All posts by Laurie Graves
Liam Update
Yesterday, readers expressed concern about Liam’s swollen nose, which probably happened when he ran into a fallen branch in the backyard. Today, he is looking much, much better. Here’s a shot of his handsome face, and the nose is hardly swollen at all.
However, on his nose, there are a few specks of snow, and they are there because Liam likes to do this:
Liam has always been a dog who has loved the snow, and blindness has not diminished his enthusiasm for crunching on snow when it is crusty or sticking his head in the snow when it is fluffy.
After all, he is Liam, Dog of the North.
(This picture was taken several years ago, and long-time readers will recognize it. An oldie but goodie, just like our dog buddy. )
Liam is Thirteen
Today is Liam’s birthday, and as the title of this post indicates, he is thirteen years old. I still remember what a little Tasmanian devil Liam was when he was a puppy, and Liam remained energetic in his senior years until he went blind.
Poor dog buddy! His blindness has really slowed him down, and the other day, he banged his beautiful long nose on something—we don’t know what—and now his nose is horribly swollen on one side. Fortunately, his appetite is still good, and his bruised nose hasn’t interfered with his eating.
During a recent storm, some large branches had fallen in our backyard next to the bird feeders. They made excellent perches for the birds, and so we left them there. Liam had his paths for doing his business, and none of the branches were in his paths. However, the rains that came on Saturday did two things—it reduced the amount of snow we had, and it made the remaining snow so hard that Liam can now leave the paths and wander at will in the backyard.
Clif and I wondered, did Liam run into one of those branches and hurt his nose? We have no way of knowing, but we decided not to take any chances. Yesterday, we cleared out all those branches—some of them were quite large—and threw them over the fence into the woods. The birds no longer have perches directly by the feeders, but as we have so many trees in our backyard, it really doesn’t matter. There are plenty of other branches for the birds, and they are still coming in great numbers to the bird feeders and suet.
Swollen nose aside, Liam is holding his own. We have adjusted the way we do things. His blindness has affected his whole system, and Liam is now on a special diet that includes vitamins. No more walks off the leash, and his walks are much shorter. We don’t like to leave him for more than five hours even though he has never messed in the house while we were gone. No overnight guests who are not family as Liam sometimes barks in the middle of the night to go outside.
However, as we recently told our friends Beth and John, we love our dog buddy so much that we never resent the extra care involved as Liam has aged and gone blind. For the most part, unless he bumps into something, Liam is comfortable, and his appetite is good.
In honor of Liam’s birthday, here is a picture, complete with a Tolkien quotation, of Liam when he could still see. The photo, used as a card, was taken on the trails behind the town’s high school, one of Liam’s favorite places before he went blind.
So happy birthday to one of the best and sweetest dogs in Winthrop.
Five for Friday: By the Lake in January
When it comes to the weather, this has been an up and down kind of month. January started out with below zero temperatures, mellowed into nice winter weather, and has now spiked above 40°F. Rain is in the forecast for today, and there’s a foggy mist over snow that has become hard and dirty. Readers, it looks like March out there, and the horror of this is almost too much to bear. As if this weren’t enough, tomorrow the temperature is supposed to take another nose dive, with freezing rain, severe cold, and slippery roads. Even by Maine standards, this is extreme weather.
However, on Wednesday, it was a fine winter’s day, and at dusk, at the golden hour, we went to Norcross Point, a little park in town by Maranacook Lake. In spring, summer, and fall, we park the car there and use the park as a starting point for our bike rides. We always see people launching boats as well as using the many benches and tables to relax and have picnics. Not this time of year.
But with a glowing cerulean sky and an expanse of snow, the park and lake are beautiful and welcoming to snowmobilers and those who like ice fishing.
This picture shows the expanse of snow and sky, and the lake is so covered with snow that you can’t tell where the land ends and the water begins.
Empty benches overlook an ice-fishing shack.
A view of that same shack through the gazebo.
Nobody grilling on a snowy day.
A bare tree against a deep blue sky. One of my favorite subjects.
Here’s hoping that there will be more snow, no more freezing rain, and no more March weather until March.
Heat Wave!
Celebrating Esther’s 80th Birthday
Yesterday, I took my friend Esther out to lunch to celebrate her eightieth birthday, which, in fact, was the end of November. However, between the holidays and bad weather, there really wasn’t a good time for me to take her out before Christmas, and we settled on January.
“After all,” Esther said. “I’ll still be eighty.”
Indeed she would. For recent readers who might not be familiar with Esther, here is a brief history of how we became friends. I met Esther through my mother. They both lived in Vassalboro, a small town in central Maine, about eight miles from Waterville and twenty-five miles away from where I live. As Esther put it, “Your mother was the best friend I ever had, and that kind of friendship doesn’t come along very often.” No, it doesn’t.
I often got together with my mother and Esther for lunch, tea, and other events, and over the years, she became my friend, too. When my mother died ten years ago, I continued my friendship with Esther. Not only do I enjoy Esther’s lively company, but she also provides a connection to my mother, and this means a lot to me.
As if all this weren’t enough, Esther is also a treasure trove of stories about rural life in Maine in the 1940s and 1950s, a time that seems nearly as remote and as different as the pioneer days. Esther was born in Vassalboro, and her family was very poor. But because they lived in the country, they were able to grow a lot of their own food.
“We hardly went to the grocery store,” Esther said. “Going to Waterville was a big occasion. For meat, we mostly ate deer, and when my father got one, we all gathered around the piano, sang songs, and celebrated. But I hated having to help cut up the deer. The flesh still smelled so alive, and it reminded me that the animal had been living not long ago.”
I nodded sympathetically, marveling at her country grit. I tried to picture myself butchering a deer when I was a young girl, and here my imagination failed me. I know I couldn’t have done it.
Esther said, “My father might have killed deer, but when he was haying, he always went in a big circle around nesting birds. He didn’t hunt for fun. He hunted for food.”
Again, I nodded. Hunting for food I understand but killing for fun, I do not.
“We ate some of the meat fresh,” Esther continued. “But my mother canned a lot of it for the winter.”
As Esther spoke, I thought about my own mother, of how she, too, grew up in poverty. My mother lived with her single mother and her grandmother. But they didn’t live in the country where they could grow much of their own food. Instead, they lived in a tiny apartment in Skowhegan, a small mill town up the Kennebec River from Waterville. But it seems my great-grandmother was a resourceful cook, and my mother often marveled at how even when there cupboards were bare, my great-grandmother always managed to put something together for supper.
“The good old days, ” I said to Esther.
Esther is one of those people who really does have a twinkle in her eye, and she responded, “When I wasn’t good and I wasn’t old.”
We both laughed.
Here’s a picture I took of Esther yesterday at Joseph’s Fireside Steakhouse in Waterville.
Happy birthday, Esther! May you have many more.
Five for Friday: Power Regained and More Snowy Pictures
Our power is back, and it was only out for two hours. To say we were thrilled doesn’t begin to describe how we felt when after only a short while, the power whirred back into our house. Is there any sound sweeter than the refrigerator coming back to life? Not after a power outage, there isn’t.
In fact, Clif and I are well prepared for power outages, even though we hate them. We have plenty of wood for the furnace, stored water in buckets, canned food, oil for the lamps, and good flashlights. And most important, peanut butter.
We did much of the clean-up yesterday, but there is more to do. At the end of the driveway, we have a wall o’snow left by the road plow. It’s too much for Little Green, and I have to chunk the snow first to make it manageable for the snow thrower and, of course, Clif. Nature’s gym.
Here are some pictures of the blizzard, as it was happening and afterward.
Yesterday, it wasn’t too cold, but it sure was snowy.
Blizzard or not, the birds must eat.
The entrance at night.
A little guardian by the door.
The front entrance by day. We are certainly tucked in the snow now.
Power Lost
Well, it happened. We lost our power. Sure hope it isn’t out for a week this time. More later.
The Bomb Cyclone Cometh
Here we go again. Miserable weather is coming to Maine. This time it’s a blizzard, a northeaster, a big, bad storm that has been tagged as a “bomb cyclone” by the meteorologists. (According to the New York Times, a bomb cyclone is a storm that has a sharp drop in barometric pressure.) But as Nestor Ramas from the Boston Globe put it, this term “seems designed to evoke maximum terror.”
“Terror” might be too strong a word to describe our reaction, but bomb cyclone, with its potential high wind and resultant destruction, certainly got our attention. We have sprung into action. Pots of water sit on our stove, we bought extra lamp oil, and we have canned soup in the cupboard. For the third time in three weeks, we are ready for a power outage. And, yes, readers, this is getting old.
I love the natural world, and I love living in the woods, but I also love heat and power and movies and other gifts that technology brings. A pioneer woman I am not. As it so happens, I am reading Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser. Let’s just say that Pa and the pioneers were not the exemplary citizens portrayed in the Little House books. For me, this makes Laura Ingalls Wilder’s story richer and more interesting, and I am not bitterly disappointed by these revelations. But I digress, and I will write more about this book in another post.
Back to the weather. In central Maine, the forecast is for twelve to sixteen inches of snow, nothing we can’t handle. The wind is projected to peak at 20 to 30 mph with gusts up to 45 mph. This is more worrying as the high winds might cause power outages.
But for now anyway, we are warm and snug. We had our big meal—turkey burritos with corn—at noon, which gave us plenty of time to wash up the dirty dishes. (No power means no water.)
Midafternoon, Clif will go out with Little Green to clear the snow from the driveway, the area around the woodpile, and the paths to the bird feeders. For readers new to this blog, here is a picture of Clif and Little Green from the last storm on Christmas Day. (Little Green is electrically run, so when the power is out, we must shovel by hand.)
Onward ho, Clif and Little Green!
Lights in the Snow
Notes From the Hinterland 