Smothered
Sagadahoc Stories #101: 7/21/99
Smothered
Smothered in hot blankets. Too logy to make sense. You're dripping by nine in the morning, crying for mercy by noon. Who needs a tropical vacation? Just come to the new Maine in July. She certainly can can-can.
In Jonesport they used to say it took a five day heat wave to
run the tourists all the way to Washington County. If that's true,
the upalongs must be bumper to bumper across Cape Breton by now.
They're thick enough here, like deer flies, and the press photos
of Popham look like Jones Beach. About the only sensible approach
is total immersion, and we've been commuting daily to the causeway
bridge on Pleasant Pond to wet the animals.
Beach Scene
Beach Chairs
There's scant relief for the crops, though. The corn isn't happy,
but it's going into tassel, spuds and garlic tops dying back.
The hay boys are finishing their first cut. Peas are by, but beans
are coming on strong, cukes getting fat, and the zukes are out
of control. Tomatoes are blushing. It's raspberry and blackberry
time, and the Mexicans are starting to rake blueberries on the
barrens. Used to be cash work for the local kids and Indians,
but we're too affluent for stoop labor now, and there are more
Latinos than Micmacs in the fields.
It was in another life that four of us pooled our raking money and bought that 52 Pontiac in Rockland. 25 bucks apiece, and I didn't even have a license. We'd find some older guy to buy us beer, then cruise all night on the back roads. Start raking at dawn, and knock off at noon. Go jump in Megunticook, or some quarry. Sleep in the shade, then do the loop in Limestone City until we scored again. Now Rockland is full of art galleries, a beater will cost you a couple grand, the cops are unrelenting, and what's the Spanish for blueberries?
They're still tasty, though, although a lot of the local heaths
seem to be going back to sweetfern and Queen Anne's lace. All
those chemical-induced bumper crops downeast may have glutted
the market, and squeezed out the small operators up this way.
If they aren't willing to play eco-roulette with Valpar and the
like. We'll have to go over into Knox County to get our winter
berries this year.
Carrot Shed
Morning Mist
I've also eaten a little crow this week. Mike and Peggy brought
their Seadoo to town, and took us jetskiing. Waaaaaaow. Mike raced
me up the Cathance to the second middle ground and back in a blink,
where I'd spend half an hour getting there on skis, or rowing.
Then he gave me the full treatment. Wave jumping above the bridge,
he backed her down too quick, and the wake rolled us over. Turned
turtle. We got her righted, and fired right back up. Didn't even
lose my hat and sunglasses. Talk about total immersion. It takes
about 10 minutes to get to Bath, or you can get dunked immediately.
Fast fun in the too too hot.
Turns out that the engines on these Seadoos are made by Rotax,
the same outfit in Austria that makes the mills on the ultralights
Mike and Olivier are flying. I hope their's don't get as wet.
Right now the Millennial Adventurers are in Labrador, waiting
for a break in the weather to make their jump to Greenland. They
ended up spending 10 days in Rockland completing their transoceanic
outfitting, testing their raft and survival gear in Penobscot
Bay. By the time they took off they sounded like the rest of us
Summer People, talking about coming back to stay a while. Easy
to get touched in the head on the coast in July.
Town Float
Brooklyn Light
Flocking to the coast, or thinking about it, puts the bulge in
our pocket hereabout, so we shouldn't complain. Everyone acts
like they're part of the New Economy come Summer. Housing starts
are pouring into the forms, and the contractors are on the hop
along shore. Max is warehousing cabinets for coastal chalets,
and the subs are straight out with the summer complaint.
Signs of economic activity even ruffle the waters in this burg.
Sam the Florist has finally gotten a permit to open a shop at
the corner of the Brown's Point Road. The neighbors blocked his
application for years, as if it were a crime to replace Danny's
gas station with a flower shop.
Danny's Garage
Norma has leased the Slate Shop building at the landing as an
office for Merrymeeting Expeditions, moored her tour boat in the
river, and (reportedly) made a deal with Kayak Mike to run paddling
workshops. Norma's boat is called "Jacataqua" after the fictional
Lady Sachem of Swan Island, who falls in love with Aaron Burr
in "Oliver Wiswell." When I suggested her boat needed a nice busty
figurehead of an Indian Maiden, Norma thought not.
Crews have been clearcutting a right of way across upper Bowdoinham
for the new gas pipeline, leaving some of its neighbors dismayed.
The struggle for "No New Corridors" was a complete failure, and
the hype that natural gas is going to be our post-nuclear salvation
won the day. Never mind that the grail of cheap gas for Maine
looks tarnished. None of the promised utility connections have
happened, and the gas plant on Sears Island has laid off workers.
This is strictly a through road, and should we be surprised? At
least some loggers got a quick windfall.
Gas Line Cut
Monarch Alights
Out along local roads chicory and golden rod are high, Queen Anne's
lace and purple loosestrife mark the highs and lows. The deep
green woods are now bleached, and fitful winds silver the pale
trees. Morning mist is heavy on the river, and CC is wet with
dew on our early rambles. The Monarchs are with us, lighting on
coneflowers, and sticking a proboscis in. Folks tell me the birds
are making a fine racket this year, with all sorts of exotic songs,
but I'm deaf in those freqs, and only see the odd flutter of wings.
I'm trying to flutter my wings on these Festival gateposts, with
some success. Yesterday I gave the moose his first erection. He
grew all out of proportion, and now stands around 18 feet tall.
It took three men and a boy to get him vertical. I used a length
of 1/4 inch chain on his chainsaw, and some nylon cord to lace
his Bean boots. I think he's sufficiently foolish for a fair,
and I'm beginning to think of him as "Greenville." His partner,
the Sternmaid, is still in the sketching stage, but not for long.
Festival Moose
Wildes Point Shade
Greenville may be goggle-eyed from the heat, but it finally broke
Monday night. A string of downpours thundered through here, filling
the boat, and relieving the vegetation. We'd been feeling aged
and decrepit, shuffling around in a trance, bemoaning our lost
youth. Then Boreas waved a magic wand, waking us to new enthusiasms.
Now we've had two perfect days in a row. Sunny and dry. Even the
deerflies don't seem such a nuisance. Time to soak it up. Pull
Garlic and new potatoes coming up. Lughnasa is just over the hill.