October 31, 2014 - Hallowe'en

When I was little, we used to sing this song on Hallowe'en:

Jack-o'-lantern! Trim your light!

Fairies come and dance tonight!

Tripping, skipping on the green!

Merry be our Hallowe'en!

I do not know where this song came from.  I have never heard anyone else sing it, and I can't find any reference to it anywhere.  I would love to know its origin.

 

The guiding light of Jack-o'-lantern.

 

It should be pointed out that the spelling is "Hallowe'en" and not "Halloween."  The word "Hallowe'en" is short for Hallows' Evening, at least that is what Old Jack tells me, and I believe him.  Now as you can imagine, Old Jack and the Jack-o'-lantern (Jack of the lantern) are related, Jack being a family name and all.  An old Irish story says that Jack tricked the Devil into climbing a tree and then put the sign of the cross on the bark so he couldn't come down.  Jack eventually let him go but only with the promise that the Devil would never claim his soul.  Then Jack went and lived a life of sheer debauchery.  When he died, heaven didn't want and hell couldn't claim him, so the Devil angrily tossed a hot coal at Jack, which Jack put in a hollowed-out turnip so it wouldn't go out.  Ever since then, Jack has been looking for a place to rest.  This is why you see him at night, roaming and searching.

Now, Old Jack is not nearly as naughty as Jack-o'-lantern, but he does have his peculiarities and finds himself in many of my stories here on In Pursuit of Maine.  If you have been reading my journal, you will be familiar with him.  Between the two of them, I'd say Old Jack was cleverer.  He loses his stuffing sometimes, but he'd never waste his time on a deal with the Devil because he clearly owns his own soul.

Happy Hallowe'en!

October 30, 2014 - The Secret Love

We know of the love of the sun, of brightness and warmth and power.  We feel it around us every day, and we see its fruit not only in the plants and trees around us but in the blossoming of our own hearts and the warmth we have toward others.  We also know of the love of the sea, of depth and tides and mesmerizing waves.  We feel it around us when we visit any body of water, and we see how the waves hug the shore but also emanate from our own hearts as they wash upon our loved ones.  We know, too, of the love of the Earth, of stability and comfort and nurture.  We feel it around us constantly with every step we take, and we see how gravity pulls us toward the Earth as it hugs us and also as we hold our loved ones closely in rock-hard protection.  And we know of the love of the wind, of soft caresses and change and new hopes.  We feel it around us daily, and we acknowledge its feeling of touch and scent in the material world but also in invisible energy softly kissing our loved ones as they gently return the kisses.

But there is another love.  It is not a love of the sun or the sea or the Earth or the wind, although it can use any of those vehicles as it chooses.  Late at night when the sense of sight dulls and leaves us, when hearing tricks us, when scents become confused, when tastes become unwelcome, and when touch becomes frightened, there is another energy afoot.  When the creatures of the light flee to their places to hide out of fear of the unknown, and the unknown itself threatens to tear down all the known beauty of the world, and the darkness reaches its cold hands toward the ebbing warmth of the living, there is a binding, gentle, yet powerful force of love.

Quickly receding, the mist returns to nothing.

When the abyss opens and threatens to swallow us and an eternity of darkness and nothingness reaches for us, the silent love rises and shields us.  A great mist weaves its way throughout the land, claiming everything it encircles as its own.  “You are mine, you are mine,” it whispers.  It lies close to the Earth, to the sea and the rivers and lakes.  It forms from nothing and returns to nothing.  Everything it touches becomes lost within it.  It hugs us and pulls us to the ground and keeps us shrouded and safe from the abyss. 

“Stay here.  I will shield you.  Nothing can penetrate my embrace.  I will hold you safe until the light returns.”  And it does return, with no knowledge of what its creatures have fearfully endured in the inky blackness.  We wake from our dream, shaking a confused head, the feeling and knowledge of the other love already disappearing and seeming like a faraway dream.  It recedes quickly, gone within moments with the arrival of the brilliant sun, a gray shadow that slips back into the nothing from whence it came, waiting for the next embrace.

October 29, 2014 - Maine Fishermen

Out at the very tip of Bailey Island in a place known as “Land’s End” stands this monument.  The plaque reads:  “A memorial to all Maine fishermen who have devoted their lives to the sea.”  Some fishermen here in Maine still do devote their lives to the sea, although nowadays it is becoming a “quaint” idea.  Now we have large commercial operations, but there was a time when fishing was a typical way to make a living.

Even before the Plymouth Colony was settled in the 1600s, European ships were visiting Maine and partaking of the massive amount of fish available in the Gulf of Maine.  It’s hard for people to think of that.  Usually we think of the discovery of America in 1492, a few misguided interactions here and there, and then the Pilgrims.  The Pilgrim settlements are the point where many people begin American history in earnest, but so much was happening here before they even arrived.  The fisheries along the coast of Maine were a vital part of the economy to the first settlers.  The huge amount of cod available in the Gulf of Maine fed not only colonial America but was also sent to the West Indies to feed slaves.

Memorial to Maine fisherman on Bailey Island, Maine.

The fish could be sent as far as the West Indies due to a new development of preserving fish by sun-drying them with periodic applications of salt.  The desiccated fish took longer to prepare than traditional barrels of brined fish, but once done, they were durable and could withstand tropical temperatures.  They also could be easily carried by an army.  Because all of this was done on land instead of at sea as brining was done, the fishermen began staying in Maine instead of returning back to Europe.

Then eventually the Pilgrims came.  They came after several failed attempts and botched relationships with the natives.  The English were not exactly diplomatic in their dealings with the Native Americans, but when they had finally secured the area from the French and Spanish (who also coveted this land), the situation became safe enough for the Pilgrims to arrive.

You know the rest of the story from your history books, but if it hadn’t been for the fisheries initially set up all along the coast, American history might have been drastically different.  Settlements may have occurred later and perhaps not by the English.  So here’s to all the Maine fishermen--then and now--who have devoted their lives to the sea and to the early formation of America as we know it.

October 28, 2014 - The Magic of Morning

Mornings are magic, especially in Maine.  The darkness and all the creatures that live within in it begin to recede, at first slowly and then rapidly.  You can hear them scuffling as they slink away, looking for their burrows and dolmens to hide under.  Then the slightest change in perception occurs.  Suddenly it’s not quite so dark, and your eyes are drawn to where silhouettes are now appearing.  The tiniest, almost impossibly transparent, shade of pink occurs just at the horizon in the east toward the ocean--a slight rim of hope.  But soon it grows and a soft glow of true pink appears.

Yet nothing could prepare you for what’s to come.  As if by magic--yes, certainly, it must be magic!--the Earth turns just enough for the sun to highlight the clouds.  It lasts only a few minutes, if that much, and then full daylight is upon us.  But in those few precious minutes, the most spectacular magic occurs.  My camera cannot do it justice, but I have done my best to capture it nonetheless.  Suddenly, your knees go weak and you learn what true majesty actually is. 

If you can look at it, directly into the magic, it enters your heart and soul.  You must be quick, though!  You will know when it has happened as the feeling is unmistakable.  Somehow your lost hopes and dreams are rekindled because, after all, it is another day.

Morning magic in all its glory.

October 27, 2014 - A Murder of Crows

They’re harbingers of doom and they’re everywhere now that the season of death is upon us.  You can see them sitting in the bones of the trees.  Shiny and black, they call out mockingly.  They follow you, sometimes singly, sometimes as a “murder” of crows.  Yes, a group of three or more crows is called a “murder.”  And with good reason.

Their inky black eyes with a liquid-like stare search for carrion because the crow follows death wherever it goes and loves to scavenge dead animals, although it will eat just about anything.  Many people find this behavior revolting and because of that, they do not take the time to learn how intelligent the crow is.  It is one of the smartest animals.  It can use tools, hide and store food across seasons, and distinguish between individual humans by recognizing facial features.  It is one of the few animals capable of displacement, and it also has episodic-like memory. 

The crow waiting for an opportunity.

Although the ancients didn’t have the above information via research, crows seem to have found their way into the mythology and folklore of many different cultures.  In ancient Irish traditions, crows were associated with the Morrigan, the goddess of war and death.  In Cornish folklore, crows were associated with death and the otherworld.  In ancient Norse religion, two crows or ravens combed the entire world and brought information to the god Odin.  He is always pictured with two crows.  In Sweden and Denmark, crows or ravens were the ghosts of murdered men or exorcised spirits.  In Australia the crow was the Trickster.  And the list goes on, from Japan to China to Korea to India and Islam.  Everywhere in every age, the crow is present.

But you don’t need to study any of that to get the heebie jeebies this time of year when the crows are out and about.  Simply listen to their mocking voices to divine messages, but pray that they do not follow you.  If crows follow you for some distance, unless you are Old Jack, it may just be that you are the otherworldly message for that day.

October 26, 2014 - The Tiniest Leaf

There once was a magnificent maple tree flanked by two equally magnificent, but smaller, oak trees.  The oaks would eventually catch up and exceed the maple’s height and width, but for now, this tree was the most beautiful in the woods.  Because of this, it was a popular tree, a coveted tree, a very much sought after tree.  Every fall, people and animals would meet at the tree to watch as it changed its green leaves to magnificent fall splendor.

Now on this tree, there were many leaves--big and small, fat and thin, important and not so very.  But this story is about one leaf in particular, the tiniest leaf on the tree.  Of course, this tree had thousands upon thousands of leaves.  Still, one has to be the largest and one has to be the smallest.  No matter how hard she tried to grow, she was puny and ridiculous looking.  Many of the other leaves just laughed at her or completely ignored her, but most of the other leaves didn’t even know she existed because she was that tiny.

Well, fall came to the tree in its usual manner, and the tree responded with fantastic color.  Every leaf began to turn brilliant shades of orange, yellow, red, and pink, as sugar maples are known to do.  Every leaf except one, that is.  The tiniest leaf stayed a solid green color.  No matter how hard she puffed up her cheeks, she stayed plain green.  Now the other leaves really laughed at her because they were all dressed in their finest colors and she was still a dull green.  This made her very sad and she finally just wished that they would all fall off, including herself, so that she could be out of her misery.

The glory of the maple tree as it begins to change color.

Nature is inclined to respond to desperate wishes, as you know, and after every person and animal had gotten their fill of the beautiful sight of the maple, she sent a terrible storm with a deluge of rain and ferocious winds.  This took every single leaf off the tree, none of which were very happy about it.  Every leaf except one, that is.  As the colorful leaves flew violently off the tree, they lamented their fate and stared jealously at the tiny green leaf that still clung to its twig.

Eventually the storm died down and the tiny leaf was all alone.  She was very lonely, but at least she didn’t have any leaves laughing at her anymore.  Being all by herself certainly made her stand out more.  At least now she could be seen!  The weeks passed by and finally her colors began to change.  It’s too bad that no people or animals were around because never had there been a leaf with such spectacular color as the tiniest leaf.  She glowed brilliant neon colors that could be seen far away, if one happened to be looking.

All things come to an end though, and fall ended abruptly one night with a terrible deep freeze.  In the morning, the world had been plunged into a severe winter.  The tiniest leaf had never rotted and so she stayed frozen and brilliant on the tree, although no one knew about it, and winter continued on, harsh and terrible as always.

Into that winter, a man traveled alone.  He had come from a far land to warn the people of a new enemy who had destroyed all of his people.  But the winter was so very harsh and he had lost his way several times and he was ready to give up.  Late one day, he and his horse stumbled into the clearing where the bare maple and oaks were.  The man had it in his head that he would start no fire this night.  This time he would allow himself to freeze.  He went to the maple tree to sit under it, and his eyes filled with tears--tears for his own people who had already died and tears for the people of this land who would die if not warned.  As he was about to sit down, he spied the tiniest leaf in the last rays of the sun.  He could not believe how beautiful it was!  He jumped up to look at the leaf, grateful and mesmerized by its brilliant beauty.

He stared at the leaf for quite a while until the sun had set and it was getting darker.  Somehow something in that leaf had changed him, had given him hope.  He quickly found as much dead wood and broken twigs as he could, and he started a big fire near a very large rock next to the tree.  The rock protected him from the wind, and his horse shielded him as well.  Somehow, he made it through that night alive.  In the morning, he went to the tree and took the tiny leaf off of it and brought it with him.

He got on his horse and headed for the village, which was so much closer than he realized.  To think that he would have given up when he was only an hour away from the village!  Of course, he had no way of knowing that, but he was so eternally grateful to the tiniest leaf for rekindling just the tiniest bit of hope in his heart.

The man was taken in by the village people who fed and housed him.  He explained the plight of his people and that the enemy was on its way to their village and would be there by summer.  The people had heard rumors about this from many others, and they knew what he said was true.  He told them everything he knew about the enemy, including their weaknesses.  Because of this, the people were able to mount a defense and hide themselves in the forest where the enemy would not go.

The village was saved because of this man who traveled so far to help.  No one knew about the role that the tiniest leaf had played except for the man.  He never told anyone because he thought they would all laugh at him.  But the tiniest leaf knew, and that was enough for both of them.

October 25, 2014 - Fairy Islands

Fairy islands pop up and disappear along the Maine shore all the time.  People say it’s just a trick of the sunlight on the water when the islands appear to be floating, but I know better.  The fact is that they are floating, and not only that, tomorrow they will be gone only to reappear again some other time.  Sometimes they come back in the same spot; sometimes they shift to different areas.

Now I told you about the dimensional shift, about the last great fairy magic that was done on the Earth?  This was back when the fairies had the tiny fire box of the dragon, which completed their elemental powers.  They already had the secrets of air, earth, and water.  It was the peapod pixie who gave them the dragon’s fire box and the peapod pixie who stole it back.  Without the dragon’s fire box, the fairies could not stop the dimensional drift that also occurred with the dimensional shift they had created.  And this is why they have their being for the most part in a separate dimension.  Read the ballad of the peapod pixie again to refresh your memory.

Anyhow, I saw several islands appear, disappear, and reappear today, which tells me we are in for some heightened fairy occurrences.  They can’t keep the islands anchored there permanently anymore, but when they do appear, there’s a lot of coming and going.  Hallowe’en is six days away and I am wondering what the fairies have planned.  They never disappoint me.

An island appeared briefly to the far left.

October 24, 2014 - Tears of the World

I’ve been crying a lot lately.  It seems a rather foolish thing to do.  It seems so self-centered, so self-indulgent, so preoccupied with one’s own thoughts.  As if I were somehow the center of the world.  As if I somehow commanded the attention of everything around me.  It is self-pity, and I must not do it for too long.

It happens every year at this time, though.  My eyes ache with the beauty all around me, the beauty I know will soon be gone.  The trees put on a fabulous display of amazingly beautiful colors.  They won’t cry, so I’ll cry for them.  I’ll cry for the lost greenery and the fleeting wondrous colors of joy and abandonment.  The animals all fatten themselves up, gorging on the harvest.  They feverishly make their dens and nests, and they find the secret places to go in the winter.  They won’t cry either, so I’ll cry for them.  I’ll cry for the lost comfort of the summer warmth and the ease of finding food.  

Even in death, there is life.

The air will grow strangely quiet. Only the clicking of twigs and the creaking of old tree trunks will be heard.  There will be no more birdsong, and the hermit thrush has long since left.  The air won’t cry, though, so I’ll cry for it.  I’ll cry for the loss of the sweet songs and the busy hum of insects.  And soon, even the water will grow still.  Its trickles and rushes and flows will all freeze, locked in a season of death like some sort of macabre mannequin.  But the water won’t cry--even the water won’t!  So I’ll cry for it.

I’ll cry for everything, everything that won’t cry for itself.  I’ll shed my own river of tears as I walk through the still and silent Earth, feeling sorry for myself, really.  Eventually, I will cry myself out.  Eventually, I will see that even where everything appears dead, there is always life springing forth in brilliant little bubbles of wonder and joy.  When my eyes are finally dry, I will see that there was never a need for such tears, that life has been holding me all along.  But every year, I need to be reminded by life that I am still here.

October 23, 2014 - The Darker Half

Beware this time of year, the darker half, when things are not always what they seem.  Be careful walking in the woods, especially at night or on a rainy day when the sun is nowhere to be found.  The creatures of fairy are out and about as always, but while the fairies of the lighter half of the year build and grow things, the fairies of the darker half of the year tear things down and destroy them.  This is the way Nature designed it, and it must be so or our world would soon become overcrowded with too much life and not enough death from which to make new things.

It’s a damp musty scent you’ll notice first, not sweet like fallen leaves, but musty and sour.  The air is still, and the birds that have not left for warmer shores are silent.  There’s a clicking sound, a rasping sound, a dragging sound.  There’s a sticky, wet feel to the air.  These are the signs to look for, and you must leave immediately if you come upon them.  Eventually, we’ll all see the grim side of Nature, but avoid it while you can.

Twisted trunks and bark and whole trees strangled and devoured.  Hallowe’en is almost here, and the dark fairies are hungry!  Tread softly.  Carry a lantern if you can because they do not like fire.  Surely you knew that the Jack-o-lantern on your porch is much more than a decoration?  Light it at night so that the strangling ones, the faeries who reach and twist and crush will pass you by.  This time.

A tree being strangled by the Darker Half.

October 22, 2014 - The Mountain of Life

Life is just sort of piled up in piles.  There are piles and piles of life everywhere, and they all sit on top of one another and just keep piling in a never-ending and growing mountain.  Ordinarily, we don’t realize we’re in a big pile, just a tiny component of a tremendous, pulsating mass.  We don’t realize that there’s life underneath us and life on top of us and life inside of us, and somewhere in this huge pile through complex labyrinths, we’re having our being in a borrowed biological unit.  In some kind of bizarre and chaotic organization, Nature has placed us in this living net.

Life on top of life in the form of tree ears.

I was struck with the mountain of life when I looked at this tree trunk.  There it stood on top of the earth and inside of it as well.  All around it there was life.  There were bugs in its roots along with bacteria and mycelium.  Heather grew around its base.  On its trunk were moss and lichen and tree ears and more bugs, and all of the life that was on the tree trunk had life on top of it as well.  The tree ears sported algae, and the moss and lichen carried their own bacteria and bugs.  The air swirling around and around it also carried invisible life, and it all kept going on and on and wouldn’t stop.

Everywhere, everywhere there was just life.  It simply kept on living, even when it died.  It just kept on going in one form or another.  It wouldn’t stop growing and changing and becoming.  I looked at myself, at the life beneath my feet and on my skin and within my body.  It was everywhere inside me and around me, and the idea was maddening.  I heard millions upon millions of voices, and they all chanted the same thing over and over:  I AM.  They said, “I am,” and I said it with them.  I am!

October 21, 2014 - Elementals of the Storm

Storms that come in off the ocean are different than land storms.  There is a lot of power churning out in the ocean, and when the storm elementals wish to make a display, they harness that power.  Ocean storms seemingly come up out of nowhere.  This surprises many people who are not used to it.  They also are extremely fast-moving, and their speed and ferocity frighten wary travelers, and rightly so.  Therefore, I have put together the makings of an ocean storm to help the reader who may not yet have experienced one, and if you read between the lines, you will learn how to use some of this magic for yourself.

Imagine that you are walking down a sunny beach with a bit of breeze here and there as there always is at the ocean.  Perhaps you are searching for special seashells or looking for colored sea glass.  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a much cooler gust of wind blows quickly against your face.  This wind is different from the regular sea breeze you’ve been enjoying.  If you were familiar with ocean storms, you would get away now, but since you are not, you pay no attention.  Half a minute later, the wind blows again.  It’s even cooler this time.  It’s stronger, too, and this time it doesn’t stop.  You pull your jacket around you and keep hunting for shells.

But the wind is strong and cold and you try to adjust your path so that the wind is at your back.  This is not a smart move because now you are not paying attention to it at all.  Now the wind is at your back and you don’t notice quite how cold it has gotten.  You continue in your search for fancy shells and pretty sea glass.

Half a minute later, the sun and sky were completely engulfed in gray.

You don’t look out into the ocean, but if you did, you’d see an exceptionally dark gray mass far out at sea.  It probably wouldn’t bother you, though, if you did look because it seems so far away.  Yet in another minute, it is much closer and much bigger, but you don’t see it because you’re looking for treasures.  The wind has gotten colder, so you absentmindedly pull your jacket even closer and shiver.

What you don’t know is that out over the ocean, the storm elementals--the fairies responsible for storms--are raging!  They are unleashing Prana to the land.  They are nearly transparent beings with streaming long silver hair with hints of blue and dark gray in it.  It whips all about them as they fly in toward the land like a herd of wild horses.  If you were to look closely, you could see some of them at the cloud tops.  I believe I caught a couple in this photo.  These are air fairies, and they are directly connected to Prana.  They inhale the breath of life, and when they furiously exhale, the wind carries words and songs and hidden knowledge with it.  This goes directly into human minds, and it is how we “suddenly” have an idea or are blessed with inspiration.

But it’s a double-edged sword.  A gentle breeze can bring life and rain, but a violent wind can call in a hurricane and destroy life.  That is part of the magic of air, though.  Our breath is a gift given to us at birth, which we must return at death.  The Sylphs are the keepers of this secret, but whether you know the secret or not, you still must return the gift.

In any event, we are back to you on the beach now.  Suddenly (belatedly), you notice the wind is blowing hard and it’s very cold.  You listen intently, but you notice that all the seabirds are gone.  There is no sound but the moaning wind.  And somehow . . . it seems very dark outside.  This is because the sun has disappeared behind tempestuous gray clouds which have blown in at lightning speed from the ocean, brought in by the air elementals, the fairies.  I have watched a sunny beach turn cold and gray within two minutes flat.  When the sky opens, and it will, a torrential downpour will begin.  It will seem almost as though the ocean is rising up and falling upon you.  Now you would be clever, indeed, to get away as fast as you can!  Hopefully, you have a place very nearby, or at least a vehicle, where you can shelter from the raging display of the air elementals.

You must wait it out, as you must do with all storms in your life.  You can be foolish and expose yourself to the elements and be injured.  Or you can be wise and harness the power of the wind.  When you know the storm spirits are coming, write your biggest problem down on a piece of paper and tear it into tiny pieces.  Then go out onto a large rock (not too close to the ocean) or a hill if you're inland and throw the pieces into the wind.  Let the elementals deal with it.  Then race back to your shelter.  All you need to do now is listen and wait for the answers.  They will appear later on a small breeze as if by magic, wafted directly into your mind.  And this is one way to harness the magic of the fairies.

October 20, 2014 - The Baby Oak Tree

There once was a baby oak tree who lived among a large stand of pines, far away from other oak trees.  At least, it seemed far away to him because he was so small and hadn’t developed the height yet to see over the top of the forest.  He did his best, however, to make friends with the pines.  The younger pines were nicer than the older pines, who tended to be much more bristly and prickly in nature, as pines are known to be.  It makes sense that the more needles they get, the more needly they become.

In any event, he went about his business that first summer as best as he could.  He may have lacked other oak tree friends, but the perfumed air around the pine trees was undeniably wonderful.  Every day he breathed in the deep pine scent and was thankful for his tiny little niche among them.  Eventually he did make friends with a few of the smaller pine trees, so his loneliness was eased a bit.

But nothing lasts forever, especially summer, and soon the days began to grow a bit cooler.  The pine trees went about their business, fragrant as always, but the little oak tree began to notice some changes in himself.  At first it was just a strange feeling he had, but in a short time he began to notice his leaves were starting to change color.  He thought it was just in his imagination in the beginning, but after a few weeks, their color was noticeably changing.  This pleased him very much, at first, because he felt that it helped him to stand out and be beautiful among a sea of pines.

The baby oak tree and his first big change.

The smaller pine trees were impressed and asked him how he did it.  The older pine trees just ignored him and rolled their eyes in secret jealousy.  He told the younger pine trees that he had no idea how he had become so colorful but that he was glad he had.  To this, the older pine trees just became even more resentful, and the younger pine trees noticed it.  They began to think that the little oak tree was lying to them and wanted to keep the colors all for himself.  He tried to tell them that wasn’t true but they wouldn’t listen, and the older pines remained silent and bristly as ever.

This went on for a while until the little oak tree had only one tiny pine tree friend left.  Still, he remained cheerful and kind and did his best to be happy.  But nothing lasts forever, especially changing fall leaves, and soon the little oak tree began to notice that he was losing leaves.  Each day, he lost more and more, and a terrible dread began to come over him.  At last he could stand it no more, and cried out in sorrow because he believed he was dying.  His little pine tree friend tried to comfort him, while all the other pine trees, big and small, just laughed at him.

Now it happened that a peapod pixie lived nearby and was awoken by all the ruckus going on, and it’s never a good idea to interrupt a peapod pixie’s nap.  She crept over to the trees and listened carefully.  She heard the sorrow and fear of the little oak tree and couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.  She heard the tiny pine tree trying to comfort him, and it warmed her heart, which isn’t easy to do with a peapod pixie.  She also heard the cruel laughter and jeering of all the other pines, and this made her very angry.

In a flourish of smoke and light, the peapod pixie appeared among the trees, manifesting for all to see.  She first went to the little oak tree and explained what was happening to him and that he would be alright and that next spring he would grow back even bigger and stronger.  This made his heart soar and he sang the praises of the pixie as loud as he could.  Then the pixie went to the little pine tree and patted her on the top and thanked her for being so kind.  Finally, the pixie went to the larger pines and told them all off for enjoying the pain of the little oak and not bothering to help him out.

“Oh, shut up, pixie!” they all said and ignored her.

“You owe the oak tree an apology,” she said, “and you will give it to him so I can finally get back to my peapod and get some winter sleep.”

“And what can a tiny pixie like YOU do about it?” they sneered.

Which was not a smart thing to say to a peapod pixie, as anyone can tell you.  What, indeed.  Well, here is what the pixie did.

She sat at the base of a very large pine and took a very long nap that lasted several weeks.  Every so often, though, she would wake up, and when she did, she would scour the forest floor and pick up every single pinecone that had fallen and put it in a little pile, which she burned every night.  This went on and on until soon the large pine trees were very afraid and begged the pixie to stop, but the pixie would not listen.  Every single night, she burned all the pinecones until there were none left.

But that’s not all she did.  She went and hunted for some acorns and brought them back to the pines.  At the base of every tree except for the tiny pine tree that had been kind, she planted several acorns, and she also planted them in any free spot she could find.  Now the pine trees were even more afraid, and again they begged the pixie to stop and again she would not listen.  Finally, the ground froze and the pixie went back to her peapod for a long winter’s sleep.

But nothing lasts forever, even a peapod pixie’s winter sleep, and soon spring came again.  The pixie went back to visit the little oak tree, who was now much larger and full of beautiful green leaves.  He greeted her warmly and blew her a kiss.  The little pine tree was a bit bigger too, and she just winked at the pixie with a knowing smile.  The larger pine trees stood at attention and said nothing, for all about them, tiny little oak trees were emerging from many of the places where the pixie had planted the acorns.  In fact, it looked as though in a few years the entire area would be populated by oak trees with only an occasional pine here and there.

And that is what a tiny peapod pixie can do about these things.  So if you ever run into one, I would advise you to keep your bristles and prickles to yourself and just tell her that she is the loveliest shade of green you have ever seen.  Also, never kick an oak when he’s down.

October 19, 2014 - The Pitch Pine Heath Barren

Maine is known as the pine tree state, and our official state tree is the White Pine.  It’s a most beautiful tree, but that’s not what this article is about.  This is about a pine tree that not many people know of--the Pitch Pine tree.  Pitch pines are native to eastern North America.  They love dry, acidic, sandy soils, but can tolerate a bit of swampiness as well.  Pitch pines are known for surviving and thriving in extremely difficult soil conditions, and this makes them perfect for Maine.

The needles of the pitch pine tree are extremely sharp, much sharper than a little prick you might get from any other pine tree.  When you touch a pitch pine needle, it’s unmistakable.  What’s even fiercer, though, is its fruit, the pitch pinecone.  It is very difficult to pick up one of these pinecones because they have terribly sharp thorns on them.  As you can see in the picture, the pitch pinecones have all the defense against creatures that they could possibly need.  No one is going to mess with these.

The dagger-sharp thorns of the pitch pinecone.

Despite this, pitch pine heath barrens are not very common, at least not anymore.  Now other pines and deciduous trees threaten their survival.  In the past, naturally occurring forest fires used to maintain the pitch pine forests by burning out much of the competition.  A unique feature of the pitch pine is a very thick bark that protects the inner layer from heat.  Also, if the main trunk is damaged by fire, it can resprout from “epicormic” buds, which are buds that lie hidden underneath the bark.  This is a very unusual trait for a pine tree and shows its adaptation to forest fires.  However, now that forest fires are often controlled, the pitch pine heath barren has become a rare ecosystem that needs to be protected by manually removing competitive trees.

The pitch pine is a survivor, though.  Fires and natural disasters do little to bother it.  It is not uncommon to see a stunted, twisted pitch pine with multiple trunks reaching upward like something out of a Halloween ghost story.  It is slow-growing with a very high resin content that preserves it from decay.  These qualities are all typical New England characteristics (especially Maine):  slow-growing, stubborn, sometimes abrasive, cold-loving, strong, resourceful, and cunning.  Honestly, as pretty as the white pine is, I do believe that the pitch pine ought to be the Maine state tree!

Below is a picture of a sign describing some of the conservation efforts being done in the Town Commons of Brunswick.  The Town Commons were a gift of 1,000 acres to the people of Brunswick, Maine from the Pejepscot Proprietors in the year 1719.  The Town Commons are free and open to all.

Pitch pine restoration in the Brunswick Town Commons.

October 18, 2014 - The Cathance River

I slipped into a little nook along the Cathance River to have some lunch.  I always carry a mess kit and other essentials with me because you never know where the woods will take you.  I found some good King Bolete mushrooms, made a little fire, and fried them up nice and brown.  When they were done, I tossed in a few small dandelion leaves and some sunflower seeds I had pulled out of the head of a giant sunflower.  For some reason, food seems to taste better when you eat it outside, especially if you've cooked it outside as well.  And if you eat it along the Cathance River the day after a rainstorm, all sorts of waterfalls pop up and glide by as you enjoy your lunch.

These days won't last forever.  We're sailing into winter full steam ahead.  But while they're here, I'll sit and eat and think.  This is Maine, after all, the way life should be.

A waterfall from an overflow of the Cathance River.

October 17, 2014 - Dark Fairies of the Fall

It’s getting to be that time of year again.  When I go into the woods, I can feel them watching me.  Every summer I all but forget about them.  Every fall I am reminded of them in no uncertain way.  It’s almost as if all the lush leaves of summer put up a living, pulsing screen that I can’t see through, or perhaps choose not to see through.  In the summer I see life, I see energy, I see consumption.

They are everywhere.

But in the fall, that all goes away.  The screen falls.  The pulsation slows to a crawl.  Hallowe’en is almost upon us, and the darker fairies are waking up.  They’re coming out again.  At first, it’s just a flitting shadow here and there.  But then they stay longer and more of them come.  They were there all along, but they remained hidden.  Now the dark part of the year is upon us, and they are growing braver.  It’s their turn, and this is the law of our world.  One aspect gives way to the other.

You can hear them in the rustling of the leaves.  You can smell them on the wind, that semi-sweet, decaying, sour scent--a different kind of Prana.  You can hear a clicking sound, the sound of bare twigs scratching.  They are getting bolder.  Everywhere you see their eyes.  Pay attention.  Listen.  Look.  They are watching you.  Don’t stay in the forest too long.

October 16, 2014 - Winterberry

This magical shrub, which is excruciatingly ordinary during the spring and summer months, suddenly takes on brilliant color in fall and winter.  This is “winterberry,” a kind of native deciduous holly.  The cultivated varieties of holly you can buy in a plant nursery have very shiny, pointy, dark evergreen leaves.  They are the “poster child” for holly plants, the ones you see in all the Christmas photos.  But there are other holly plants out there that don’t get enough credit.

The winterberry is one such holly.  It is native to eastern North America and southeastern Canada.  Unlike Christmas holly, its leaves are not dramatically pointy or evergreen.  It is a deciduous plant and loses all its leaves in the fall.  It is also much bigger than cultivated holly and grows very quickly--one to three feet per year.  It loves wet, acidic soils, and so the soil of Maine is just perfect for it.  Like most hollies, the winterberry has male plants and female plants.  Only the female plants bear the bright red berries, and a male plant must be in reasonable proximity for this to occur.  It’s hard for me to grasp the idea of a plant being a “boy” or a “girl,” as most plants contain both elements.  Holly is one of those odd exceptions.

Winterberry (Ilex verticillata) has such brilliant red berries!

What I like about winterberry is that it loses all of its leaves.  Even though most of us crave greenery in the winter, it is so striking to see brilliant red berries on bare bony branches.  Apparently, the birds feel the same way since these berries are an important food source for them during the winter.  It is quite a wonderful sight when snow falls and covers all the branches and twigs, yet somehow the bright red berries seem to escape the snow and standout even more brilliantly.  If you want to use the twigs and berries in decorations, it’s best to collect them in late November before other food sources are depleted and the birds start getting ideas about the berries.

Medicinal lore tells us that a tea was once made by boiling the bark, which was used for fevers.  The berries were also used as a cathartic and to expel intestinal worms.  The seeds, bark, and leaves all contain theobromine, which is also found in chocolate and is a stimulant nearly identical to the caffeine in coffee.  In small doses, it mildly stimulates the nervous system, similar to a cup of coffee.  Like caffeine, theobromine taken in large quantities can cause dizziness, nausea, diarrhea, and an elevated pulse rate.

But I don’t collect winterberry for medicinal purposes as I do with many other herbs.  I just enjoy looking at the berries in the dead of winter while I pine away for the spring.  I can’t help but wonder if plants like these exist simply to ease our loneliness in the dark winter months.  There is something about the color red that makes an unspoken promise of life to come.

(Yes, I have to put a disclaimer in.  This article is for informational purposes only and is not meant to diagnose, treat, or cure any ailment.  If you need medical advice, seek a physician.)

 

October 15, 2014 - A Barn Door

This door is on the back of an abandoned barn.  At some point, someone put a little padlock on it but left it open.  It sets my mind to wondering, as usual.  I look at an old structure and immediately I try to picture the people who built it.  Unless I do some historical research, I don’t have a clue, but that never seems to stop me.

It’s always a romance.  Two lovers came to this area long ago against their parents’ wishes.  They wed in secret and slipped away during the night with only a handful of possessions.  They found a small piece of land in a harsh area and chose it for their home.  The man cut the trees down himself and built a tiny cabin for the two of them to live in.  Day by day he worked at making the cabin and then a barn for their horse.  She gathered food from the surrounding woods and planted a small garden.  She sold what produce she could and worked extra hours sewing for others.  Eventually they bought a milking cow and got some chickens.  And their homestead became a small working farm where they raised many children . . .

The old barn door has seen its better days.

Or maybe it wasn’t a romance.  Maybe it was an adventure.  Yes!  A man was falsely accused of robbing a bank and sentenced to many years in jail.  The real thief took off with all the cash (after having paid the sheriff off) and was living like a king in Patagonia.  So the sister of the wrongly accused man slipped a file into a loaf of bread she brought her brother to eat.  Every night he used the file to slowly work away at the bars on the window, loosening the mortar surrounding them.  Then one day he realized he was finally ready.  He told his sister when she came to visit him, who relayed the message to his brother.  That evening, his brother came and tied a chain to the bars.  Using a strong horse, he pulled the bars from the window.  The prisoner escaped immediately, and the three of them--the prisoner, his sister, and his brother--escaped on a ship bound for America!  They landed in Maine and built this barn to hide in . . .

Then, too, it could have been a murder mystery.  A woman pushed to the brink bumped off her abusive husband and buried his body in a shallow grave inside the barn.  She carefully tore up the floor boards and dug a small grave.  She put the body inside and replaced the floor boards, but somehow it was evident that someone had tampered with them.  By then, the local sheriff had grown a bit suspicious, so she started a small cider mill in her barn, supposedly to help with her loss of income since her husband had “abandoned” her.  The press was placed right over the replaced boards, and many barrels of apples were conveniently placed on suspicious-looking areas.  The sheriff never figured it out, and everyone in town said it was the best cider they’d ever tasted . . .

This door, which once kept the outside on the outside, now keeps the inside on the inside.  Its history is hidden forever, somewhere inside.  We’ll never know what happened here over the many years, but we can at least imagine that many fine people passed over its threshold in the business of living and dying.  And at the end of the day, it’s still a good barn.

October 14, 2014 - The Pine Tree and the Oak: A Love Story

A long time ago when the world was still forming and Mother Nature was experimenting with many ideas, there were many forests filled with the most beautiful trees.  In those days, groups of trees were always competing with one another to see which type of tree was the most beautiful.  While the displays were simply stunning and grew more stunning each year, the competitions were becoming too fierce and the trees were becoming more and more clan-like, growing only with their own kind.  This vexed Nature quite a bit because she was far too busy to start the design of trees all over again.

In this competitive arena, there were two groups that stood out the most:  The pine trees and the oak trees.  Each group competed fiercely with the other, and as luck would have it, the two groups bordered one another.  While all the displays were beautiful, anyone who had eyes could see that the pine trees always had the most fantastic displays because of their odd, rainbow-colored flowers.  Nothing could beat those beautiful blooms.

Now it happened that on the edge of each group, a young tree grew.  While the larger trees were busy arguing and competing, these two trees became friends, which was unusual in those days.  Daily their friendship grew and often they would run off together to be alone, and in those days, trees could do that kind of thing because their roots were much more nimble.  Eventually, the two trees fell very much in love, and while this might have made other creatures happy, the little trees were afraid because they didn’t know what the big trees would say.

Pine cones from the white pine, the official state tree of Maine.

But you can’t hide love forever no matter how hard you try, and eventually a nosey squirrel found the two lovers out and broadcast the news on the lightning-fast squirrel network.  By the end of the day, the entire world knew.  The pine tree and oak tree groups were furious and called the two trees out to stand before them both so they could put an end to it.  Terrible things were said and tempers were hot, but the two little trees would not budge from one another.

“I love him!” said the little pine tree of the little oak.

“He is ugly and his hard little acorns are useless!” the other pines shouted.

“I love her!” said the little oak tree of the pine.

“She is vain and her bristly needles are scratchy!” the other oaks shouted.

No matter what the two said, no matter how each extolled the virtue of the other, the big trees became nastier and ruder.  Finally, Nature had reached her limit with all the noise.  She ordered the little pine and the little oak to each return to its own group.  Now here is where things get very strange, because the little trees refused and no one had ever dared refuse a command from Nature.

No one would ever dare refuse again either, I can tell you that.  Nature was angry and threw her hands into the air!  She called terrible storms upon all the trees, so terrible that each tree dug its feet deeply into the soil for protection.  The leaves were battered on the trees, and the landscape grew barren and cold.  Then snow and ice came and froze everything, but still the two little trees would not relent.  At last Nature calmed down.  She was impressed with the strength and love of the two little trees, and she also secretly feared a mutiny.  She did not want to start all over again with the trees, not while she was busy trying to make two-legged creatures, who apparently were not very bright.

“I will love him forever and I will not leave him,” said the little pine tree.

“I will adore her always and will follow wherever she goes,” said the little oak tree.

“Very well,” said Mother Nature, her patience thin but holding.  “I will grant you your wish that you may be together.  But in return so that you remember my kindness,” she said to the little pine tree, “you will no longer bear rainbow-colored flowers.  Instead your flowers will be bristly little cones so that you remember your stubbornness.”  Then she turned to the little oak tree and said, “Each fall you will lose all of your leaves and go into a deathly and cold slumber for the winter so that you will remember that I make this world as I choose.”

With that, she left all the trees to their own devices.  Their feet were now so firmly rooted in the soil that they could not walk around anymore.  Their competitions were cancelled while they were busy getting used to their new restrictions.  It turns out that they never did hold another competition, though, because the first real autumn hit the world then.  The days grew short and cold, and the trees all lost their leaves.  Soon the little pine tree was left holding the cold hand of a bare oak tree.  Since she had no leaves but needles instead, she remained stubbornly green, a bit of an oversight by Nature.

“When it is late fall,” she said to the silent little oak tree, “I will pine for you.  When it is the dead cold of winter, I will pine for you.  When it is the early wet and dark spring, still I will pine for you.”

And every year she did what she said she would do.  This is why you always find pine trees and oak trees growing together.  It’s why there are no longer competitions but all the trees are considered beautiful.  It’s how trees became so patient because of their entrenched feet.  And it’s why the pine tree alone remains green in the winter and pines away for her lover until spring brings him back.