the pine jungle

The world has gone to the dogs, that'd be Gideon, Etta and "the pincushion" formerly known as Gracie. Each and every waking moment seems to tend to their needs, I have to keep them tied up, walk them and find some material, possibly not of this earth- that Gideon can't chew through. She even dismantles chains. These dogs came from a farm on a dead end road with acres upon acres to roam free, to dig up possums and chase coons, to wander aimlessly at will. But Maine changed their outlook, their free wheeling ways, their tender puppy naivete...

On a bad day, Maine is pretty. On a good day, Maine is beautiful. On a beautiful day, Maine is mind bending. On a day like Saturday- Maine is Maine, not to be taken for granted; ask the kayaker who started out on a mirror calm lake trip when suddenly, the weather changed and white caps flapped and flipped the little vessel, leaving the kayaker to tend with a Nor Easter... (Or as I like to call them: Nor east, nor west, nor south, nor north-STAY PUT!)

Or ask the motorist powering down Highway 9- lakes abundant, pine trees proudly standing thick amongst the moss covered loam or staunchly straddling ravines and rocky edges, the smell is of a pristine quality, the sights a most nourishing eye candy when suddenly, out of no where comes a beast who takes up half the road just by simply stepping from the timber to black top, in one single stride. Twisted metal and steel, broken glass and bones lay in a heap as the Moose glides as if a ghost, back into the pine jungle- while the motorist tries to piece together how a locomotive simply ran him over, out of no where it came with no warning, no cross road alarms, nothing to prepare him for the derailment.

Ask the new greenhorn, the farmer- the adventurer who throws caution to the wind, laughs at danger and spits in the eye of certain border crossers who are about thee most rudest, inconsiderate beings I have ever had to share the atmosphere with. Yes, just ask me about futile situations- why I can outrun the best, out jump the rest and crawl like a centipede when necessary by golly. But throw a porcupine in there, a walking-garbage-extracting-pin-cushion-pig and my friends, you can call me whipped. Porcupines are the original terminators, demolition devils, rooting sapsuckers and fortified with quills of mass destruction. How the heck you gonna make friendly with something like that?!

You don't. You quiet yourself and your pet while in their vicinity, which by the way- is anywhere they choose to be. And did you know they climb trees?! UH_HUH!! And did you know that ignorant labs such as Gracie can also climb trees?! ME EITHER!!!! Guess what happens when a porcupine and a pup like Gracie share the same branch? A whole lot of piercing going on....

Yep, Miss Grace has become an acupuncturists dream- why! she's got piercings fiercer than any punk rebel could ever even dream of! Nose ring? Please....Lip pierced?...you're wasting my time! Nipple posts? Now you're just making me sleepy... Miss Grace's got piercings where no quill should ever go. Heck, she even swallowed a few...'cept for the ones that caught in her throat, stuck out of her tongue and gums and caused her mouth to be propped open on the 3 hour drive to the emergency clinic for such wayward, unanticipated porcupine/dog encounters.

Fun, fun, fun here in Maine...my utmost respect, dear Maine. Please, please, please I pray- let me see the Moose a half mile before I need to, and please I pray- lead my Kayak away from temptation and tidal waves, but mostly dear Maine, I plead...deliver me and mine a remote wireless fence that might in time, contain my "girls" and perhaps, if it's not too much to ask- give me the million dollar question answered-

How the heck do you repel a porcupine???

Never wanted to make a million dollars before(- if I did, I'd just have to find all kinds of wonderful ways to give it away), but perhaps if I put my noggin' to the grind stone and came up with a sure way to piss off the porcupine into oblivion, I do believe I might be living in that house on the hill at Pocomoonshine.

Take care out there!

gas money

As gray and cold as the winter can be, still...there are those who's sunshiney good spirits lift and enliven. ( Dont' you agree?! )... Like the young 'uns that put on their show this weekend (the one where my saxaphone playing son participated in)- at "The Cell" in Mason City, Illinois. This place is a teenage wonderland. I think it's pretty cool how they allow these bands in there and offer up a place for the young folks to hang. I was the oldest one there. At first, I felt a bit out of place- I shied away into the corners. I blended. I did not allow my parental attitude to stray beyond my own nose. I'm so glad I went. The first band was from St. Louis, Cake Eater- these guys were amazing! Heck, they couldn't have been more than 19 and they played with the enthusiasm and hard earned skill of guys who'd been playing together for years. They were really good, I kept looking around to see if anyone else noticed how tremendous this group was- but all the kids were dancing! It's kind of like the Charleston- the dance they do to this kind of music. It looked like so much fun and was awesome to watch. Sometimes other kids would run in and out of the crowd, colliding with the dancers, but I learned that that is a normal thing too. That was funny to see, I told my daughter, "My God...the raging hormones there! Like big old mountain goats bashing there heads together." She laughed, and agreed. I meandered over to the t-shirt table to see their wares, a girl with multiple piercings blankly looked at me. (In truth, the first thing I noticed were the piercings and the attitude, I did not match it though...)I smiled at her and started a conversation. "Where you from?" etc.... When all was said and done, I said-"Well, it's really cold outside, and if you do not have dependable transportation and get stranded you must call me, that's too long of a drive on a cold night. Here's my number, I have a big old farm house you could flop in if you had to." She seemingly never changed the attitude, the somewhat blankness, so I said "good bye, love the graphics on the tshirts" and wandered back to my corner. My son's band "Don't Mess With Winkie" started to play. Imagine confetti in music form. Yep! Thats their excitement! Trombones and trumpets and two saxaphones, guitars and drums and these guys all dancing on stage- I was blown away. How could you blare all that out, mix it together, filter it through many voices all at once and come out with reggae/ska/blues/jazz? I don't know, I saw it and heard it with my own ears and eyes and I still can't believe the sound!!! Of course I wanted to dance! But my youngest, Lily- gave me the look, like "don't you dare get out of that chair, it won't be pretty." So, not to embarress my children- I stayed put. But believe me, the opportunity was there to share some misery of times past, to repeat their humiliating history...to get back at them! But, alas- I could not, no- the music, the elevation of all spirits in that room would have suffered, so...I sat and enjoyed the joy. OH, I almost forgot...the girl with the piercings, the one who seemed so unaffected by anything...she brought me over a tshirt. For free. Because she thought I was so kind to have invited them to the farm should there be trouble. These kids barely had gas money to get home, they could have sold more tshirts in order to make up the deficit- but they gave me one for free, wouldn't accept any money for it. Hmmmm....aren't teenagers wonderful??!!? Sometimes... they're sublime.
Do take care-