As I was collecting red clover blossoms for my tea and infusions, I couldn't help but think of my grammy Getchell with her long thumbnails hulling the wild strawberries we had just picked from the back field up in Patten. The house sat off the Owlsboro Rd with Mt. Chase looking down on us from what seemed like just through the trees then quickly my mind went on to Grampy Getchell and how his family settled Getchell Ridge on Mt. Chase. These thoughts made me smile while mindlessly picking clover blossoms and envisioning the whole scene as I remembered it as <!-- more --> a child. Some of my best childhood memories came from that area and I was pleased to get the chance to talk to a man from Patten not too long ago who knew all the people I did back then. Ahhhhh, such happy memories!
Anyway, as I was day dreaming of 30 years ago, I heard this faint, "Excuse me. Hey, how ya doin?" from what seemed like miles away and I was suprised to see two people as close to me as they were. The man had on a pair of jeans, white t-shirt tucked in with a slight belly protuding over his belt, white sneakers and a hat like my dad used to wear and he was grinning ear to ear. The lady, whom I learned was his wife, was a small petite woman with graying hair in a pony-tail, jeans, what looked like a freshly untucked tank top and what I would call 'shit kickers' on her feet. In other words, they looked like her mowing sneakers. This lady also had a smirk on her face but loving devious eyes that spoke volumes. As they neared, the husband stopped about 20 feet from me, looked back over his should to a very out of place looking older woman. I hadn't seen her and after I did I laughed. Rude, maybe but I got quite the chuckle out of seeing her in a huge bonnet-type hat with a huge plastic, tacky as hell, daisey on the side. I couldn't see her face due to the wide brim on the hat and she was looking down at her feet walking as if she was avoiding walking on snakes in a snake pit. It was funny as hell to watch her. She was swatting flies or something and mumbling something with each step. When I laughed the first lady, (she said her name was Gailee) sighed and said, "do you believe she's my sister! Look at me and then look at her. God help me, I need a drink!" I burst out laughing, reached out my hand and introduced myself. Her husband, Stevie turned back around saying "Lordy lordy lordy, I'm glad I married this sister" and pointed to his wife. Again I laughed. The couple reminded me so much of my mom and dad that I instantly felt comfortable with both. Now, as for the sister, well, she was something else!
The dress the sister had on was light blue and it looked like Walt Disney had throw up all over it or on it until she came closer and found the cartoon characters were actually flowers and not a one of them did I recognize as being any kind of flowers I had ever seen before. She had on sandals with yet again more gaudy plastic daisies on them. tacky as hell. She came up and stood beside Gailee huffing and puffing, fixing her hat and checking herself all over for something.....I'm assuming bugs but can't be sure, then she squirmed, stood up straight and proper-like and for the first time I saw her face which was plastered with make-up. It almost jumped the crap out of me and I'm pretty sure I did the one-eyed eyebrow raise. Gailee laughed and said, "see? my sister" and did a side nod towards her. I laughed, extended my hand to introduce myself but she just looked at my hand and took a deep breath, looked at me and said, "hello." Instinctively I looked at my hand to see if it was dirty, I mean I had been out foraging for a few hours so they probably were green from thistles, sticky (pitchy) from gathering milkweed and for the past few minutes before these people arrived I had been gathering clover blossoms but when I looked at my hand it was fine and green free. Gailee said, "oh for Christsake, has California made you rude as well?" Again I laughed but more quietly this time.
It was around this time when Stevie said they had driven by about an hour before and saw me peeling something I had just cut in the tall grass which struck up a conversation pondering as to what I could be doing between him and his wife, so on the way back they had decided to stop and take in the Kenduskeag Stream scenery and when they saw me again, they thought they'd inquire as to what I was doing. I told then I was probably peelig thistle and then dug out my ziploc bag to show them. They were both quite excited to learn more about eating this prickly plant so I brought them over and demonstrated how it was done without being pricked. I got pricked anyway but not bad. Once I had it all peeled I asked them if they want to taste it. They had both heard about eating it and had heard it was good so they each took a bite and both liked it, like everyone I know of who has ever tried it. Gailee joked to her sister saying, "here, try some" appearing to really enjoy the taunt. the lady didn't want anything to do with it and wrinkled up her nose saying, "I'll buy it pill form thankyou." the man asked me what I was doing with the clover and I told him it was for teas and the such and how I planned to prepare it for storage etc. We struck up good conversation about eating this and that and I was really enjoying the conversation but it was at this time the sister, still swatting at something, bugs I presume, said she was going back to the vehicle and once they were done eating 'waste grass' she would be waiting for them in the van. I couldn't help but laugh. As she walked off Stevie said she went out to California from Maine when she was in her early 20's 50+ years ago and this was the first time she came back to Maine because as what she says apparently is, "Maine is full of trees and hippies". He had quite a chuckle over that and added looking at his wife, Gailee,"'she's a bit stuffy, thank god I married you". I have no idea what the stuffy lady's name was but Gailee and Stevie left thanking me for not judging THEM. LOL I loved their humor. He then added as they started walking away, "sorry again for my sister-in-law from California, I'd like to be in her back pocket when she tells all her friends at the tea and fish egg eating party about her trip to Maine, damn how much fun that would be to listen to. I can hear them all gasping now," He then waved and walked away then Gailee turned around and said, "you think your encounter was fascinating, I bet the waitress at the place we ate at lastnight is still recovering, she ordered her meal in french! Does it get any better than that?"
Omg, I loved these two!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Homeless and Begging For Food in Maine.
The other day I went for a walk. The sun was bright, the wind had a chill in it, humidity was low and spirits high. As I got closer to the interstate overpass on the main drag, I felt my anxiety rise and my stomach felt like I had butterflies on crack in there and my breathing was shallow and rapid. Yeah, it's pretty clear to me I have a slight fear of bridges and over passes. Anway, I calmed myself by humming and forcing controlled breaths and as I walked over I-95 I couldn't help but notice how low the rail was and being the whimp I am, I put my right hand up to the side of my temple area shading my eyes from all peripheral view to the right of me, hiding the busy cars racing by just feet below me.
Once to the other side of the overpass I took my hand down and came to a stop walk. I looked for a button to push but there was none so I waited patiently for the walk light to signal it was safe to cross in front of the people getting off I-95 North bound. It was noon and I was surprised at how many cars were traveling at that time of day and ended up standing there for quite some time. I had decided the light was broken so I would just cross anyway between the stop and go cars. As I stood there waiting for my move, I caught movement to my right about 15 yards or so from me. There, back to to me leaned up against the guard rail, appeared to be a young woman dressed in brown sweatshirt, brown wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her blue jeans were as baggy as her shirt and both were very dirty and it appeared she had been wearing them for quite some time. Her hair looked clean what what I could see from back to. I brushed her off figuring she was probably waiting for someone she knew to get off that exit. And confirming my thought after studying the reactions of 'blankness' from each passenger as they drove by her reassured me she did not look to be in any trouble and was just there waiting for someone like I first thought. Until she turned slightly then I saw she was holding a cardboard sign. At this point I just figured she was probably a hitchhiker trying to make it to Bar Harbor or some place and stood there waiting for my chance to cross the ramp.
As I stood there watching traffic, people and this person holding the sign, it was then she dropped it. I was close enough to read two very clear words FOOD and HOMELESS the other words were too small for me to read. She reached down and picked the sign up and leaned casually against the rail again. Instinctively I took a step towards her but then for some reason I paused. When I did there was this man in a truck waiting to pull out onto the main road. He had his window down. He looked at me, looked away, then at me again, then in his rear side view mirror, the turned his head out the window looking at the woman holding the FOOD HOMELESS sign he had just passed moments before. He then back at me and then looked down at the seat beside him, looked at me tagain then back at the woman holding the sign. He leaned out the window opened his mouth but didnt' say anything, then reached beside him and held out a Mc. Donald's bag and said "Hey". the lady holding the sign turned and took the bag from him, said "thanks, I'm going to go over there and eat it" with no emotion at all then ran across the main drag. She took no time at all to climb over the rail and down out of site under the overpass. The man looked at me just as he had time to pull out. I said, "Bless you" to which he gave a nod. Just then the light finally changed saying it was safe for me to walk.
After I crossed the ramp and out of harms way of traffic I stood there looking across the road where the young lady had gone out of site. I stood there for quite some time pondering and talking myself out of going after her. I mean I really really really had to talk myself out of following this girl under the over pass! What was I going to do once I caught up to her? Well, I wanted to explain to her there were 2 shelters in the area, free meals every day of the week and help if she needed it but I didn't. Why? Because after my initial instinct of compassion passed and came back to reality and with rational thinking I reasoned the following:
1. Lora-Jean, you don't have any idea what could be waiting for you under that bridge.
2. Lora-Jean, you are no longer an outreach worker.
3. Lora-Jean, there are people you can call, such as outreach workers, police etc.
4. She may want to live that way or maybe she is just passing thru.
5. The Penobscot Sheriff stopped beside her holding the sign while in traffic. He did nothing. He asked nothing. He said nothing. He pretended he didn't see her. A blind eye if you will, so why are you so concerned if these other people aren't. Are you reading something into something thats' not?
6. She is probably here every day taking advantage of people.
#6 is not a proud moment for me since I work at a homeless shelter!
I do find it very interesting how each and EVERY single person who passed her in vehicles never spoke, waved, smiled at her but instead ignored a woman holding a sign for food. Not once did I see the passengers sitting beside eachother in the cars acknowledge that they saw this lady asking for food! It was like they ignored the whole scene or maybe if I acknowledge her in any way then it becomes real. "If I ignore it, it will go away or it doesn't exit" mentality. In many ways this is sad. It is sad that I too could rationalize her standing there with a sign begging for food when I work at a homeless shelter and know of many resources around that could help her...if she wanted it that is. I also know it is NOT safe going into a homeless site alone.
I did end up calling a few people I know and passed the information along and am waiting back on a call as we speak since everyone I have called thus far keeps passing the buck.
Once to the other side of the overpass I took my hand down and came to a stop walk. I looked for a button to push but there was none so I waited patiently for the walk light to signal it was safe to cross in front of the people getting off I-95 North bound. It was noon and I was surprised at how many cars were traveling at that time of day and ended up standing there for quite some time. I had decided the light was broken so I would just cross anyway between the stop and go cars. As I stood there waiting for my move, I caught movement to my right about 15 yards or so from me. There, back to to me leaned up against the guard rail, appeared to be a young woman dressed in brown sweatshirt, brown wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her blue jeans were as baggy as her shirt and both were very dirty and it appeared she had been wearing them for quite some time. Her hair looked clean what what I could see from back to. I brushed her off figuring she was probably waiting for someone she knew to get off that exit. And confirming my thought after studying the reactions of 'blankness' from each passenger as they drove by her reassured me she did not look to be in any trouble and was just there waiting for someone like I first thought. Until she turned slightly then I saw she was holding a cardboard sign. At this point I just figured she was probably a hitchhiker trying to make it to Bar Harbor or some place and stood there waiting for my chance to cross the ramp.
As I stood there watching traffic, people and this person holding the sign, it was then she dropped it. I was close enough to read two very clear words FOOD and HOMELESS the other words were too small for me to read. She reached down and picked the sign up and leaned casually against the rail again. Instinctively I took a step towards her but then for some reason I paused. When I did there was this man in a truck waiting to pull out onto the main road. He had his window down. He looked at me, looked away, then at me again, then in his rear side view mirror, the turned his head out the window looking at the woman holding the FOOD HOMELESS sign he had just passed moments before. He then back at me and then looked down at the seat beside him, looked at me tagain then back at the woman holding the sign. He leaned out the window opened his mouth but didnt' say anything, then reached beside him and held out a Mc. Donald's bag and said "Hey". the lady holding the sign turned and took the bag from him, said "thanks, I'm going to go over there and eat it" with no emotion at all then ran across the main drag. She took no time at all to climb over the rail and down out of site under the overpass. The man looked at me just as he had time to pull out. I said, "Bless you" to which he gave a nod. Just then the light finally changed saying it was safe for me to walk.
After I crossed the ramp and out of harms way of traffic I stood there looking across the road where the young lady had gone out of site. I stood there for quite some time pondering and talking myself out of going after her. I mean I really really really had to talk myself out of following this girl under the over pass! What was I going to do once I caught up to her? Well, I wanted to explain to her there were 2 shelters in the area, free meals every day of the week and help if she needed it but I didn't. Why? Because after my initial instinct of compassion passed and came back to reality and with rational thinking I reasoned the following:
1. Lora-Jean, you don't have any idea what could be waiting for you under that bridge.
2. Lora-Jean, you are no longer an outreach worker.
3. Lora-Jean, there are people you can call, such as outreach workers, police etc.
4. She may want to live that way or maybe she is just passing thru.
5. The Penobscot Sheriff stopped beside her holding the sign while in traffic. He did nothing. He asked nothing. He said nothing. He pretended he didn't see her. A blind eye if you will, so why are you so concerned if these other people aren't. Are you reading something into something thats' not?
6. She is probably here every day taking advantage of people.
#6 is not a proud moment for me since I work at a homeless shelter!
I do find it very interesting how each and EVERY single person who passed her in vehicles never spoke, waved, smiled at her but instead ignored a woman holding a sign for food. Not once did I see the passengers sitting beside eachother in the cars acknowledge that they saw this lady asking for food! It was like they ignored the whole scene or maybe if I acknowledge her in any way then it becomes real. "If I ignore it, it will go away or it doesn't exit" mentality. In many ways this is sad. It is sad that I too could rationalize her standing there with a sign begging for food when I work at a homeless shelter and know of many resources around that could help her...if she wanted it that is. I also know it is NOT safe going into a homeless site alone.
I did end up calling a few people I know and passed the information along and am waiting back on a call as we speak since everyone I have called thus far keeps passing the buck.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
That "damn weed" could save your life.
My cousin Bruce posted on fb he had teeth pulled and the blood was down to the seeping stage. I told him he needed to go out and gather some gold thread, to which he replied, "we need to hang out more". This reminded me of all the times I have gathered the root, not only for myself, but to teach others how to find, forage, dry, steep, and use it. There are many stories I could tell but the most remarkable one, even to me, was with an old friend of mine who had come down with a gum disease and had to have all her teeth pulled.
The day before her surgery she came to me asking what I suggested she could take for the pain after her entire top row of teeth had been removed. I told her the only thing I could think of would be Gold Thread which would rid of the swelling and dull the pain. A few days before, I had been out walking behind my sisters house and she showed me a patch of Gold Thread. Remembering this, I called her up and asked her if it would be okay to gather some and with her permission granted, I brought my friend to harvest the strawberry plant-like herb.
After I got turned around a bit and my sister pointing me in the right direction, we soon found the patch and we began to harvest it strand by rhyzome strand with it's beautifully gold colored thread-like roots against the dark peat-like soil and moss. Beautiful. After we gathered about a quart ziploc bag full and once back to my place, I showed her how to clean and dry them and then proceeded to teach her how to prepare it.
Two days later and a day after her surgery, she came over and even though I was shocked at how badly her face was bruised, but was not suprised there was minimal swelling or much pain. What I was suprised about was the fact that she was planning to have steak that night on the grill! I thought she should probably wait for that but she was pretty stubborn and that was the end of the conversation.
Although I knew the wild medicinal herb would help her after the surgery, I still didnt' expect the pain to be dull enough to chew steak and even I was impressed by the healing powers of this wonderful plant.
Still today, she swears by Gold Thread as I do, and anyone else who has ever had any mouth issues and has treated it with Gold Thread, so do they. The wonderful part is that it's wild, free and works 100% better than anything you can get over the counter or via medical script but the taste is something else.
Word of caution: Never put anything thing in your mouth from the wild unless you are 100% certain you know what it is. It's only medicinal if you forage for the right plant. It can be deadly if it's a look-a-like.
The day before her surgery she came to me asking what I suggested she could take for the pain after her entire top row of teeth had been removed. I told her the only thing I could think of would be Gold Thread which would rid of the swelling and dull the pain. A few days before, I had been out walking behind my sisters house and she showed me a patch of Gold Thread. Remembering this, I called her up and asked her if it would be okay to gather some and with her permission granted, I brought my friend to harvest the strawberry plant-like herb.
After I got turned around a bit and my sister pointing me in the right direction, we soon found the patch and we began to harvest it strand by rhyzome strand with it's beautifully gold colored thread-like roots against the dark peat-like soil and moss. Beautiful. After we gathered about a quart ziploc bag full and once back to my place, I showed her how to clean and dry them and then proceeded to teach her how to prepare it.
Two days later and a day after her surgery, she came over and even though I was shocked at how badly her face was bruised, but was not suprised there was minimal swelling or much pain. What I was suprised about was the fact that she was planning to have steak that night on the grill! I thought she should probably wait for that but she was pretty stubborn and that was the end of the conversation.
Although I knew the wild medicinal herb would help her after the surgery, I still didnt' expect the pain to be dull enough to chew steak and even I was impressed by the healing powers of this wonderful plant.
Still today, she swears by Gold Thread as I do, and anyone else who has ever had any mouth issues and has treated it with Gold Thread, so do they. The wonderful part is that it's wild, free and works 100% better than anything you can get over the counter or via medical script but the taste is something else.
Word of caution: Never put anything thing in your mouth from the wild unless you are 100% certain you know what it is. It's only medicinal if you forage for the right plant. It can be deadly if it's a look-a-like.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Ignorance is Bliss
As my good friend Lynn used to say, "Ignorance is bliss" and on so many levels I have to agree. A short while ago I got an email from someone who said, "enjoy the tribulation, I won't be here, I'll be in Gods hands" Knowing where the email came from, I wasn't suprised by this so just brushed it off and deleted it then went about my business. Another email came in which said, "jesus loves me" to which I responded, "if I'm correct in my interpretations of the bible, Jesus loves everybody". About an hour later this person came back saying she had been a follower of God even before she could walk and how God had spoken to her telling her it was time to stop sucking her thumb. Good grief, I didn't even bother responding to that and once again, deleted that email as well.
I just don't get people. There is such a hierarchy in certain people and have you noticed, and I'm probably gonna go to hell for saying this, but have you noticed that "Christians" are more judgemental of people? NO, I'm not saying ALL but alot! Most Christians are intolerant of so many social norms and they tend to preach whether you want to hear it or not. I hate bible thumpers! Hate is such a strong word, I know and I very seldom us it but I don't like their personal beliefs pushed down my throat either. I don't push eating dandelion greens on people. If it's not what they are into, I respect that and go onto another topic with common ground. Usually the weather is a safe topic. lol
I have never stated my beliefs or denomination other than in private conversations and then it was a one liner if that. I believe that if a person is the best person they know how to be, and they are constantly working on bettering themselves, are tolerant, understanding, have morals, help the unfortunate, and seek out the weak and make them strong.....you know what I'm saying then I give kuddo's to that person and have respect for that person whether they believe in the bible or not. We all have but one life to live and we must all walk our own path. My path is not your path and your path is not my path but I'm a firm believer that no matter anyones beliefs, our paths were meant to cross at some point and whether we walk alone or side by side it's ok.
I have met some very cruel, spiteful, angy proclaimed Christians, how do I know they are christian? Because they tell me they are better than I because they carry a bible in thier purse. My question is: if I do not talk about my faith then how do they know I am not thier Christian sister?
If you have read this and are pissed off then perhaps you should take a good look as to why?
as the last email I got from this lady read, "you are going to hell if you don't sleep with your bible tonight." My response to this? I blocked her emails. oh, and I didn't even feel guilty about it.
I just don't get people. There is such a hierarchy in certain people and have you noticed, and I'm probably gonna go to hell for saying this, but have you noticed that "Christians" are more judgemental of people? NO, I'm not saying ALL but alot! Most Christians are intolerant of so many social norms and they tend to preach whether you want to hear it or not. I hate bible thumpers! Hate is such a strong word, I know and I very seldom us it but I don't like their personal beliefs pushed down my throat either. I don't push eating dandelion greens on people. If it's not what they are into, I respect that and go onto another topic with common ground. Usually the weather is a safe topic. lol
I have never stated my beliefs or denomination other than in private conversations and then it was a one liner if that. I believe that if a person is the best person they know how to be, and they are constantly working on bettering themselves, are tolerant, understanding, have morals, help the unfortunate, and seek out the weak and make them strong.....you know what I'm saying then I give kuddo's to that person and have respect for that person whether they believe in the bible or not. We all have but one life to live and we must all walk our own path. My path is not your path and your path is not my path but I'm a firm believer that no matter anyones beliefs, our paths were meant to cross at some point and whether we walk alone or side by side it's ok.
I have met some very cruel, spiteful, angy proclaimed Christians, how do I know they are christian? Because they tell me they are better than I because they carry a bible in thier purse. My question is: if I do not talk about my faith then how do they know I am not thier Christian sister?
If you have read this and are pissed off then perhaps you should take a good look as to why?
as the last email I got from this lady read, "you are going to hell if you don't sleep with your bible tonight." My response to this? I blocked her emails. oh, and I didn't even feel guilty about it.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Gold panning in Maine and striking it rich
If you think you’re going to get rich panning for gold in Maine, think again. I panned for gold with several friends of mine for years and even though most of those friends are now deceased, I still cherish those ‘striking it rich" days.
The idea started when a friend of mines father passed away and before he died, he wanted to go gold panning at least once before he passed. Unfortunately, the cancer progressed much faster than they thought and he never got the chance, so his daughter wanted to fulfill the dream for him.
None of us knew the first thing about panning for gold so that winter we bought books on gold panning and since Google.com was basically in it’s infancy, we googled what we could, but unless you do it, all the studying in the world won’t help you much. It’s kinda like reading how to fly fish by studying illustrations then trying to cast a fly without getting a barbed hook stuck in your head. Not very productive, just saying.
That winter while reading an article about panning for gold strategies, I read the line that read something like, if you know how to read a river or stream half the battle is won. Well, I did know how to read rivers and streams since I had been brought up with a fish pole (Johnson) in my hand and I was quite adept at white water canoeing. I remember thinking, okay, if that’s half the battle, then the rest will be a piece of cake. Come to find out, I was being quite naïve because it turned out to be far from the truth. The author of the article had lied. As I continued to read, further the author also made it appear how simple it was to pan by basically saying it was as easy as finding a spot in the river, put sand in your pan, swish it and the gold will sit there nice and pretty on the bottom of your pan. Sounds rather simple doesn’t it. I thought so too. Nothing further from the truth and I’ll explain later below.
Each time the bunch of us gold prospectors would get together, we would study maps of Maine and potential mountains of gold yet to be discovered and we all agreed that with everything we each had read in different sources, we would plan our first trip for the end of April. Why so early in the spring? Well, we wanted first dibs on the gold that was waiting to be found. I laugh at that now, but it was serious business back then and we were what they would call ‘pumped‘. Lol.
Once we got to where we were going to go and it’s not a secret so I’ll just tell you, Coo’s Canyon over in Byron Maine. This is where we expected to get rich. The only local store had just opened up for the season and it would be there we would buy our gold pan for $8.00 each, some vials to put all our gold in and converse with the store owners about the history of Coo‘s Canyon. When we were done yakking, we made our way to get rich with our vehicles equipped with food, camping supplies and whatever else we needed to make our venture exciting which in this case were of course a few coolers of beer enough to sustain 8 adults for three days. We never ran out.
We could hear the canyon before it even came in site. The thunder of rushing water with chunks of ice, full sized logs and rocks banging up against each other didn’t appeal to me in the least. Not only did it look cold, it sounded evil and it was the first time instead of my stomach churning of excitement, it became anxiety-ridden and the fun was over right then and there.
As we stood there gazing down into the wild beast of a canyon, we decided to take a few photos and since we got tired of yelling to the person next to us so we could be heard, we all agreed we would go further upstream where the water was less ferocious. We went about 2 miles before we hit our campsite which was well washed out by spring floods and where we had planned to pitch tents, there were 3 foot deep washed out trenches. Being that we were young and in good physical shape, we decided we would fill in the trenches with logs and whatever else we could find and then level it out with shovel after shovel full of gravel and sand to make spots to set up tents. Did I mention there were several other people who had tents pitched there as well? It was disappointing to say the least and kinda silly of us to think we would be the only ones to want to hit the gold first. Oh, and did I also forget to mention this was a popular place to fish early?
As disappointed, as we all were to find others in the area we made due. The OTHER folks/campers come to find out were there for gold, some to fish, some were dragged along by their loved ones but made due as we were when we found we were not the only idiots out there camping that time of year. After we filled in trenches, pitched our tents, stated a fire and had something to eat we grabbed our pans and headed for the water to read it and it looked promising, cold, but promising and was glad I had brought my fishing pole. As I made my way out to a rock-by-rock-jumping, I saw two men in the river wearing dry suits and they were dredging. On the bank beside them I noticed a couple of women panning from the sluice box so we moseyed on over and talked with them for a while when an older man we didn’t see, spoke to us from his camp chair smoking a pipe. He appeared to be a true old Mainer, accent, appearance and all. When he learned we were green at panning for gold, he gave us a ‘hands on’ lesson. (It is here I have to remind you what I wrote earlier about learning how to fly fish and gold pan via textbook and illustrations.) Gold panning is NOTHING like the books tell you! As we listened and watched the old man intently, we learned that like fly-fishing, panning for gold is an art and takes much practice. He was kind enough to show each of us hands on how to work the pan. What was really nice was that he allowed us to take a pan from their sluice box. In each of our pans, we found gold flakes in amongst black sand and garnets. After the lesson was completed, we thanked him graciously and with our excitement restored, we headed back the couple hundred yards to our camp area and we were ready to find gold!
Once we got back to camp, we each grabbed our gold pans and headed to the water. The first step in was a killer and let me tell you something, that water was friggin’ ice cold and it came straight down from the mountain! Being the time of year, it was and in spots walking on ice to get to the steam, we knew we had to be extra cautious of floating ice and debris once in the water. I remember I was nailed with a 4-inch thick chunk of ice about the size of a dinner table in the leg and thought for sure my leg had been taken off at the thigh. I remember going back to shore, grabbing a beer and sitting by the fire to warm and dry off. I had had enough for the day and it was time to recoup from the injury and long drive. The others were not far behind in joining me.
Our last night camping, we all decided we had had fun but agreed that no matter how exciting it was panning for gold that it should be done in the heat of the summer. It was this night we started planning many more fishing/gold panning trips but for Swift River, well, we would not do this trip again until at least July when the water was warmer. But, even in July though, the mountain water was cold and even though it was 85-90 degrees and the sun blistering-hot, sitting in the stream/river on a rock, the part that was in the water would be numb in no time and we always joked at why our bodies didn‘t go into shock with the bottom half all but frozen and the top half cooking in the sun.
Overall, over a 7-8 year period with eight of us panning for gold we got about four vials full of gold flakes at on average $400 dollars an ounce back then. We upgraded and bought sluices and more back packing supplies, found better spots as the years went by, gained in experience and many many stories to tell.
Gold panning is a tremendous amount of work. First, you have to know how to read a river; second, there is a ton of digging and heavy lugging to do. If you are really into gold panning then you should buy a sluice or dredger. Above all, it is necessary to learn how to work the gold pan so you don’t lose any gold you may have in the pan and then how to get the gold out of the black sand without getting anything but gold into your vial. Gold panning is something I probably couldn’t do today with my knee the way it is and besides that, it is must to be in GREAT physical shape. That I am not.
I have yet to blog about the man greeting us with a pistol, which had about an 18-inch barrel (or it looked that long anyway when pointed at you) while happening on his gold camp up on the mountain in Jackman. This was a tough rough mountain climbing hike on slippery moss-covered boulders at least 2 miles from the nearest dirt road. This guy had set up camp for the summer but I will leave this story for another day.
Email me for good books to read about gold panning in Maine. Renditionsofdayspassed@gmail.org
The idea started when a friend of mines father passed away and before he died, he wanted to go gold panning at least once before he passed. Unfortunately, the cancer progressed much faster than they thought and he never got the chance, so his daughter wanted to fulfill the dream for him.
None of us knew the first thing about panning for gold so that winter we bought books on gold panning and since Google.com was basically in it’s infancy, we googled what we could, but unless you do it, all the studying in the world won’t help you much. It’s kinda like reading how to fly fish by studying illustrations then trying to cast a fly without getting a barbed hook stuck in your head. Not very productive, just saying.
That winter while reading an article about panning for gold strategies, I read the line that read something like, if you know how to read a river or stream half the battle is won. Well, I did know how to read rivers and streams since I had been brought up with a fish pole (Johnson) in my hand and I was quite adept at white water canoeing. I remember thinking, okay, if that’s half the battle, then the rest will be a piece of cake. Come to find out, I was being quite naïve because it turned out to be far from the truth. The author of the article had lied. As I continued to read, further the author also made it appear how simple it was to pan by basically saying it was as easy as finding a spot in the river, put sand in your pan, swish it and the gold will sit there nice and pretty on the bottom of your pan. Sounds rather simple doesn’t it. I thought so too. Nothing further from the truth and I’ll explain later below.
Each time the bunch of us gold prospectors would get together, we would study maps of Maine and potential mountains of gold yet to be discovered and we all agreed that with everything we each had read in different sources, we would plan our first trip for the end of April. Why so early in the spring? Well, we wanted first dibs on the gold that was waiting to be found. I laugh at that now, but it was serious business back then and we were what they would call ‘pumped‘. Lol.
Once we got to where we were going to go and it’s not a secret so I’ll just tell you, Coo’s Canyon over in Byron Maine. This is where we expected to get rich. The only local store had just opened up for the season and it would be there we would buy our gold pan for $8.00 each, some vials to put all our gold in and converse with the store owners about the history of Coo‘s Canyon. When we were done yakking, we made our way to get rich with our vehicles equipped with food, camping supplies and whatever else we needed to make our venture exciting which in this case were of course a few coolers of beer enough to sustain 8 adults for three days. We never ran out.
We could hear the canyon before it even came in site. The thunder of rushing water with chunks of ice, full sized logs and rocks banging up against each other didn’t appeal to me in the least. Not only did it look cold, it sounded evil and it was the first time instead of my stomach churning of excitement, it became anxiety-ridden and the fun was over right then and there.
As we stood there gazing down into the wild beast of a canyon, we decided to take a few photos and since we got tired of yelling to the person next to us so we could be heard, we all agreed we would go further upstream where the water was less ferocious. We went about 2 miles before we hit our campsite which was well washed out by spring floods and where we had planned to pitch tents, there were 3 foot deep washed out trenches. Being that we were young and in good physical shape, we decided we would fill in the trenches with logs and whatever else we could find and then level it out with shovel after shovel full of gravel and sand to make spots to set up tents. Did I mention there were several other people who had tents pitched there as well? It was disappointing to say the least and kinda silly of us to think we would be the only ones to want to hit the gold first. Oh, and did I also forget to mention this was a popular place to fish early?
As disappointed, as we all were to find others in the area we made due. The OTHER folks/campers come to find out were there for gold, some to fish, some were dragged along by their loved ones but made due as we were when we found we were not the only idiots out there camping that time of year. After we filled in trenches, pitched our tents, stated a fire and had something to eat we grabbed our pans and headed for the water to read it and it looked promising, cold, but promising and was glad I had brought my fishing pole. As I made my way out to a rock-by-rock-jumping, I saw two men in the river wearing dry suits and they were dredging. On the bank beside them I noticed a couple of women panning from the sluice box so we moseyed on over and talked with them for a while when an older man we didn’t see, spoke to us from his camp chair smoking a pipe. He appeared to be a true old Mainer, accent, appearance and all. When he learned we were green at panning for gold, he gave us a ‘hands on’ lesson. (It is here I have to remind you what I wrote earlier about learning how to fly fish and gold pan via textbook and illustrations.) Gold panning is NOTHING like the books tell you! As we listened and watched the old man intently, we learned that like fly-fishing, panning for gold is an art and takes much practice. He was kind enough to show each of us hands on how to work the pan. What was really nice was that he allowed us to take a pan from their sluice box. In each of our pans, we found gold flakes in amongst black sand and garnets. After the lesson was completed, we thanked him graciously and with our excitement restored, we headed back the couple hundred yards to our camp area and we were ready to find gold!
Once we got back to camp, we each grabbed our gold pans and headed to the water. The first step in was a killer and let me tell you something, that water was friggin’ ice cold and it came straight down from the mountain! Being the time of year, it was and in spots walking on ice to get to the steam, we knew we had to be extra cautious of floating ice and debris once in the water. I remember I was nailed with a 4-inch thick chunk of ice about the size of a dinner table in the leg and thought for sure my leg had been taken off at the thigh. I remember going back to shore, grabbing a beer and sitting by the fire to warm and dry off. I had had enough for the day and it was time to recoup from the injury and long drive. The others were not far behind in joining me.
Our last night camping, we all decided we had had fun but agreed that no matter how exciting it was panning for gold that it should be done in the heat of the summer. It was this night we started planning many more fishing/gold panning trips but for Swift River, well, we would not do this trip again until at least July when the water was warmer. But, even in July though, the mountain water was cold and even though it was 85-90 degrees and the sun blistering-hot, sitting in the stream/river on a rock, the part that was in the water would be numb in no time and we always joked at why our bodies didn‘t go into shock with the bottom half all but frozen and the top half cooking in the sun.
Overall, over a 7-8 year period with eight of us panning for gold we got about four vials full of gold flakes at on average $400 dollars an ounce back then. We upgraded and bought sluices and more back packing supplies, found better spots as the years went by, gained in experience and many many stories to tell.
Gold panning is a tremendous amount of work. First, you have to know how to read a river; second, there is a ton of digging and heavy lugging to do. If you are really into gold panning then you should buy a sluice or dredger. Above all, it is necessary to learn how to work the gold pan so you don’t lose any gold you may have in the pan and then how to get the gold out of the black sand without getting anything but gold into your vial. Gold panning is something I probably couldn’t do today with my knee the way it is and besides that, it is must to be in GREAT physical shape. That I am not.
I have yet to blog about the man greeting us with a pistol, which had about an 18-inch barrel (or it looked that long anyway when pointed at you) while happening on his gold camp up on the mountain in Jackman. This was a tough rough mountain climbing hike on slippery moss-covered boulders at least 2 miles from the nearest dirt road. This guy had set up camp for the summer but I will leave this story for another day.
Email me for good books to read about gold panning in Maine. Renditionsofdayspassed@gmail.org
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Why on Earth would you even want to do that Lora-Jean?
It is no surprise to most that I like to eat from Mother Earth. I have been called everything from a Tree Hugger, Hippy, Granola, Earth Eater, Greenie, to just plain weird and strange and to state the truth, I do not mind either of these names. I like to take from the Earth what is there for the taking so this blog will be about taking and eating from what mother earth has provided for us and what our ancestors ate as main staple meals.
A few years back I was out along a country road. I parked my blazer, hauled up my skirt, took off my sandals and waded out away from the road about 100 or so yards into the boggy swamp. What I was after were cattail shoots and they were just right for the picking and they were calling my name. Before I even got 50 yards out, I was up to my waist in bog water with mud and silt up to my shins/knees and I was humming along thoroughly enjoying myself when I heard from the road side, "Hey, Lora-Jean, whatcha doing?" I looked over and it was my good friend Lori standing on the edge of the road, hands on hip and I could see her grinning from ear to ear. I waved and told her I was getting lunch and asked her if she wanted to join me. She laughed saying she would sit in the sun and wait for me to finish whatever it was that I was doing. I waved and went on making my way to the cattail patch with pail in one hand, guiding stick in the other and a paring knife cross-way my mouth, since my skirt didn’t have pockets. I had given up on trying to keep my skirt dry so I had let that go with the pail hand after a few steps into the water. I remember hearing her laugh as I reached down trying to keep my face out of the water, grab the cattail shoot, trim it off and throw it in the bucket. Once I had a pail full I retreated to the road and Lori was still sitting there with her jeans rolled up to just below her knees and her t-shirt sleeves rolled up making it a sleeveless T. She appeared to be enjoying the sun and downtime.
When I got back, close enough so we could talk instead of yelling to each other I asked her if she wanted to come over for lunch. I remember her saying something like, "Of all the crazy things I’ve eaten at your house, I’ve liked them all, so far." It was obvious she was skeptical of today’s meal though. Once I was on dry ground, I wrung my skirt out and sat down beside her to dry off in the sun. I remember her so plainly, looking into the bucket and said, "What the hell do you have in there!" I simply explained to her what they were and how thrilled I was to catch them ‘just right’ and how I couldn’t wait to have them for a meal. I then informed her that I had picked enough for the both of us for lunch. Although hesitant, she agreed to come back to the house with me and even allowed me to teach her how to peel down to the pith (the best tasting part of the shoot) and told her she would like those the best. By the time I was somewhat dried off, we each got into the blazer and drove to my house about 2 miles away. There, we rinsed them off and I ate a couple raw before we threw them in water to soak. She kept saying how nice the smell was as she was peeling them and if they tasted anything like they smelled she would surely like them.
While we waited, she said she also wanted to try the lily bulbs/tubers I had brought into work a few days prior. So, with shovel in hand, we went out, dug a few, and rinsed them off with the hose. While hosing down the tubers Lori’s daughter saw us outside and stopped by with her dad who had just come back from fishing and had freshly caught trout from Pingree Center. I had some dandelion greens left to cook so we cooked everything we had: cattail shoots, dandelion greens, trout and raw lily tubers! I had dug and roasted dandelion root for coffee weeks before and with that to compliment the meal, we had one hell of a feast from Mother Earth. The cattail shoots were a hit for Lori even though she did feel the need to have butter, salt and pepper on hers where the rest of us had them plain boiled.
After we were finished eating I remembered I had planned to have tomato soup with the cattails (trust me, they compliment each other as well) and when I mentioned that, Mike looked at me surprisingly and said, "Why on Earth would you even want to do that Lora-Jean? This is the perfect meal, why waste it by eating something processed."
I guess what I am trying to say here is that there are so many edible plants out there to eat that are full of nutrients and more than likely growing in your own back yard if you know what you are looking for. This meal was free, tasted EXCELLENT, minimal effort was put into it, and had no artificial ingredients. What could be better than that?
The food our ancestors ate sustained them well enough to have you. The Indians ate from nature’s garden and yet most of us wrinkle our noses at eating such things. I just don’t get how hierarchal people can be when mentioning eating foraged foods and would prefer processed/canned foods. Anyone can forage for wild edibles, they are all around you everywhere you go: lawns, ditches, fields, woods, wetlands etc. You would be pleasantly surprised at what you might like if you gave it a fair shot. Most people don’t even want to entertain the idea of eating "weeds" and are determined to hate it and call it disgusting before they even try it. On numerous occasions, I have had people try foraged foods and before they even get it in their mouth, they start gagging. I mean seriously, save the dramatics for the stage.
Important: Please do not try to forage for food out in the wild if you do not know what they are. There are so many look-a-like plants where one will fill your belly, the other will kill you before it even starts to digest. Please do not forage for will food unless you are 100% certain you know exactly what it is. If you’re not sure, go buy spaghetti-O’s.
Word of caution: It is very important that you can tell the difference between young cattails and calamus. Calamus are very poisonous, and often times grow in amongst cattails!!!!!
Cattails:
This is the time for harvesting cattail shoots. You want the ones in length of your knee. You have to get wet and maybe even a bit muddy but trust me they are worth it. A knife really is not needed while harvesting them, all you have to do is reach down, grab the shoot with your hand and twist all the while pulling upward. It is then you take your knife and trim the end that just came out from the main root system and up until the green starts to show. Mostly you will get is a 10-12 inch shoot when the trimming is finished. Once you get the length trimmed it is now time to peel it. With your fingers as in like you would a cornhusk, peel back until you get a nice white shoot/pith. The average size round piece when peeled is about the size of a dime. Cattail shoots are edible raw but tend to be slimy if you do not rinse them off. They taste very similar to cucumbers, raw or cooked.
.
A few years back I was out along a country road. I parked my blazer, hauled up my skirt, took off my sandals and waded out away from the road about 100 or so yards into the boggy swamp. What I was after were cattail shoots and they were just right for the picking and they were calling my name. Before I even got 50 yards out, I was up to my waist in bog water with mud and silt up to my shins/knees and I was humming along thoroughly enjoying myself when I heard from the road side, "Hey, Lora-Jean, whatcha doing?" I looked over and it was my good friend Lori standing on the edge of the road, hands on hip and I could see her grinning from ear to ear. I waved and told her I was getting lunch and asked her if she wanted to join me. She laughed saying she would sit in the sun and wait for me to finish whatever it was that I was doing. I waved and went on making my way to the cattail patch with pail in one hand, guiding stick in the other and a paring knife cross-way my mouth, since my skirt didn’t have pockets. I had given up on trying to keep my skirt dry so I had let that go with the pail hand after a few steps into the water. I remember hearing her laugh as I reached down trying to keep my face out of the water, grab the cattail shoot, trim it off and throw it in the bucket. Once I had a pail full I retreated to the road and Lori was still sitting there with her jeans rolled up to just below her knees and her t-shirt sleeves rolled up making it a sleeveless T. She appeared to be enjoying the sun and downtime.
When I got back, close enough so we could talk instead of yelling to each other I asked her if she wanted to come over for lunch. I remember her saying something like, "Of all the crazy things I’ve eaten at your house, I’ve liked them all, so far." It was obvious she was skeptical of today’s meal though. Once I was on dry ground, I wrung my skirt out and sat down beside her to dry off in the sun. I remember her so plainly, looking into the bucket and said, "What the hell do you have in there!" I simply explained to her what they were and how thrilled I was to catch them ‘just right’ and how I couldn’t wait to have them for a meal. I then informed her that I had picked enough for the both of us for lunch. Although hesitant, she agreed to come back to the house with me and even allowed me to teach her how to peel down to the pith (the best tasting part of the shoot) and told her she would like those the best. By the time I was somewhat dried off, we each got into the blazer and drove to my house about 2 miles away. There, we rinsed them off and I ate a couple raw before we threw them in water to soak. She kept saying how nice the smell was as she was peeling them and if they tasted anything like they smelled she would surely like them.
While we waited, she said she also wanted to try the lily bulbs/tubers I had brought into work a few days prior. So, with shovel in hand, we went out, dug a few, and rinsed them off with the hose. While hosing down the tubers Lori’s daughter saw us outside and stopped by with her dad who had just come back from fishing and had freshly caught trout from Pingree Center. I had some dandelion greens left to cook so we cooked everything we had: cattail shoots, dandelion greens, trout and raw lily tubers! I had dug and roasted dandelion root for coffee weeks before and with that to compliment the meal, we had one hell of a feast from Mother Earth. The cattail shoots were a hit for Lori even though she did feel the need to have butter, salt and pepper on hers where the rest of us had them plain boiled.
After we were finished eating I remembered I had planned to have tomato soup with the cattails (trust me, they compliment each other as well) and when I mentioned that, Mike looked at me surprisingly and said, "Why on Earth would you even want to do that Lora-Jean? This is the perfect meal, why waste it by eating something processed."
I guess what I am trying to say here is that there are so many edible plants out there to eat that are full of nutrients and more than likely growing in your own back yard if you know what you are looking for. This meal was free, tasted EXCELLENT, minimal effort was put into it, and had no artificial ingredients. What could be better than that?
The food our ancestors ate sustained them well enough to have you. The Indians ate from nature’s garden and yet most of us wrinkle our noses at eating such things. I just don’t get how hierarchal people can be when mentioning eating foraged foods and would prefer processed/canned foods. Anyone can forage for wild edibles, they are all around you everywhere you go: lawns, ditches, fields, woods, wetlands etc. You would be pleasantly surprised at what you might like if you gave it a fair shot. Most people don’t even want to entertain the idea of eating "weeds" and are determined to hate it and call it disgusting before they even try it. On numerous occasions, I have had people try foraged foods and before they even get it in their mouth, they start gagging. I mean seriously, save the dramatics for the stage.
Important: Please do not try to forage for food out in the wild if you do not know what they are. There are so many look-a-like plants where one will fill your belly, the other will kill you before it even starts to digest. Please do not forage for will food unless you are 100% certain you know exactly what it is. If you’re not sure, go buy spaghetti-O’s.
Word of caution: It is very important that you can tell the difference between young cattails and calamus. Calamus are very poisonous, and often times grow in amongst cattails!!!!!
Cattails:
This is the time for harvesting cattail shoots. You want the ones in length of your knee. You have to get wet and maybe even a bit muddy but trust me they are worth it. A knife really is not needed while harvesting them, all you have to do is reach down, grab the shoot with your hand and twist all the while pulling upward. It is then you take your knife and trim the end that just came out from the main root system and up until the green starts to show. Mostly you will get is a 10-12 inch shoot when the trimming is finished. Once you get the length trimmed it is now time to peel it. With your fingers as in like you would a cornhusk, peel back until you get a nice white shoot/pith. The average size round piece when peeled is about the size of a dime. Cattail shoots are edible raw but tend to be slimy if you do not rinse them off. They taste very similar to cucumbers, raw or cooked.
.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Ever Lick a River?
Ever Lick a River?
Anyone who knows me knows I love to fish and that I am good with a fly rod. I can pick a spot on the river or stream and hit it dead on with the fly, or I used to anyway. It has been a while. I first learned to fly fish when my mother bought me a fly rod set for my birthday years ago. Along with the package came a lesson/trip down to L.L. Bean on how to handle the rod and a lesson in tying flies.
Years before, I had made several attempts to teach myself to fly fish. Unless you know the basics though, you are probably gonna end up with a barbed fly stuck in the back of your head as I did. Then you’re gonna curse and throw the rod back into the shed all the while reaffirming the original thought that fish prefer worms anyway, so why not let the fly rod collect dust with the other brilliant ideas tried and abandoned and left to be forgotten. This was the case with me years prior.
When new Maine laws came out that reduced the amount of fish caught in waters from 15 down to 10 down to five then down to 1 or 2 for your bag limit and once worm fishing brooks turned to artificial lures only, it was no longer a fish-for-your-meal but a fish-for-your-pleasure hobby. I balked at these new laws for years and continued to catch and keep my 10 to 15 fish per day each fishing trip. Wrong, I know but it was what it was and I am a good girl now. J
Back in the day, I would fish anywhere there was water but, mostly my fishing spots were back out of the way of people but I did find the opportunity to fish each morning when I worked in Dover. The office where I worked, there was on a huge embankment and way down below, the river. Each day before work, I would grab my fishing gear from the trunk of my car and ever so carefully make my way down the embankment to the river below. I don’t know how many times I got chuckles and comments about a woman in a skirt, blouse and barefoot catching fish. The limit was two per day and each day I would catch my limit, actually, I caught more than my limit but I would always throw back the stocked trout. I only kept the native and made sure my limit of two was of fish worth eating. I would clean them down by the river and bring them into the kitchen area of the office and someone would eat them for lunch. It was always someone’s turn to eat them, never mine, because I could care less to eat but one or two trout a season. They never went to waste.
One day a few years back I was headed fishing to one of my favorite spots way back away from anywhere. I had some friends with me who were also avid anglers (fly-fishermen) and I decided I would show them a spot I had planned to catch fish. It was mid summer and for those of you who have fished that time of year, you know spring fishing is usually much more productive fish wise. The place I had in mind I knew where the fish were located that time of year, the streamers needed and knew without a doubt we could all catch our limit of 10 to 12 inch native trout.
In no time, at all we all caught our limit of fish. Six total and they were nice trout ranging in length from 10 to 13 inches and were deep, fat native brook trout. As we sat there eating warm, squished, bologna sandwiches with mustard we had retrieved from our packs, we seriously entertained the idea of a small fire. How nice it would be to eat our freshly caught trout, then catch more to bring home with us? We abandoned the idea due to it being a dry summer and we did not want to chance the fire getting away from us, besides, that would have been illegal. J
After we cleaned the fish and marveled at their beauty, we strung them on crotched sticks and laid them in the stream in the shade as we enjoyed nature, good conversation and dreading the long uphill hike back out to the blazer. Our conversation was interrupted when we saw birds flushed out of the woods behind us. We joked that if it was a bear he could have the yucky warm squished bologna sandwiches but not the trout, well, maybe the trout but not us. I remember I dropped my empty water bottle and it floated down stream and it quickly hung up on a grass mogul. I got up, retrieved the bottle, and grabbed another bottle of water from the pack. I filled the empty bottle with stream water to keep so I could pour it over my head when I got hot walking back out of the woods. As I sat back down a mosquito bit me on the lip and it was swelling fast so I leaned over from the rock I was sitting on in the stream and stuck my face in to cool the lips and wash the sweat from my face.
Just as my face hit the water, I heard an unfamiliar voice asking how the fishing was. I popped up and saw a game warden standing on the bank talking to the guys and they were already digging out their fishing licenses. I wiped the water from my eyes so I could see better, when I heard the game warden ask me what I was doing with my head in the water. I soooooooo wanted to say I was hiding fish under the rock I was sitting on but thought better of it and instead heard myself say, “evuh lick a rivuh?” The guys laughed but the warden did nothing but ask to see my license and the fish we caught and if we would empty out our packs.
We were legal, this time and thank god we did not start a fire, eat the fish we had caught and then try to fish for more to bring out.
One of my friends has since passed away but the other one still reminds me of the quote. This story and others have been told many times sitting out by the fire. “Evah lick a rivah? Lora-Jean has, just ask her.”
Anyone who knows me knows I love to fish and that I am good with a fly rod. I can pick a spot on the river or stream and hit it dead on with the fly, or I used to anyway. It has been a while. I first learned to fly fish when my mother bought me a fly rod set for my birthday years ago. Along with the package came a lesson/trip down to L.L. Bean on how to handle the rod and a lesson in tying flies.
Years before, I had made several attempts to teach myself to fly fish. Unless you know the basics though, you are probably gonna end up with a barbed fly stuck in the back of your head as I did. Then you’re gonna curse and throw the rod back into the shed all the while reaffirming the original thought that fish prefer worms anyway, so why not let the fly rod collect dust with the other brilliant ideas tried and abandoned and left to be forgotten. This was the case with me years prior.
When new Maine laws came out that reduced the amount of fish caught in waters from 15 down to 10 down to five then down to 1 or 2 for your bag limit and once worm fishing brooks turned to artificial lures only, it was no longer a fish-for-your-meal but a fish-for-your-pleasure hobby. I balked at these new laws for years and continued to catch and keep my 10 to 15 fish per day each fishing trip. Wrong, I know but it was what it was and I am a good girl now. J
Back in the day, I would fish anywhere there was water but, mostly my fishing spots were back out of the way of people but I did find the opportunity to fish each morning when I worked in Dover. The office where I worked, there was on a huge embankment and way down below, the river. Each day before work, I would grab my fishing gear from the trunk of my car and ever so carefully make my way down the embankment to the river below. I don’t know how many times I got chuckles and comments about a woman in a skirt, blouse and barefoot catching fish. The limit was two per day and each day I would catch my limit, actually, I caught more than my limit but I would always throw back the stocked trout. I only kept the native and made sure my limit of two was of fish worth eating. I would clean them down by the river and bring them into the kitchen area of the office and someone would eat them for lunch. It was always someone’s turn to eat them, never mine, because I could care less to eat but one or two trout a season. They never went to waste.
One day a few years back I was headed fishing to one of my favorite spots way back away from anywhere. I had some friends with me who were also avid anglers (fly-fishermen) and I decided I would show them a spot I had planned to catch fish. It was mid summer and for those of you who have fished that time of year, you know spring fishing is usually much more productive fish wise. The place I had in mind I knew where the fish were located that time of year, the streamers needed and knew without a doubt we could all catch our limit of 10 to 12 inch native trout.
In no time, at all we all caught our limit of fish. Six total and they were nice trout ranging in length from 10 to 13 inches and were deep, fat native brook trout. As we sat there eating warm, squished, bologna sandwiches with mustard we had retrieved from our packs, we seriously entertained the idea of a small fire. How nice it would be to eat our freshly caught trout, then catch more to bring home with us? We abandoned the idea due to it being a dry summer and we did not want to chance the fire getting away from us, besides, that would have been illegal. J
After we cleaned the fish and marveled at their beauty, we strung them on crotched sticks and laid them in the stream in the shade as we enjoyed nature, good conversation and dreading the long uphill hike back out to the blazer. Our conversation was interrupted when we saw birds flushed out of the woods behind us. We joked that if it was a bear he could have the yucky warm squished bologna sandwiches but not the trout, well, maybe the trout but not us. I remember I dropped my empty water bottle and it floated down stream and it quickly hung up on a grass mogul. I got up, retrieved the bottle, and grabbed another bottle of water from the pack. I filled the empty bottle with stream water to keep so I could pour it over my head when I got hot walking back out of the woods. As I sat back down a mosquito bit me on the lip and it was swelling fast so I leaned over from the rock I was sitting on in the stream and stuck my face in to cool the lips and wash the sweat from my face.
Just as my face hit the water, I heard an unfamiliar voice asking how the fishing was. I popped up and saw a game warden standing on the bank talking to the guys and they were already digging out their fishing licenses. I wiped the water from my eyes so I could see better, when I heard the game warden ask me what I was doing with my head in the water. I soooooooo wanted to say I was hiding fish under the rock I was sitting on but thought better of it and instead heard myself say, “evuh lick a rivuh?” The guys laughed but the warden did nothing but ask to see my license and the fish we caught and if we would empty out our packs.
We were legal, this time and thank god we did not start a fire, eat the fish we had caught and then try to fish for more to bring out.
One of my friends has since passed away but the other one still reminds me of the quote. This story and others have been told many times sitting out by the fire. “Evah lick a rivah? Lora-Jean has, just ask her.”
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