What the heck is that for a blog title from way up here in Maine? Like a pastor, inspiration for posts comes from many sources.
There is a nagging, mental elbowing to put a post online after a few days since the last one went live. And the previous one wears off. It feels good to blog. I want to make these worthwhile for someone in the audience and it is not just personal satisfaction that comes out of the blogging experience sharing about living in Maine.
So bit by bit what does that blog post title mean, where did it come from beyond creating curiosity? Or worry someone is off their meds or you the reader needs a refill or adjustment in mood elevators or whatever prescription on your kitchen window sill. If you have followed any of the posts in Me In Maine you know those lucky to live here are high on the air.
Take comfort in the uncrowded surroundings, the eye candy, the down to Earth people in Vacationland. Nothing artificial, fake or phony about it. And the locals like to tell stories, share experiences and compare notes with the rest of us natives. We lean and glean from the grapevine in many instances at the blog keyboard for inspiration.
Allagash divorce, had not heard the term before this week.
And you and I would not have any trouble imagining a happy honey moon in the great deep woods of Maine if it was an Allagash wedding instead of a divorce. With the beverages served moisture dripping cold cans and bottles on ice in a canoe. To reach in, help yourself. As The Dead Or Phish play in the background. Most of the wedding attendees wearing flannel shirts and jeans or khaki pants. North Maine woods clothing attire. After the marital knot tying “I do” and rings exchanged and no contrary minded in the audience to object with raised hands or sharp voices.
The nuptial vows uttered nervously under evergreen firs, an opening under the canopy of forest trees. The song about “there is love…” as Noel Paul Stookey from Blue Hill Maine sits on a stool, artfully plucking, strumming the strings. Holding that long last low note. Until the union of the spirits chemistry love potion number nine is cured. Love brings you light the song reminds. Amen. When a woman takes a man or the other way around. By the Allagash River known for it’s 60 mile plus paddling adventures through Chamberlain Lake and others in the water way chain.
But we are not talking a wedding but the opposite procedure to pull apart the couple. (Record rip, music stops, dead air fills the scene.) Leave and cleave but not like kids do. When gently, okay pushed out of the familial nest.
An Allagash divorce it was explained to me is when two go in the woods and only one comes out of the forest stand. Standing under a clear sky and big bright round moon. It takes a little while to sink in when put that simply.
Not mincing words. It is a lot like the no trespassing signs about “I own a gun and a back hoe” we posted about earlier in this Me In Maine blog. Or “survivors will be prosecuted” don’t ya know Chummy.
Which leads to the next tid bit of today’s Maine blog post title, the middle filling part two of the head line.
I have noticed that the folks who feel a compelling need to post their land have no qualms crossing the terra ferma of another. Without batting an eye or giving it a thought that causes one to lose one little “z” of sleep. Like you can be dumb enough to let every Tom, Dick and Harry tramp, sled, four wheel on your land but meh… not me Bub.
In populated areas you see and need those no trespassing signs to saber rattle. Offering to prosecute violators who mess up the terrain. Leaving debris or worse. But that happens more in jammed packed together areas of just too many people. Hard to crowd control people. People being people in herds.
In Maine’s rural areas which is most of the state, the need to post land goes away. Those skull and cross bone signs are ugly. Orange, black and white. Respect the Maine land. It is a not a right but a privilege to cross the land of another to make it a journey exploring Maine in the nooks and crannies where vehicles of any kind can not go. The land use access done on the honor system of treating others like you would want to be handled. Kinda thinking like that right? Stay on the marked trail too like being a good steward at a state park, by a precious waterway in Maine which is loaded with recreational H2O.
No thank you for the muffin from the Princess as we wrap it up. Take it in on home, put the bootsto ending this blog post and then it’s shifting gears time. Clear the head, think and plan the day ahead.
What happened to the Mom in that last part of the blog post title? Snubbed pretty hard this week. For her good deeds, love and affection for her little chick.
Well the mother carefully packed a muffin, favorite donut that the little one loves best in a pretty new knapsack. Added to the three sets of what to wear for the daughter’s next outing in her action packed day where Mom is the chauffeur and behind the scenes technician.
When Mom and daughter come together after school, the family reunion was cut and dry. Grab the bag, no hi Mom. No warm and fuzzy after Mom announces what snack choices she had packed and the same for the clothing selected, folded, tucked lovingly inside the new cargo carrier. “Gotta go” snaps and yanks the bag from the thoughtful mom with the ten year old uttering no thank you, or exchanging a smile or displaying any degree of patience for her Mom.
No peck or squeeze or physical contact affection exchanged.
More than lacking manners, just possessing a surly attitude. With lips turning the wrong way on a pretty little face. Shining, ribbon end tied pair of pig tails trailing her as she rushed by. Grabbing the bag like a runners baton in the last leg of a foot race.
Her hair, wardrobe, everything Mom’s and Dad’s, grandparent’s, someone’s doing. The handiwork proudly applied in rearing the ten or so aged girl if I had to venture to guess, pick a number on her age. The kid was rude to her mom. Ever witness a kid being disrespectful and unappreciative? Where is the number, punch it in for Nanny 911 to the rescue.
The holidays are approaching and do you have your health care insurance coverage options zipped and sewed up?
The clock is ticking. I have to wrap this up and begin the long commute of 32 feet. After the mow the whiskers, run through the shower, pull a comb through the hairs. Living close to work and no traffic has its perks in small town living Maine where everything is simpler. You love what Maine offers, but equally enjoy what is missing, that you don’t need but that is standard part of the landscape in city living.
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