tips are useful for driving on rain-slicked roads.

Maine’s first conservationist

Here’s the latest from DownEast.com’s trivia selection. I’m not sure “treehugger” is PC any longer, but what the heck. It is Maine, after all.

Who was Maine’s first treehugger?

Gov. Percival Baxter, who was considered something of a radical in the 1920s when he proposed a public park surrounding and protecting Mount Katahdin. Rejected by the legislature, Baxter used his own money to create his “forever wild” reserve. Today more than 60,000 people each year visit the two hundred thousand-acre Baxter State Park to enjoy the stunning beauty that his vision first recognized.

Mount Katahdin is the official northern tip of the Appalachian Trail, although some believe it actually goes to Mars Hill, Maine. My family went camping in Baxter State Park when The Sis and I were young. It was a fantastic adventure — hiking, skipping stones on water, watching the black bears wander into the park’s garbage dump for evening chow. As I recall, we may have stopped off at the Lumbermen’s Museum in Patten during the same trip.