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The Last Retreat of the Year

 

 

Beautiful Mt. Katahdin

Mt. Katahdin from the top of South Turner Mountain

A long weekend in the Maine woods is a certain way to “take a load off”, as we say here in Maine.  It has the stress release equivalent of a total body massage, incorporating all of the senses and leaves you feeling refreshed in mind and body.

 Years ago, before fibromyalgia claimed my body, I used to fly-fish on wild rivers and hike up mountains but now I leave the high adventure to my husband and I have learned to slow down and experience each blessing as it comes. It’s hard not to spot them in the untamed forests in Baxter State Park in the central part of Maine. 

The water in the numerous streams is crystal clear and ice cold.  It lacks the metallic mineral smell that most brooks seem to have, maybe because the water rushes so fast down numerous waterfalls to reach the river.  Warning signs to boil the water before drinking dissuade hikers from drinking the water that looks so harmless in its clarity.

Over a number of years, former Governor of Maine, Percival Baxter purchased and then gave thousands of acres to the residents of Maine in the form of a State Park. His desire was that the forests remain in a natural and wild state for all of the people who visit, and they have.  There are very few roads in the park (less than five roads in 200,000 acres), but over 75 miles of hiking trails leading to the most remote areas in Maine. The Appalachian Trail, which begin in Georgia, ends at the peak of Mt. Katahdin, Baxter State Parks most recognized wild jewel.   At just shy of one mile high, Mt. Katahdin is a feather in any mountain climber’s hat.

A section of the West Branch of the Penobscot River runs just south of Baxter State Park and offers some of the finest rapids in the country for white water rafters.  There are several adventure companies that offer white water rafting trips down the river, something I have always wanted to do but have never had the courage to try.  The river is also renowned for the natural salmon that lurk in the dark pools behind huge granite boulders and sunken logs. This river used to be used to transport logs down the river to Bangor where they would be cut or shipped to other parts of the country and reminders of this are present today with boom chains obvious here and there on the river.

While my husband fished on the river for salmon I napped, read and wrote in the comfort of the truck cab.  The next day I did the same while he hiked up South Turner Mountain, which took him about three and a half hours, including the hour he spent at the peak taking pictures.  Even this late in the season, blueberries were bountiful near the peak; at lower elevations blueberries peaked a month ago.  We spent one night in a rented camp on Millinocket Lake, enjoying hand feeding Black Ducks, a toasty campfire and each other’s company, knowing this was our last long weekend away for the year

 

 

 

 

 

I Hate Slugs!

We have had a wet early summer, receiving few bright, DRY, sunny days, which has resulted in an astromonical number of slugs devouring my plants.  I usually don’t spend a lot of money on annuals, chosing instead to divide perennials and maybe add a few new ones, but this year I spent quite of bit on impatients, marigolds, snapdragons and zinnias.  The zinnias were the first to be stripped of their leaves, then the marigolds and zinnias disappeared almost overnight. As soon as I realized the culprit was slugs, I armed myself and declared war.

My weapon of choice is salt.  Because slugs are mostly water, an ample sprinkle of salt turns them to gel in a matter of seconds.  I go out several times a day to wage my attacks, often arming my 3-year old granddaughter with a salt shaker as well.  In one trip around my yard I can easily find and destroy fifty or more slugs, and I do this at least three times a day.

Yet I still have not gained the upper hand in this all out war. I found one this morning in the middle of my deck, which is wooden and five feet in the air. I hate to admit that they have the power to bring out this rage in me, yet I am unable to get past the idea of all the money and work I spent putting in annuals only for them to eat them.  I am not waving the white flag; I will continue my attacks, lest they take over my house! So far, they haven’t found the plethora of house plants I have (sh-h!)

I can say with certainty that I will not invest a lot of money in annuals next year, unless it is to make colorful planters that hang. I will spend the money on more salt.

A Maine Secret

Brann’s Mills Pond

Close to Home

 

There’s a pond that is close to my home that attracts fishermen and sightseers year round.  In the winter, the fisherman who drill holes to lure pickerel abound in large numbers and in spring, lures and bobbers fly through the air to try to catch hornpout, perch and bass from the shores.  As summer comes, the bass are away from shore and kayaks and canoes dot the blue-grey waters.

 

Brann’s Mills Pond in located in beautiful Piscataquis County and easily accessed from Route 7 between Dexter and Dover-Foxcroft. There is a public boat ramp as well as an opportunity to fish from onshore at the boat landing. It is a common sight to drive along the road to the boat landing and see many families fishing at the “culvert” next to the boat landing. It is certainly not uncommon to see all members of the fishing party swatting the voracious Maine black flies and mosquitoes that lay in wait there for some fresh meat.

 

A great deal of the shoreline has no shoreline roads and there are not a lot of camps or homes on the pond, which makes it particularly appealing.  The lower end of the pond is in the village of Brann’s Mills, which is not a town, per se, just a term for the area that locals know. There used to be a saw mill and a shingle mill located in the village and remnants of the dam which gave them power are still visible.  The village is quaint and laid-back, with just three or four beautiful old homes there. Some patriot puts an American Flag on a log that lies across the water every year.

 

The road was built upon a natural geological esker which is a natural mound left by the retreating glaciers from long ago. The upper end of Brann’s Mills Pond is more of a marshland, with channels that make it easily navigated in a canoe or kayak.

 

            There are numerous islands in the pond and they are all pristine and uninhabited by man.  The water is deep, clear and boulder-strewn.

 

            Brann’s Mills is a lovely springtime retreat, if only for an evening ride.  It is not uncommon to see turkey and deer in the twilight, and not impossible to see partridge on the sides of the road gathering gravel for their crops. In the summer, turtles often gather on the sides of the road; in fall, glorious leaves show their splendor.  In the winter, the solitude and desolation have a beauty that is hard to explain; it’s lovely to see but I wouldn’t want to have to live there through Maine’s long, hard winters.

 

            There are no restaurants, no lodging, no picnic or rest room facilities.  Brann’s Mills Pond is just a lovely detour and a nice breath of needed fresh air.

Daffodils

Springtime brings splashes of color that will surely chase away the winter blues; specifically the bright daffodil.  In my opinion, one can never have too many daffodils.

There are a huge array of colors and “faces” available and they are truly easy to grow and very easy to divide.  Some gardeners keep their daffodils in large groups, some, like me, love to plant them anywhere I can make a six-inch hole.  

I would strongly suggest that you invest in the best and biggest bulbs, and to keep a longer span of daffodil color, buy some early, mid-season and late bulbs.  In the northeast, the bulbs are planted in the fall.  I sprinkle a small amount of wood ash in the hole before covering the bulb and tamping down the ground. Cats and squirrels like to dig if the ground isn’t tamped down, I discovered one year.

In the spring, the bright green nubs of the daffodils will quickly come up once the snow is gone.  Don’t do a thing to them, other than watch their splendor.  I look around my yard to see where I want more and mark it, so that I can add bulbs there in the fall.

After the third year of a daffodil’s life, I disturb them a bit.  While they are still in bloom, I take a spade, deeply dig all around the cluster of plants and gently pull the entire bunch up.  I remove some of the bulbs, keeping the entire flower intact and separate the bulbs, leaving only two or three to go back into the hole. The ones I removed go quickly back into the ground elsewhere in my yard.  I’ve never lost a daffodil by doing it this way; the plants don’t even seem to notice the move. This is a very good way to expand on expensive fancy types of daffodils without paying the fancy price for the bulbs; another way is to find another person with varieties different from yours and making a swap.

After they start losing their beautiful flowers, I cut off the dead heads so that the energy will go back into the bulb.  I give them a bit of general garden fertilizer and some wood ash. In the fall, I cut the faded stems off and let them be until they once again bring Spring to my yard.

The travals of Hannah and Nana

My granddaughter and I are on a short trip to visit family; I’m “working” and she’s on a great adventure. Oh, to see the world through the eyes of a child again. The two hour car ride was as exciting for her as a trip down river rapids.  She is an aspiring writer and worked on the first chapter of her book in the car; I jotted a few notes and kept track of mileage and toll receipts.

Once we arrived at my daughter’s home, I just had to get out the camera and take some shots of the the blooming lilacs and apple blossoms in her yard, whose scent was heavy in the air. The neighbor drove in her yard, which was extremely impressive, and invited me to take some shots of her yard. She had stunning displays and rare flowers and it was an honor to take it all in. Her husband came out and showed me around. Unfortunately I forgot to bring the gadget that I need to transfer pictures to my computer, so I’ll have to post them later.

We went to dinner at a great pub, the Frog & Turtle on Bridge Street in Westbrook, Maine, and it was a real treat. The food was a treat, we were treated well by the staff, and my son-in-law insisted on paying.  A triple treat!  Seriously, the food was fantastic; the meatloaf with gravy (reduction of mushrooms, sherry and red wine) was a great choice for me. My son-in-law had the Filet, which was perfectly prepared and served. Hannah had Pork Chops with garlic-smashed potatoes, of which she is a connoisseur. Two huge pork chops in a delectible sauce came with the potatoes; she gave both a huge thumbs-up.

To complete our evening, we went to see the new Indiana Jones flick. I haven’t been to a movie theater since “The Passion of Jesus Christ.”  Theater seats have changed a lot; I don’t have that degree on comfort in my home!  I consider myself a sharp kind of girl, but I had a little trouble following the movie in spots; that also may have been my fault, since I had to take a bathroom break and get some popcorn.  The whole experience was really fun for all of us.

Today we are off to Portland to check out the Old Port and maybe scoot down to Old Orchard Beach before heading to my brother’s house in Bridgton for an overnight stay.

Another beautiful Spring day in Maine!