January 31, 2015 - King Stag

Icicles hanging from the kitchen window glimmer in the sun after another snowstorm and make for a pretty view from the inside when the sun hits them in the morning.  Today involved a lot of hard work outside in the bitter cold, but it had to be done.  I’ve been clearing snow for days now, and the sun was a welcome sight.  I had some fencing to repair as well and some wood to move.

I almost missed it, though.  If you look not at the subject in the picture but at the idea hiding within, you will see a shadow.  Can you see the stag and his antlers?  He was there today, right behind me, and I was too busy with my human things to notice.  And there were other signs . . . the sun was brighter and higher, there were small birds, there was an outlandish blueness to the sky.  He was there.  They say he is running in the forest again, and it won’t be long now.  She’ll be looking for him.

It’s a lie . . . but there are rumors.

The King Stag approaches.

January 30, 2015 - Winter Bird

A winter bird pecked around in the snow under a bird feeder, looking for a seed here and there in a frozen world.  By and by, a small squirrel came along and asked the winter bird what he was doing.  Of course, the bird ignored him because birds are not known for their kindness or manners.  Birds are (have always been, and will always be) very self-centered, shrewd, and unemotional.  It is not because they are mean but because they are not mammals, so mammals should not take offense by a bird following his own nature.

In any event, the squirrel did not give up because squirrels are notorious for constantly going back and forth and analyzing every situation that presents itself.  So the squirrel asked the bird again and again and again.  The bird would most likely have ignored him each time except that he had run out of little seeds to find, and it occurred to him that the squirrel might have some food stored away.

The winter bird.

“I’m looking for seeds, of course,” said the bird in a rather irritated tone.

“Sometimes they’re here and sometimes they’re not,” replied the squirrel.

“So it would seem,” said the bird, “but I expect that it wouldn’t matter so much to a great forager such as yourself, who most likely has stored away a good deal of food.”

“Quite right!”

“Of course, the snow has always fascinated me,” continued the bird, “because of the many lessons it can teach.  Birds and snow have their own secrets, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.”
“Oh, of course,” said the bird, “but you wouldn’t need the wisdom of the snow as a busy squirrel anyhow.”

“I might like some of it,” said the squirrel.

“You wouldn’t need it.  You’re a mammal.  Mammals are too busy to listen to the snow.”

“I might listen,” the squirrel replied.

“Can you sit still for five minutes?”

“Yes.”
“Very well.  We can make a trade.  I will give you the wisdom of the snow if you will give me some of your stored seeds,” said the bird.

“But I worked very hard for those seeds,” the squirrel said.

“Wisdom isn’t cheap.”

“How much did you pay for it?”
“I stumbled upon it accidentally,” coughed the bird.

“Did you steal it?”

“No!” said the bird.  “Wisdom can’t be stolen, only . . . acquired.  Now do you want it or not?”

So they worked out a deal.  The squirrel promised the bird some seeds, and the bird promised the squirrel the wisdom of the snow.  Then the two of them went and hid behind a snow-covered tree, as the bird had instructed.  The bird asked for some seeds before starting, but the squirrel refused outright.  What the squirrel didn’t know was that this was his lucky day because the bird was desperately hungry and was about to impart a great gift, albeit reluctantly, if the squirrel were smart enough to sit and listen.

“Now sit where you are very silently,” said the bird, “and do not move.  Just sit and watch.”
“What are we watching for?” asked the squirrel.
“Sit silently and watch!”

And this is what they saw.  The world was very silent and still.  No other animals were around.  Even the wind had found other things to do.  The sky was gray and snow was falling.  Everything was cold and white and silent.  There was no sound, no voice, no hubbub of the woods.  There was nothing but snow-covered trees and snowy fields and snow falling gently from the sky.  Everywhere there was snow, snow, snow.

“The winter takes its time,” the bird said, “as it is in no rush.  The snow flakes fall ever so slowly, falling and drifting, softly landing like the tiniest of down feathers.  They are not hurried.  There is no rush.”

The squirrel looked at the bird and just blinked his eyes, not understanding.  The bird sighed and rolled his eyes and continued.

“There is no rush,” said the bird, “but there is no stopping it either.  The tiny flakes are ever so tiny, but they are relentless in their pillow-soft onslaught.  They fall and they fall and they fall.  They do not ask permission, but their ways are so quiet that no one notices what they are doing.”

The squirrel cocked his head to one side confusedly, and the bird sighed and continued.

“Just a bit, just a bit, just a bit.  Slowly, slowly, one flake at a time, one thought at a time, building and building.  And suddenly!  Where there was nothing, there is something!  Where there was a void, there is substance.  What was unmanifest is manifest!  One tiny flake at a time.  The entire world has changed completely, incredibly, one tiny flake at a time.”

The squirrel looked at the bird for a long time.  He didn’t completely understand everything the bird had said, but he felt as if he were about to understand, as if he were teetering on the edge of the cliff of knowledge, about to fall into the well of thought.

“I will give you your seeds,” said the squirrel.  He hurried off chattering and scrambling to his home and came back with a nice little sack filled with seeds, which he spilled on the ground and gave to the bird.  The bird gobbled them up quick as lightning.

“And what do you call this wisdom?” asked the squirrel.

“It is the magic of allowing,” said the bird, “of going with the flow, of accepting, of persevering.  It is the wisdom of doing very little and accomplishing incredible feats.  It is the magic of intention.”

“Well, I will think about it when I have more time,” said the squirrel, “but right now I am very busy.”  With that, he scrambled off chattering all the way to his home.

The bird sighed and jumped off into the breeze.  He flew with the current and not against it.

January 29, 2015 - Yggdrasil

The violent wind has blown all the snow off Yggdrasil, the great tree of life that grows in my backyard.  Now another storm comes to envelop it in its fury, but Yggdrasil will still be standing through the nine worlds when the storm has passed.  And it will pass.  The storms, although they may frighten us to death and scar our souls, always pass.  Through it all, Yggdrasil remains, and there at its foot sits Thor in judgment.

There is a squirrel who lives in Yggdrasil.  Actually, there are many squirrels, but there is one in particular who lives in the great tree.  Every day he runs up Yggdrasil to get the news from the eagle who lives up at the very top.  The eagle concerns himself only with what occurs in the higher consciousness of the world, and he tells his secrets to the squirrel.  Then the squirrel runs down the tree and tells the snake who lives at the bottom what the eagle has said, and the snake never seems to like it and tries to pull the squirrel back down and keep him down.  Every day it’s the same thing:  the squirrel runs between the evolution of consciousness and the devolution of the past.  Busy, busy, and always chatting, the squirrel tries to balance his life.

The great tree of life, Yggdrasil.

There are three roots at the base of the great tree in my yard, and they are watered by the Norns (or Fates).  The first root is watered by the well of the past and concerns itself with the primal cause, the origin of everything.  The second root is watered by the well of matter, the source of all experience, which brings wisdom.  The third root is watered by the “rivers of lives” (the kingdoms of nature).  Here are the archetypical substances from which all things are derived.  It is these three roots that feed the great tree, where the serpent slithers, the squirrel runs, and the eagle watches.

Every morning I greet Yggdrasil in my yard, as you greet it in your own yard.  Every day I face the storms of life, enlisting my higher consciousness to help me understand my possibilities or my more basic nature to guard my life and wants and desires.  Back and forth my decisions run between what is ultimately best for my evolution and what is personally needed and wanted by me in the here and now.  Thor watches my struggles and judges their worthiness.  He weighs my creations on the scales of the three roots and tells me when I have made something worth giving to others.  It is exhausting work but worth it in the end, I think.

January 28, 2015 - Divine Favor

Yesterday I said, “If we are saved, if we live through it, if we make it to the other side, we rejoice in our good fortune and clever choices and divine favor.”  And here we are at today, having made it through to the other side.  Now the sun sets on a glorious day, and if I hadn’t seen yesterday’s terrible storm with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.  If I had seen only today and not experienced yesterday, I would have said the writer was exaggerating.

Now that I am on the “other side,” shall I rejoice in my good fortune, clever choices, and divine favor?  Yes, I am happy to be alive and to have made it through the terrible storm.  But . . . divine favor?  I am not sure about that.  To the Earth, one day is no better or worse than any other day.  They are all days, and therefore, they are all perfect and exactly as they should be.  It is only people with their subjective egos who think they can decide what is awful and what is glorious, what is divine and what is hellish.

Allow me, then, my imperfections, if only for today.  Saying goodnight to the Earth and the Sun on what I choose to call a strikingly beautiful day gives me cause to celebrate my good fortune and clever choices.  My job, for another day, is to be able to see just as much beauty in the terrible, terrible storm and icy death as I see in the setting sun.  Then, perhaps, I will have deserved divine favor.

The calm after the storm.

January 27, 2015 - Thor's Storm

There was no thunder and no lightning, but you can rest assured that Thor rode his chariot through Maine today, pulled by his two goats, Tanngrisnir (teeth barer) and Tanngnjóstr (teeth grinder).  He smashed his terrible hammer, Mjölnir, everywhere he went!  We all huddled in our homes in fear, listening to the smashing and snarling and grinding outside.  We sat powerless, wondering what our fate would be.

The wind whipped up into a ferocious frenzy, with hands of steel that ripped at shingles and tore at shutters.  Snow piled in huge drifts, smothering everything in its path, only to be whipped up yet again by the wind and dropped elsewhere.  And all the while, that steely cold hand kept creeping down my chimney, threatening to put my fire out, laughing at my attempt to control my own environment.

Like leaves in a hurricane, all life trembles before the terrible storm.  Leaves in a hurricane, waiting for Thor to finish relentlessly crushing his enemies, helpless in his path of monstrous destruction.  If we are saved, if we live through it, if we make it to the other side, we rejoice in our good fortune and clever choices and divine favor.  If we die, we are humbled and chastised by the power of Nature.  All the while, the Norns spin their threads of fate and water the roots of Yggdrasil, the great tree of the world whose branches reach into the heavens and whose roots delve into the waters of the Underworld.  And we think that we can bargain with that?

Thor's hammer rips the shores of Maine!

January 26, 2015 - Weather Prediction

We are told by our weather forecasters that a terrible snowstorm is coming our way.  We are told to prepare for it, to be ready.  We are told to buy the things we need, to make sure our animals are okay, to make sure we have “extras” of everything.  Most people who listen to these warnings can avoid serious difficulty, but I found myself wondering today what people did before they had weathermen to tell them when a storm was approaching.  How did they know to prepare?  How did they know what was coming?

For all practical purposes, this day started out beautifully and stayed that way well up to the early afternoon.  The sky only showed some low lying clouds and a few cloud wisps here and there.  The sun was shining brilliantly.  Of course, it was cold because it’s winter, but that’s to be expected.  So how would I have known that a snowstorm was approaching?  That’s what I set out to find today, and here are a few notes I took along the way.

First, I can say that I did not see one squirrel--not even one.  Usually, they are active on a sunny day, seeing what they can steal from their bird friends.  But I never saw one at all.  Birds were also pretty scarce.  They usually come to my feeders constantly, but I didn’t see many at all.  You’d think that they would be trying to eat as much as possible if a storm were approaching, but the opposite was true.  They were hidden.

We went from brilliant sunshine to total gray in less than 15 minutes.

You’ve heard the old saying?  “Seagull, seagull, sit on the sand.  It’s never good weather when you’re on land.”  I think it’s a very true saying, and I did see some gulls on land.  They don’t like it when the wind picks up too much, which it did, or when the ocean gets too choppy.  I also found a spider web in my house that didn’t have a spider.  I just cleaned in that area a couple of days ago and there was no web then, so I know the spider abandoned its new web and went looking for better shelter.  They say it’s because spiders can sense a drop in the atmospheric pressure.  I don’t know if it’s true, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

And speaking of a drop in the atmospheric pressure, I had the devil of a time today trying to keep my fire going.  The pressure kept messing with the smoke coming out of the chimney, forcing it to curl back downwards.  I had several downdrafts I had to take care of, and my house was pretty smoky.  I guess the biggest clue of the atmospheric drop, though, was not in the chimney smoke but in how all of my old injuries felt.  Everything ached, and whenever I don’t have a spring in my step, I know something’s going to happen weather-wise.

Finally, the wind came in from the northeast today, and it always seems to bring snow with it in winter when it comes from that direction.  I mentioned that to the farmer up the road, and he said his cows knew it for sure.  He said whenever they swish their tales to the east, we’re going to get snow, and he said they’d been swishing all morning.  Well, if it’s good enough for cows, it’s good enough for me.

I think I should pay more attention to approaching winter storms.  In spring, summer, and fall it’s easy.  I always know when a storm is approaching in the warmer seasons.  I can smell it in the air.  I know that sounds a little loopy, but it’s true.  I can smell it instantly.  Winter is trickier, though.  I’ve got plenty of food and things stored in my house, so I am not worried.  But it might still be a good idea to be able to know a winter storm is approaching as easily as I know when one is coming in spring, summer, or fall.  We might not always have a weatherman to give us the day’s prediction.

By mid afternoon, the sun had vanished, and rather quickly, I might add.  The sky turned very gray very fast, and I couldn’t find a patch of blue anywhere.  It all happened in less than 15 minutes.  We went from brilliant sunshine to total gloom.  The squirrels, birds, cows, gulls, and spider were right, after all.  There’s a storm coming in!

January 25, 2015 - Snow Dance

SNOW DANCE

pretty ladies dressed in white

their green dresses tossed aside now

dancing to a song we cannot hear

with a partner we cannot see

in an eternal dance we all know

across a frozen dance floor

kisses are stolen

promises are made

hearts are broken

and then forgotten in the spring

January 24, 2015 - Ocean Tides

The storm was just starting when I went down to the shore, and my intention was to get some beautiful photos of the snow.  No one was around, of course, and I’d forgotten my cellphone once again.  Of course.  I thought I might walk along the beach for a bit, well, more like climb the cliffs of the beach for a bit, but the ocean thought otherwise and decided to foil my plans.  It appears the tide was at its zenith just as I arrived, and it didn’t look very friendly today.

Do you ever think about tides?  I think about them too much.  The Earth’s gravitational force pulls inward toward its center, and this keeps the ocean water confined to the surface.  But there are other forces out there.  The moon and the sun also have their own gravitational force and center of mass.  They also pull at the water and drag it right beneath their own celestial bodies.  Of course, the Earth isn’t standing still; it’s spinning and rotating, and so the pull of the celestial bodies (which are also spinning and revolving) changes position.  And that’s how we get tides.

High tide at Land's End, Bailey Island, Maine.

The positions of maximum attraction of combined lunar and solar gravitational forces cause a heaping action and give us a high tide.  A compensating maximum withdrawal of water from these positions gives us a low tide.  It goes back and forth, rather like a swinging pendulum.  This pendulum motion is caused by the daily rotation of the Earth.  Of course, the sun and the moon are not the only celestial bodies out there.  They just happen to be the closest celestial bodies, and so they have a readily identifiable effect on the Earth.  However, other celestial bodies do have an effect on the Earth and its tides but in a much more subtle way.

Over 50% of the human body is composed of water, men a little more so than women.  The brain and heart are composed of 73% water.  So if the Earth and the moon and the sun can have a push and a pull on the waters of the ocean, surely they can have a push and a pull on the water within us?  The effects are much more subtle, but make no mistake that they are there.  This is why many people take astrology very seriously, as well they should.  Yes, there’s a lot of quackery out there about it, but there is no denying that celestial bodies have an effect on us.  The question is, what effect?

I guess it’s a good thing, though, that there just happens to be a big lip right on the edge of the shore.  Otherwise, the tide would come in and just wash right over the whole Earth, and we can’t have that.  And just like the “big lip” of the shore, we humans have skin that helps to keep our own water in check.  Who knew we were so similar to our planet?  It’s almost as if we were made in its image.

January 23, 2015 - The Old Fisherman

An old fisherman decided to go out ice fishing to try to bring home enough food for his family.  The summer crops had done poorly, and the fall hunting produced only marginal results.  During years like this, it was always important to catch as many fish as possible in the winter so that his family would not go hungry.  He had always provided for them and would do so for as long as he could.

But each year it seemed to be a little harder.  It started with him feeling a bit more tired than usual.  That progressed to some aches and pains which increased yearly.  Added to that, he found himself catching more colds which lingered longer than usual.  Finally, he began to have a perpetual limp.  Still, he rallied himself cheerfully and told his family that he would be back with a big catch of fish.

So he dragged his old ice shack out across the frozen lake.  Once he had it set up properly, he found the perfect spot to drill a hole.  And how did he know where the perfect spot was?  Decades of experience guided him.  He knew the lake well because he had cared for it since he was a boy.  He used his spud and chiseled the hole nice and wide and kept it skimmed of any ice and slush that wanted to form over it.  He set his line and put a flag on it to know when he had a fish.  By the time he’d done all of this, his old arthritic hands were very cold and sore.  He put them in his old woolen mittens and then set about making a fire in the small stove he had.  The ice was very thick in the area he had chosen, and he did not worry about any warmth from the stove causing any problems.  Experience and old age had taught him where the thick ice was and where the thin ice waited treacherously.

The old ice shack.

Sure enough, he began to catch fish.  Each time he caught one, he had to remove his mittens and subject his hands to the brutal cold of the water, but he reminded himself that his family was worth it.  He placed the fish in a large old bucket that he kept outside the shack, and slowly but surely, the bucket began to fill.  The sight of it made his heavy heart lighten because he knew his family would have enough food to eat.

Finally, he’d caught quite a lot of fish and decided he would catch one or two more and that would be it.  He was not a greedy fisherman and never took too many fish, only what he needed.  So he set his line again and sat down on his old rickety bench.  The flag didn’t move for quite a while, and his eyes began to grow heavy.  He thought maybe he’d close them just for a minute, and once he did, he fell fast asleep.

Unfortunately, in this world there are those who do not care about the hard work and effort of others and, in fact, exploit it.  While the old fisherman was sleeping, two young men crept across the ice to the shack and stole all of his fish, emptying them from the old man’s bucket into their own.  They gleefully ran back to their own shack on the other side of the lake and sat down to have some wine.  Now that they had plenty of fish, they didn’t need to work anymore.  Their own hole had hardly produced any fish at all, due most likely to lack of experience and patience.

Back at the old man’s shack, he finally woke up frozen half to the bone with his fire nearly gone out.  He was angry at himself for falling asleep, but there was nothing that could be done for it now.  He decided he would call it a day and go back home with what he had.  Imagine his surprise when he opened the door to his shack and found all of his fish gone and the bucket empty.  He looked around and saw nothing but a few other shacks here and there on the lake.  No one was out.  A great sorrow overtook him and he went back in the shack and wept.  But he could only cry so long, and when he was cried out, he decided he would have to try again, hoping for even a few fish as some would be better than none.

So he built up his fire as best as he could, cleared the slush out of the hole, and continued fishing.  This time he kept the bucket inside his shack.  By now, he was so cold that his teeth were chattering uncontrollably and he was making stupid mistakes, such as allowing his mittens to get soaked and forgetting to put a flag on his line.  Each mistake cost him time and fish, but he had to keep going because he needed more fish.  Yet he was so tired that he felt his eyes growing very heavy . . .

The old man was roused quickly by the violent flapping of the flag on his line.  It must be a very big fish, he thought.  He pulled and pulled, and suddenly the largest fish he had ever seen in his life burst through the hole!  It popped up, reached a fin up and pulled the hook out of its mouth, and then propped itself on both fins on either side of the hole.  The old man just stared at it with his mouth open, but he didn’t have to stare long because soon his ears were more surprised than his eyes!

“How dare you be so greedy!” the fish yelled at him.  The old man just stuttered wordless syllables.  “Haven’t you had enough?” the fish continued.  “Are you so selfish that you must have every fish in the lake??”

“No!” the old man sputtered.  “I intended to leave a long time ago!”
“Is that so?” sneered the fish.  “Yet here you are still greedily fishing!”

“No, no, I’m so very cold and tired.  I wanted to leave a while ago.”

“LIAR!!  Greedy human!  I will take you down now to the bottom of the lake.  I have some friends who want to meet you, and they’re hungry, too!” spat the fish.

At this, the old man began to cry again.  He was so tired and his hands were in so much pain and he felt so feverish that he simply didn’t know what to do anymore.  He sat down and just cried and cried.  The fish waited silently.  When the old man had cried himself out yet again, he picked up the bucket and brought it to the fish.  There were only five fish inside it, but he offered them to the fish nonetheless.

“And where are all the others??” demanded the fish.

“Stolen,” sobbed the old man.  “I’m old and I’m tired and I’m stupid.  And I left the bucket outside my shack, and somebody stole all my fish.  Now my family is going to starve.  There’ll be no fish and no me to try again another day.”  Again he offered the bucket to the fish.

“Stolen, you say?”

“Yes, I just had to close my eyes for a few seconds,” the old man whimpered.  “I was just so tired.  I swear to you I would never have taken so many.  I have fished here all my life, and I have always fished respectfully and never taken more than I needed.  And I have always cared for this lake and kept it clean and tidied the shores.”  He started crying again.

The fish regarded the old man quietly for a while.  Finally, he said, “Yes, I know who you are.  Down at the bottom of the lake, we know all of the villagers.  I never would have pegged you for being so greedy and cruel, but when I saw so many fish being taken through your hole, I was enraged.  But now I think I believe you.  You will wait here for my return.”  On that note, the fish dove back down through the hole.

The old man sat blinking at the empty hole, not knowing what to think.  He stared at it for a long time.  It was getting late and even colder.  He built up his fire with what wood he had left and tried to dry his mittens.  His eyes grew heavy yet again, and before he knew it, he had closed them and drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, the huge fish silently swam through the lake, visiting each ice shack very nimbly.  Some of the shacks were empty.  Some had inhabitants with a few fish in their buckets.  Most of the fishermen were old, although there were a few young men as well.  All were quietly fishing and trying to keep warm.  All but one shack, that is.  One shack contained two young men who were making quite a ruckus, laughing, yelling, and throwing garbage into the hole they had drilled earlier.  They laughed and talked, and eventually one of them mentioned having gotten all the fish from the stupid old codger on the other side of the lake.  Both of them burst into peals of laughter at that.

While they drank and drank their wine, the fish was under the ice pushing at it with all his might.  He started near the hole and then continued outward in a circle, pushing and pushing.  Finally, he heard what he’d been waiting and working a while for:  CRACK!  The ice cracked in several directions all at the same time.  The men jumped up quickly, but both lost their footing on the slippery ice.  In ten seconds, it was all over.  The shack, the men, their equipment--everything--fell into the lake as a huge gaping hole appeared where the fish had been strategically pushing.

The men screamed and yelled, but not for long.  It was dark and very cold and windy.  The shack was destroyed and they were in the lake, unable to get a hold of any ice on the surface.  Every time they tried, more just cracked off.  Soon, very soon, hypothermia overcame them both.  They stopped yelling.  Then they stopped moving.  Then they stopped living.

The fish swam by silently and grabbed the bucket of frozen fish.  He swam back across the lake to the old man’s shack.  He popped up through the hole and dumped all of the fish into the old man’s bucket.  The old man himself was fast asleep.  The fish just laughed and upon leaving made quite a ruckus to awaken the old fisherman.  The old man jumped up quickly, confused and wary.  There in front of him was his bucket filled to the brim with fish!  He could not believe his eyes!  Joyfully, he grabbed the bucket and pulled it to himself.  He put his mittens on and warmed his hands by the dying fire.  Then he grabbed his equipment and his fish and off he went across the lake toward his house, frozen half to death by now, but he knew he would make it.

He laughed to himself when he remembered the crazy dream he had of the big fish who had come through his hole and threatened to drag him to the bottom of the lake.  He knew he had never been greedy with fish or in hunting any animal for that matter, and he knew he never would be.  He knew there was a delicate balance between man and nature.  He knew it was his job to take care of the land and the water as best as he could, while also providing for his family.  Surely, he thought, somewhere and somehow that has to count for something.

January 22, 2015 - Maine Wool

The first water-powered woolen mill in North America was built in 1791 along the Collyer Brook in what is now Gray, Maine.  It was difficult to do so because woolen companies in England prohibited the colonies from producing goods, and the woolen guilds also kept their wool-making technology a jealously-guarded secret.  Samuel Mayall smuggled plans for machinery out of England in bales of cloth that were meant for trade with Indians.  When the woolen guilds in England learned of this, they tried to kill him at least twice, unsuccessfully.  The Mayall mill stayed in operation and grew into a large complex that stayed in business until 1902.

Once established, many towns in Maine followed suit, including Dexter, Corinna, Camden, Kezar Falls, Pittsfield, Phillips, Freedom Falls, Winthrop, Oakland, Sangerville, etc.  Many of these towns had several woolen mills operating at once.  Thus, Maine became known for the finest and best wool in the nation.  Sadly, by the 1970s nearly all of Maine’s woolen mills had closed and gone overseas in search of low-cost labor.  Wool quality has suffered accordingly.

Sheep relax on the frozen ground, warm and protected by their wool.

But every cloud has its silver lining, and the people of Maine are hardworking and clever.  The entrepreneurial spirit is still quite alive, and small textile industries are making a come back.  They’re not huge companies but are instead cottage industries using not only the fiber from sheep but from alpacas and goats as well.  There are spinning groups cropping up everywhere teaching and enjoying the art of spinning yarn by hand, and I have done a little spinning myself.  It’s an oddly absorbing task that is relaxing and productive at the same time.  What to do with the yarn once spun?  Knitting and crocheting have become popular again; the old becomes new.  I have crocheted most of my life, and many of the gifts I give are crocheted items.

I look at many of the old industries in Maine, and I often think sadly of how the mighty have fallen.  Yet when I see the new cottage industries appearing everywhere and people learning old skills and making them new again with today’s materials, I know why Maine has always been and will always be free and independent.  People often come to Maine to find themselves, thinking they will relax in the woods and take it easy.  They soon learn that independence comes at a dear price, but it is well worth every cent.  Reinventing yourself is a Maine tradition that has never gone out of style.

January 21, 2015 - Bats

Do you keep bat houses?  Here’s a really old one in a rather spooky-looking tree, which just adds to the folklore already surrounding bats.  It’s the old style with a small hole at the top instead of an entry at the bottom.  The bottom entry is preferred by the bats.  They like to crawl up holes made by dead pieces of bark partially hanging off trees.  If you have a bat house with slats at the bottom, the bats can inch up inside and huddle together for warmth.

Many people think bats are ugly and horrible creatures, but they’re really not so bad.  One bat can eat more than a thousand insects in just one night, and that’s very helpful to farmers and gardeners and anyone who doesn’t want to be harassed by insects.  While the chickadee is the official Maine State Bird, many people joke that it really should be the mosquito because we have many swampy wooded areas just infested with them.  If you’ve ever been eaten alive by mosquitoes, you might find that you have a new appreciation for bats.

An old bat house in a tree.

Let’s face it.  Bats are not as pretty as birds, not even close, but that’s because they’re not birds.  Bats are mammals.  They are the only mammals capable of true and sustained flight.  They don’t lay eggs; females give birth, usually to just one bat.  The birthrate is slow, but they can live to be 20 years old!  Most of them eat insects, although the larger ones eat fruit and are very important in pollinating flowers and dispersing seeds.  Yes, there is such a thing as the “vampire bat,” a bat that feeds on blood.  They are found in Mexico, Central America, and South America.  I’m kind of glad they’re not here in Maine.

Bats can carry diseases such as rabies, and because of this, it’s not a good idea to try to make a pet out of a bat.  Keep your bat houses away from your living space, and never try to pick up a bat if you find one.  The very fact that you’ve found one usually means that something is amiss because they are nocturnal beings that stay hidden.  But there are lots of animals and insects that carry diseases, although it is always the poor bat that is blamed and feared.

I feel sorry for bats because people hate them so much.  Throughout history, they’ve been associated with dark arts and bad witches and denizens of the underworld.  They’re really just warm-blooded creatures (not so unlike ourselves in terms of social nature) that just happen to be a little on the homely side.  Chances are good that you have bats living all around you but you just don’t know about it.  I like them and try to encourage their presence, albeit away from my house.  If deer, rabbits, raccoons, minks, fishers, and coyotes (to name just a few), can walk through my backyard all the time, as evidenced by their prints in the snow, surely a little bat or two can share the space as well.

January 20, 2015 - Sun Pillar

A small sun pillar is my reward for hailing Ra on his journey to the underworld tonight.  A sun pillar is an optical phenomenon that occurs when sunlight reflects on ice crystals with somewhat horizontal parallel planar surfaces.  They drift quickly back and forth as they fall downward.  Usually the crystals are associated with very high clouds, but for some reason, these lower clouds are dropping their little crystals.  The sun has to be very low on the horizon or just below the horizon for a pillar to form.  The reflection on the crystals makes a beam that extends five to ten degrees beyond the sun, and voila, a sun pillar is formed.

Sun pillars don’t last very long, maybe 10 minutes or so, sometimes only a few seconds.  This one was visible for about a minute.  I’m taking it as a sign of good luck.  I think Ra’s chariot must be very grand, indeed, to elicit such beauty.  Tonight he fights in the underworld and will drive Apep away when he returns at dawn tomorrow morning.  Will he bring another sun pillar then, I wonder?  I wouldn’t be surprised.

A sun pillar appears as Ra heads to the underworld.

January 19, 2015 - Pangaea

The January thaw has arrived, and 35 degree (F) weather seems almost like a heat wave.  What would have made us shiver in the early fall now makes us want to pull our coats off and go for long walks.  I kept my coat on because I did not want to fall victim to what my mother used to call “fool’s weather.”  It claims victims every year with people running out dressed lightly, only to end up sick in a day or so from too much exposure to cold.  Ah, but cold doesn’t cause illness, you say, germs do.  And I say cold plays a much greater part than we might imagine.

But I went for a nice long walk along the Androscoggin River.  I noticed how quickly the ice breaks up and begins to drift and the water flows again.  Of course, it will freeze again when the January thaw is over.  We haven’t even reached February yet--the true test of strength.  I’ve always said that if you can make it through February in Maine, you can make it through anything.

Pangaea breaks and continental drift begins.

There it was, though.  Do you see the Pangaea of the ice?  It broke apart like a large puzzle piece.  As I gazed at it, I immediately thought of Pangaea, that supercontinent that existed millions of years ago on the Earth.  Pangaea was formed when many continents (no longer in existence) smashed into one another, creating many of our current mountain ranges throughout the world and making a huge land mass.  Thus Pangaea was born, and there is good evidence for it having existed, as well as other prior supercontinents.  Then in the Jurassic period, the great Pangaea began to rift and separate.  It took over a hundred million years to finally do so, but eventually it broke up and continental drift occurred, leaving us with the Earth we see today.

So there is my Pangaea of ice on the Androscoggin River.  It will drift and then collide with other giant pieces of ice, forming little ice mountains.  Then my Pangaea will freeze again into a super-ice-continent, only to drift yet again.  And it all happens--the formation and destruction and reconfiguration--in the span of a few months, the macrocosm and the microcosm perfectly mirroring one another on a grander or lesser scale as the case may be, but certainly repeating the same process.  It’s one of the secrets of creation.  He with ears, let him hear.

The colliding of ice sheets has caused ice mountains to form.

January 18, 2015 - Rubies

“Never fall in love with a sailor,” she was told again and again, because his life is governed by the sea and not by the laws of man.  Over and over she was told of the many widows of sailors.  Some of their husbands had been lost at sea.  Some had been shipwrecked and drowned.  Still others found foreign ports more inviting, and their wives were as good as widowed.  No, never fall in love with a sailor.

But she did.  She found a handsome young man, a young sailor who visited her port often enough.  She was warned against him, but she did not heed the warning.  He was warned, too, not to lose his heart to a woman of the land because then she would take him from the sea.  But young love is the strongest love, and who’s to say if it’s right or wrong in the end?  So they fell madly in love.  He brought her small gifts from other ports.  She brought him news of the land.  Whenever he got shore leave, they were inseparable.  If only life could continue exactly as it is when it reaches that pinnacle, that one day, of perfection.  But that is not what life does.

So they made plans for marriage, and he would leave the sea.  They would have a home together and children and eventually grandchildren.  He would find a new profession and he would do his best to love and serve her all his life.  She would make their house into a home and bear children and ease his loneliness.  It’s what all relationships eventually come to:  They are either cemented or released.  The day of perfection cannot last forever, after all.

Rubies.

“I will go abroad one more time,” he told her, “and I will work hard and bring you back rubies and gems and enough for us to make our start.  I can do this.  I know a way.  There is much treasure to be found in the world.”  She did not want rubies or gems or any kind of money.  She just wanted him, but she wanted him to be happy, too.  He told her he couldn’t be happy unless he knew he was secure and could provide for her.  He wanted her to live like a queen.  So she reluctantly let him go and waited for his return.

She waited many days down by the ocean for him to return.  Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and still her sailor had not returned.  She did not lose faith, however, and she continued to wait.  Perhaps he had found the rubies after all and was bringing them back in a ship of his own making.  So she waited and waited, and the months turned into years.

Many things happened in the lives of those around her.  Most of her friends got married.  Some moved away or enlisted in foreign wars or went off on their own treasure hunts.  A terrible illness crept through the port one year, and both of her parents died.  New town mayors came and went, and new children were born and grew.  She worked at various jobs, sometimes as a waitress, sometimes as a teacher, always with her eye to the sea, waiting for her lover’s return.

Time went on and on, as it has a habit of doing, and one day she was very old.  Still, she went down to the port every night and looked out expectantly into the ocean.  He had been delayed so very long.  One night a young girl came and stood beside her.  They were quiet for a while, but eventually the young girl began to talk.  She told the old woman of a young sailor she had met and how handsome he was and how she wanted to marry him, but everyone was warning her against him.  But what did they know?  They didn’t understand at all, she explained to the old woman.

The old woman just smiled a very sad and faraway smile.  The young girl told the old woman that she had seen her down at the port all the time in the evenings, and she asked why she came every night.  The old woman regarded the young girl with wise, old eyes and said, “I come every night for my rubies.”  She pointed out to the clouds made red by the setting sun and explained that they looked like rubies to her.  The young girl smiled and remarked at the blood-red beauty of the sky, and she told the old woman that rubies were her favorite gem and that someday she planned on having many and hoped her young sailor would bring them to her.

“But rubies are found in the earth, my dear, not in the sea,” the old woman said.  “Turn your eyes to the land.  The land is where you’ll find your treasure, safe and secure.  Any treasure that goes out to sea will become lost at sea because the sea is always hungry for life.”

“But what about the adventure, the excitement, the glory of sea travel and a handsome young sailor?” the young girl asked.

“What about an old woman, tired and sad, who waits at the shore--her only rubies the red clouds from the setting sun, and a life lost in waiting?” the old woman responded.

The young girl looked at the old woman in a strange way, nodded politely, said goodbye and left.  The old woman watched her and wondered what she might do with the advice she was given.  Then she turned back to her rubies.

January 17, 2015 - Woodland Friends

I have lots of bird friends, field sparrows in particular.  They come to visit me all the time.  Yes, I provide food, but even if I didn’t, I think they would come.  They’re not very afraid of me, and I am trying to train them to eat from my hand.  I have trained a couple of squirrels already, so why not birds as well?  I love having company.

This is one of the good things about winter.  Life slows down a lot.  The busyness of summer cannot distract me now.  The lack of natural food forces different kinds of animals to open up a bit, to trust a bit, to do things outside of their nature.  It’s quiet now, so we can hear one another’s thoughts.  The birds know I want them here, so they come.  Their chatter keeps me company, although sometimes I have to tell them to keep it down a bit.

Someone once called me a recluse.  Obviously, she did not know about the birds or the squirrels.  She did not know about the rabbits or the deer or Old Jack.  And she did not know about the Good Folk of the woods, the peapod pixies in particular.  A recluse?  Me?  My place is always busy and open to new friends.  The fact that most of my friends are not human should not come into play here.  My heart is big enough for everything.

Daily visitors to the homestead.

January 16, 2015 - Giant Fireball

It had been cloudy for most of the day, as usual, and it was threatening to snow again.  Just as I rounded the bend to reach the summit of Bradbury Mountain, a giant ball of fire appeared in the sky.  It had been hiding behind a great cloud, waiting like a cat for its chance to pounce, so I did not know it was there.  I was cold and tired because it was a lot harder to scale that mountain (just a hill, really) in winter than in summer, and one mile of walking seemed like five.  I wasn’t prepared for the fireball.

I was looking down at the ground, trying to keep my footing sure because I had already fallen once.  As usual, I had forgotten my cellphone at home, so I didn’t want to get myself into something from which I couldn’t easily escape.  Suddenly, my legs felt warmer and the scenery jumped out at me, and that’s when I looked up and my eyes were literally blinded by the ball of fire.  I fumbled for my camera and only just managed to get this shot in after it showed itself.  It was even more interesting when it was only half way out of the cloud, but alas, I was not fast enough for it.

It seems the sun has some competition in this mysterious ball of fire, whatever it is, although I doubt the sun even knows anything about it since he seems to have abandoned us a couple of months ago anyhow.  Well, all is fair in love and war.  I’ve decided to become friends with the giant fireball, and to hell with the sun.

A mysterious ball of fire glows in the sky.

January 15, 2015 - Secret Hideout

When I was a kid, I used to search everywhere for abandoned sheds or barns, abandoned shelters and even box cars, or abandoned anything, really.  If it was abandoned, I wanted to know about it.  I can tell you that I found some pretty neat things, including an old hideout of a bootlegger.  A lot of people will leave an old structure up out in their woods to preserve the “footprint” in case they ever want to build again, or simply because they’ve forgotten or never knew that the shelter was there in the first place.  Some people have some illegally built old sheds in the woods that they’d rather not have to pay taxes on or tear down.

The forgotten ones are the best ones to find because no one is even thinking about them.  I’d make each tiny shed or hut into a potential command center from which I would operate my spying of the woods.  I took my job very seriously then and still do.  I would also sneak anything I could from my mother’s house to try to turn the place into a little home.  So if my mother threw anything out (or anyone’s mother threw anything out), I would pilfer whatever looked semi-good and bring it to my new hideout.  I had an old broom, so I’d sweep and clean all my places out.  Then I’d sit there and plan how I might live through the winter in one of the forgotten sheds and maybe plot the revolution while I was at it.

Very nice, but not the best candidate for a secret hideout.

I guess I didn’t realize just how much I’d need to eat or where I’d store the food or how I’d get it.  I could trap and fish a little, but I blew that up in my mind into a whole supermarket.  I would also sneak food from home and store it in the shelters.  I had a couple of old pans for cooking that I found in the trash, and of course, I knew how to start and keep a fire.  Oh, the wood I would store up around those places!  I also had a couple of old broken crates for chairs and tables, but the thought of a bed never occurred to me.  I did have curtains from old sheets people threw out.  And, above all, I had my little transistor radio with me at all times.

Occasionally I’d get found out and evicted by the owner.  Then I’d sneak back and get found out again, and then he’d board the place up and put “keep out” signs everywhere.  That’s why I always had more than one place, you see.  But what usually happened was that the weather simply got too cold.  A fire outside is one thing, but I had no stove inside, although I had half-rusted barrels I wanted to convert into a stove but never quite figured out how to do it.  Eventually, I’d take to burying myself in the snow with just my head visible, and while it was warmer than sitting in a frozen old broken-down shed, it certainly limited my movement and wasn’t as much fun.

So I’d have to come home then and try to figure something out.  Soon the serious part of winter would set in and I couldn’t even get to most of the shelters anymore, so I’d sit back and plan and wait for spring again.  Each spring, I’d assess the damage of my current places and scour the woods for new places or even build a few primitive overhangs with old dead saplings and torn-up tarps.  The animals would thwart me by finding my food and eating it, and occasionally, the worst thing would happen:  Another human would find my stuff and steal most of it and trash the rest.  That always bothered me the most.  The animals I could forgive; the humans, never.

I’m not sure when I stopped looking for new command posts or building new secret hideouts, but eventually I did.  And now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I stopped.  It was the most fun a kid could ever have!  So when I go walking through the woods or driving down an unpopulated road, it’s just a natural reflex for me to keep my eyes open for potential hideouts.  The one you see here in the picture would have been like the Hilton compared to some of the places I had, and it would have been too risky as well because it’s not hidden enough in the woods.  I probably would have passed this one by.  But a couple of nice little sheet curtains in there wouldn’t hurt.  Hey, you never know.