The misadventure of discovering a well cave

by Danny W. Howard

Now I know there are some folks out there who, for some reason, think that I have the tendency to stretch the truth every now and again. I don’t hardly know where they got that from. Why I say about half of what I write is the gospel truth, and if it ain’t may lightning strike me down where I stand – that’s funny. I thought I just heard some thunder.

Now, you take what happened to me one day last summer. I was out mowing the lawn with my old lawnmower. Now I have to state that my lawn is perhaps the best cared for bunch of crab grass, dandelions, and assorted weeds in nearly the whole state of Maine. Though I should think there are others out there who would make a like claim.

I had, over the years, tried to smooth over some of the rough spots in my lawn that were made by bulldozers, dump trucks and those places where the snowplow digs into the ground before and after the ground freezes and thaws.

I must say I think I did a good job of it – except this one spot over by the pair of pear trees that one of my neighbors gave me back in – let’s see 19–, 1980-something.Wow, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

Well, anyway, like I was saying, I had the lawn pretty much leveled off except this one little spot about, say 20 feet around out there by them pair trees. It had waist high weeds and those hardhack bushes. They were called hardhack bushes because they were hard to hack.

Well, I was running my old lawnmowers over the area when I noticed the handles of the lawnmower were growing up over my head. Now, I want to tell ya – I thought that was a mighty strange thing for an old lawnmower to be doing, so I stopped my mowing for a while to investigate the situation. To my relief I found that the handles weren’t growing but I was standing in a hole that seemed to be getting deeper by the second. The ground came shooting right by my eye balls as I dropped into the aforementioned hole. Now, as I recall it, I must have reached the bottom of this hole a whole half second later, because that’s when I felt this rather sharp pain in my feet. Now this pain traveled up my legs and made an impression on my knees. And then tried to dislocate my hips from the rest of my body before distributing the pain throughout my body before exiting through every one of my hair tips. Where the pain went after that I didn’t know, I kind of lost interest at that point.

As near as I could figure out, I had found the old well that the deed said was on the property when we bought the land from that old couple almost 20-, no, 40 years ago.

So, here I am at the bottom of a, oh, I guess 20-foot hole, with bits of rotten wood, rocks, dust and clumps of dirt falling on my head – from the top of the hole.
My first concern was if I was still alive, I moved and found out that I was indeed alive, the dead don’t feel pain, so I am told, I can’t imagine how they reached that conclusion. What did they do, kick a dead person, and he didn’t say “Ouch!?”

I was standing up and touched the rocks that made up the walls of this well, that I was at the bottom. I figured my chances of getting out of this well were as great as having fallen into it in the first place. So, I started hollering to my wife. Now, at this point, I’ve changed her name to protect the innocent. “Susan—Susan—Suussaann,” I calmly hollered. Susan (my wife’s name for this story) comes to the hole and looks down, sending more rocks, dirt, pieces of rotten boards and grass clumps down on me.

“Oh, there you are, dinner’s ready! What’re doing down there? Do you need some help? Do you want me to call the fire department?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. And, at the moment, I am not hungry. I fell, yes, I need help and no, don’t you dare call the fire department! And, please, step away from the edge. Can you get me the ladder?”

“I think I’d better call the fire department.”

“No!. No fire department.” Now, as an afterthought, as much as I hate to admit it, calling the fire department would have been a good idea, in fact, a great idea.

But I am getting ahead of the story.

So, she gets the ladder. “I better tie a rope on the ladder so I can pull it up if this doesn’t work,” she said.

Her concern for my well-being was, I thought, touching. After much pushing and pulling, plus a few wheelbarrows full of rotten boards, rocks, dirt and clumps of grass down on my head, I had the ladder down the well and what I thought was fairly solid ground at the bottom of the well.

Fire department? Who needs the fire department, as I started up the ladder out of my tomb – er, well. As I was climbing up the ladder I noticed a pretty shaped rock. I thought, Gee, I’ve come up the ladder at least four rungs and this same rock is still at eye level. It was at this point that I realized the ladder was sinking into the bottom of the well. The ladder suddenly stopped with a jar, as it seemed that my wife had the forethought to tie the rope to something solid at the surface.

She looked down at me and said something like, “Hang on, honey, I’ll get you out!”

I’m thinking, now how is she going to get me out of this well while I’m holding on to the ladder? Then, I heard the van start up.

I realized what she had in mind and calmly yelled, “No, not that – stop, before you kill me!”

Those words had no sooner left my lips when I shot out of the well with the ladder in tow – somehow the ladder had managed to shoot out of the well most of its length with only about four or five feet still in the well. The ladder was bending toward the ground. I was calmly shouting to my wife to stop before the rope broke, but my voice was being drowned out by the roar of the van and the spinning tires on the gravel driveway. Why, there was so much noise that I hardly heard the rope break and zap by my left ear.

At this point, things started to happen rather quickly so if I get mixed up, please forgive me.

After the rope broke, the bend in the ladder straigthened up in a hurry, throwing me first into the straightening ladder with just enough force to jar a few of my fillings loose in my teeth. The bad news is that I lost my grip on the ladder that was just beginning its spring in the opposite direction from what I was traveling.
That threw me nearly over the pear tree. Its upper-most branches doing their best to catch me. I guess it must have slowed me down enough for the black raspberry bushes to break my fall. I painfully laid there for my thoughts to catch up with me. As I took note of my injuries, I noticed a sharp pain between my eyes. I felt my forehead. It had been replaced by a rather large goose egg. That was most likely caused by me hitting the ladder as it sprung backwards.

My wife came running over to see if there was any damage done to the ladder, then asked if I was OK.

“Peaches and cream,” I said, “now help me up.”

Well, after all of that, she reached down and helped me up, and wouldn’t you know it, she starts giggling.

“This—is—not—funny!” I said.

“Yes (giggle) it—is (giggle),” she giggled.

Now, you know why I didn’t want the fire department here. It’s bad enough my wife – but the whole town?

Then, I remembered something very important that came to mind that I wanted to tell my wife. It came to mind when I was flying over the pear tree. I said to her, “You get the keys to the van?”

“Why yes, they’re right here,” she said.

“Give them to me!”

“Why, are you going somewhere?” as she handed me the keys.

“No, I ain’t going anywhere now,” as I put the keys in my pocket.

She started to giggling again.

“Women!”

I started to get the ladder and the rope together, and tied one end of the ladder and the other end to the pair tree. I then placed the ladder back down the well.

“What are you doing,” my wife asked. She wasn’t giggling anymore.

“I am going down to look around,” I answered.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you the least bit interested as to why they covered over the well like that?” I asked.

“No.”

“Well, I am,” I said.

She looked at my head and the goose egg that was there, and said, ”I think you got whacked harder than you think.”

“I’m OK, now be a dear and get me the flashlight.”

All of this activity had gotten the attention of my next door neighbor and he came over.

“You know if you’re going down there you ought to have a backup for that flashlight. I’ve got some road flares – I’ll go and get tone,” he said. He returned in a few minutes and handed me the flare.

“What you do it take off the cap and strike it like a match.”

OK, take off the cap and strike it like a match, got it.

“And be sure to strike it away from your face.”

“Away from the face. Got it.”

I went down the ladder with the flashlight and the backup road flare.

Down at the bottom of the well, I noticed another layer of boards covering a hole. I pulled away some rotten boards and noticed there was a cave there. Well, a big crack in the ledge. I got into the crack and did some looking around. At that point the flashlight starts to fade I can’t see three feet in front of me, so I grabbed the flare and pulled off the cap. When I was ready to strike it, I heard this noise, like a flock of birds all taking off at once. All at once the cave is full of bats – in what seemed a mad rush to leave the cave – like rats off a sinking ship. Mmmmm, I go.

At about the same time, my next door neighbor tells my wife something about methane gas in caves down south, but I didn’t think that’ll be a problem this for no – BOOM!

I guess I was wrong, as he picks himself up, and helped my wife get up.

The rocks, dirt and clumps of grass that were thrown out of the well had settled down by the time they got to the edge of the wall and looked down.

“Are you OK?” they asked.

“What?” I could see their lips moving, but no sound.

“Oh, my God,” she told me later. I looked down that well and saw you leaning against the wall of the well, and she asked herself, “Why did I take off my shirt? Then, I realized you didn’t have any hair on your head. I thought maybe you didn’t ‘take’ your shirt off. I’ll go and get you some pants.”

Well, long story short, we fixed up the entrance cleaned away the loose dirt and rocks and sold tickets to what would become the Mammoth Cave of the North.

Now, like I said, most of this is true – of course, I may have exaggerated bits and pieces here nd there just to make the story more interesting, but may lightning strike me down if this ain’t the truth.

Mmmm, must be a storm coming. I think I just heard some thunder.

Danny Howard is a resident of Augusta.

Give Us Your Best Shot! Week of January 12, 2017

COLORFUL SUNSET: Tina Richard, of Clinton, captured this sunset recently.

 

BEAUTY AFTER THE BEAST: Tawni Lively, of Winslow, snapped this winter wonderland following the recent nor’easter.

 

ICY BLUE JAY: Betty Dunton, of Gardiner, photographed this blue jay in a frozen tree.

Ferrets: Man’s other best friend

Roland D. Halleeby Roland D. Hallee

Don’t ask why or how, but last week, while gathered with friends, I was asked a question about ferrets. Not knowing that much about them, I decided to look into it.

What I discovered about the little furry animals was most interesting.

Although I know a few people who have had ferrets as pets, I didn’t realize they were the third most popular pet, behind only dogs and cats. They are popular, although often controversial. My wife and I have a pet, nearly 10-year-old, Holland lop rabbit. I would have bet, if I were a gambling man, and based on conversations with a multitude of people who care for them, that rabbits were more popular than ferrets.

Ferrets have the size and shape of a zucchini, and are related to European polecats. They are not to be confused with skunks which are sometimes colloquially called polecats, but related more to wolverines, ermines, minks and weasels.

The ancient Greeks probably domesticated ferrets about 2,500 years ago to hunt vermins. The practice spread across Europe, especially with sailors who used ferrets on ships to control rats. Ferrets were introduced to America in the 1700s.

A 1490 painting by Leonardo da Vinci named Lady with an Ermine, actually shows her holding a ferret.

Ferrets are carnivores, meaning they eat only meat. According to the American Ferret Association, domesticated ferrets typically eat factory-made chow. A healthy diet for pet ferrets consist of 36 percent protein, 20 percent fats and is low in carbohydrates. A healthy ferret will sleep up to 18 hours a day.

Male ferrets are known as hobs and females are called jills. In the wild, hobs and jills mate around March and April. Following a gestation period of 35 – 45 days, a jill will give birth to one to six kits. Kits will stay with the mother for about a month and a half, leaving the mother as autumn approaches. They become sexually active at one year old. In captivity ferrets can live up to 12 years, but the actual life expectancy is 7-10 years.

Unlike dogs, ferrets have not yet been rigorously studied when it comes to social cognition. According to Hungarian researchers, their early history in service to man is obscure, but have probably been domesticated for more than 2,000 years through selective breeding. Like dogs, ferrets were originally bred for practical reasons like hunting. However, their role within human society has since shifted, as they are now predominantly pets.

Ferret

Ferret. Internet photo

Most ferrets will live happily in social groups. A group of ferrets is commonly referred to as a “business.” They are territorial, like to burrow, and prefer to sleep in an enclosed area.

Ferrets can release their anal gland secretions when startled or scared, but the smell is much less potent than a skunk’s and dissipates rapidly. Most pet ferrets in the U.S. are sold de-scented (anal glands removed).

When excited, ferrets may perform a behavior commonly called the weasel war dance, characterized by a frenzied series of sideways hops, leaps and bumping into nearby objects. Despite its common name, this is not aggressive but is a joyful invitation to play. It is often accompanied by a soft clucking noise, commonly referred to as “dooking.” Conversely, when frightened, ferrets will make a hissing noise; when upset, they will make a soft ‘squeaking’ noise.

Although most domesticated ferrets were introduced by Europeans, there is only one that is native to North America. It is the black-footed ferret, and its existence is in trouble. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is proposing to use unmanned aerial drones to rain peanut-butter laced pellets down on northeast Montana, where the ferrets reside. The pellets contain a vaccine against the plague, which is common in prairie dogs. Prairie dogs consist of 90 percent of the ferret’s diet. As Americans moved west, prairie dog eradication programs and agriculture and development removed much of the ferrets’ prey and habitat, and by 1987 only 18 of the ferrets remained.

The International Union for Conservation of Nature’s (IUCN) Red List of Threatened Species categorizes black-footed ferrets as endangered. There are currently only around 206 mature adults in the wild and their population is decreasing. This is due greatly to the prairie dog population decline since prairie dogs are a major food and shelter source for wild ferrets. They will also eat small mammals such as opossums, rabbits, hedgehogs and rodents, but prairie dogs are the fare of choice.

So, by feeding the prairie dogs with the vaccine they would stay healthy, which in turn would help the black-footed ferrets.

So, domesticated ferrets don’t have it all that bad, like dogs and cats.

I’m Just Curious: Yes or no! What’s the answer?

by Debbie Walker

Do you find yourself saying “yes” more than you really want to? Do you hear yourself saying yes but that little voice inside is trying to get you to say “No”?
One thing I think we need to get over is having been told we have to make everyone else happy, above ourselves. Did you ever wonder where that got started?

It has taken a long time for me to deal with this. I always wanted to make everyone happy. What good is it when you wind up stressed, maybe to the point of making yourself ill? Part of that may also bring about a feeling of resentment. Why? After all you had a choice, didn’t you? What was the real pressure in your situation?

Of course when people ask you for a favor, a loan, they need a ride, anything you can think of over the years, you have to have an answer. Or do you? Sometimes people know they are asking a lot from you. They may even preface their question with “I know this is a lot to ask but ….” Before you answer yes, give yourself a minute to think about it. Do you know why it might be good to consider saying “no”?

If there is an expense to you that you really can’t afford, will you consider yourself first? Vehicles run on gas, oil, tires and maintenance. Are you going to put yourself and your needs first?

Yes, you have a few bucks tucked away but you probably worked hard to do it. Why would you be willing to loan it to someone who may not understand you need that savings to feel secure?

I am far from being any kind of finance counselor, however, if you don’t say “no” because you might feel guilty or you’re afraid of upsetting your friend or family member, that resentment might move in. That is just not healthy.

Well, I have asked a few questions here and I have to admit I don’t have any real answers for you. This has been just to get us to think. There is a book that a wonderful friend of mine introduced me to years ago. The title is “Dance of Anger” and is written by Harriet Lerner. One line of description about the book is “anger may be a signal that we are doing more and giving more than comfortably do or give.” It is a great book. You can tell she wanted to get through to folks because it is written in everyday language, not textbook style.

I’m just curious what your thoughts are on the subject. Contact me at dwdaffy@yahoo.com sub line: Yes or No. Thanks for reading!

PLATTER PERSPECTIVE: Pianist: Sir Clifford Curzon with Pierre Boulez conducting

Peter Cates
dd
by  Peter Cates

Sir Clifford Curzon

Beethoven

Piano Concerto No. 5
Emperor

Mozart

Piano Concerto No. 26, Coronation

Clifford Curzon, pianist, with Pierre Boulez conducting the BBC Symphony Orchestra; BBC Legends- BBCL 4020-2, CD, Beethoven recorded February 17, 1971; Mozart, August 14, 1974, both concerts at Royal Festival Hall, London, England.

Sir Clifford Curzon (1907-1982) was praised by one critic as being a pianist who was capable of achieving 20 different shades of pianissimo, itself being the quietest note on the scale. Now any musician of competence will speak of the special challenges of sustaining just one such note, not to mention 20 shades, and being able to make all of them sing. Yet, if one simply listens to the second movement, or Larghetto, of Mozart’s very last Piano Concerto, No. 27, one will hear these shades played with such sublime singing clarity (I wholeheartedly recommend the 24 disc box, Clifford Curzon Edition, which contains every recording he did for the Decca/London label. And there is no other pianist I would commend so readily for a once in a lifetime bulk purchase).

Sir Clifford Curzon

Sir Clifford Curzon

Curzon studied with two major artists of the keyboard, each of them quite different from the other and each of them having an impact on Curzon that was priceless. The first, Artur Schnabel (1882-1951), was the first to record all Beethoven 32 Piano Sonatas and perform cycles of them throughout the world. He also gave uniquely pleasurable muscular and playful performances of composers who interested him and, due to his speeding bullet virtuosity, could turn a quick Allegretto into a belly tickler. Finally, he would have Curzon thinking about the specific demands of every piece of music that they went over but, very importantly, insist that his student develop his own interpretation instead of copying the teacher.

As opposed to the emphasis Schnabel placed on connecting with a piece of music, the second teacher, pianist/harpsichordist Wanda Landowska (1879-1959) focused on technique, tone, pedaling, touch – the whole nine yards of mastering an instrument, and have the necessary discipline to sustain that mastery. As a result, Curzon’s own playing was a most individualistic combination of Schnabel’s stylistic understanding and Landowska’s exacting technique. And the 2 Concertos were given first class performances.

Pierre Boulez

Pierre Boulez

The conductor, Pierre Boulez (1925-2016), was a hard-nosed enthusiast for the kind of 20th century music that sounded like the most horrific root canal; it would escalate the savage beast rather than soothe him. And he advocated tossing out most of what we call the great classics. Yet, when he collaborated with Curzon for the Beethoven and Mozart, it was a labor of love on his part. A major recommendation!

Growing up in Augusta: Priceless

Pages In Timeby Milt Huntington

Our family moved from Belfast to Augusta when I was a mere 10 years old. I knew Augusta was the capital of Maine, because every time we drove through town to visit out-of-state relatives, my parents would wake me up to see the State House dome.

The only other thing I knew about Augusta was the fact that it was the home of a mental hospital which, back then, was commonly called an insane asylum. I experienced a few nightmares before moving here about crazy people walking the streets. When our moving truck pulled up at our new home on Swan Street, my bicycle was the first thing to be unloaded. That drew the attention of the kids in the new neighborhood who would soon become my childhood friends.

I was small. My bike was a 22-inch affair compared with the 31-inch bikes most kids had. That seemed to fascinate the Swan Street gang with the exception of one guy who didn’t accept this new kid on the block. That was OK with me. I didn’t accept him either. He was a grammar school football hero who became bigger than life when he broke his nose. We got into a fight over some exchange of words, and a lot of fists were flying back and forth. I don’t remember any of them making a serious connection, and we never fought again. He became my closest friend from that day on.

What a neighborhood! A family with five kids lived next door. Down on nearby Gage Street, there was another family with five, plus another Gage Street boy who would also become a life-long friend. We played street hockey using a tin can for a puck; All-y, All-y Over, which involved throwing a ball over the roof of a house and Ring-A-Lebo which was sort of like hide-and-seek. We also played Mother, May I, which involved taking giant strides or baby steps when you remembered to ask: “May I?” and Red Light, a game where the person who was “it” shut their eyes and counted to ten while the others tried to sneak up and tag him before the “it” person said: “Red Light”.

We stole apples, broke a few street lights on Halloween and played football on the approach road to the new Memorial Bridge before it got paved. As a matter of fact, while the bridge was under construction, a few of us walked out on the steel work one night and made our way across the river. After making it safely to the other side, I remember remarking to my friends: “Hey! We beat the governor across!” A KJ reporter heard the remark and printed it in the next day’s news.

Swan Street was located right behind the Hartford Fire Station, and provided a neat short cut through its alley on the way downtown. The fire whistle sounded loudly every night at 9 p.m. to signify curfew time for the younger set. There were times when we would be cutting through the alley way when the whistle would blow and frighten us about ten feet off the ground. There’s no curfew anymore. I wonder why the 9:00 whistle continues to blow? Right beside the fire station, two nice men named Frank and Howard worked at a small shoe repair shop. We hung out there because we liked it when they teased us half to death. We thought we were kind of tough. They laughed and called us “pansies.” We were also firemen wanna-be’s, and pestered them a lot.
I always liked walking down Rines Hill when the trains passed under the bridge. Once, we stood there as a smoke-spewing locomotive went underneath. We were covered with black soot as we leaned on the soot-smudged railing, and we had to go home to get cleaned up. The marvelous old brick railroad station at the bottom of the hill would see some of us come and go from the Korean War. The next place down Water Street was Frank Turcotte’s shoe repair and shoe shine parlor where “Our Gang” would go on Sunday mornings after getting all gussied up for church or some such thing. Next to the shoe shine shop was the coolest store in town–the Depot News. A really nice guy named Joe Kaplan ran the place and provided a second home for all us kids who played his pin ball machine for a nickel a game. All the downtown merchants were good to us kids.

We always stopped at Joe’s on the way to the movies at the Capital or the Colonial theater to load up on candy bars. It was also the place to buy comic books. Between the Depot News and the Capital Theater was a nice little store that sold fruits and vegetables. When I was flush, I used to buy a quarter pound of cherries there to eat in the movie theater.

Next to the fruit store was Partridge’s drug store, where we pigged out on ice cream sodas and chocolate malts or milk shakes, often referred to as chocolate velvets. In my high school days, I would work there as a soda jerk. I even took two years of Latin at Cony High in preparation for a career as a pharmacist. Didn’t happen! My high school year book prophesized that my writing would take me far in the literary world. Yeah, right! All the Way to the Capital Weekly and Kennebec Journal, in Augusta.

Getting back to the movie theaters, the Capital provided all the B-Class movies, westerns and such in black and white. It did have a weekly serial, however, which drew us in every weekend without fail. The serials ranged from Superman to Flash Gordon to Tom Mix and The Shadow. The feature was often Gene Autry, Roy Rogers or the Three Musketeers, starring John Wayne as Stony Brooks and Bob Steele as Tucson. I forget who the third one was – somebody very funny, but forgettable. My first ticket at the Capital cost me 12 cents. What a shock one day when it jumped all the way to 20 cents. We used to horse around noisily a lot at the movie theaters, and it was something to brag about to get ejected at least once during our young lives.

Down at the other end of the street was the old Colonial Theater where Class-A pictures were shown. On Sunday, after week-long previews of coming attractions, we would be rewarded with musical extravaganzas starring Esther Williams, Bing Crosby or Jane Powell in living color or flicks like Casablanca, The Wolfman or war movies like Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. The Colonial played their movies continuously so we could sit through a good movie twice for the price of a single ticket.

Once in a cowboy thriller, an Indian chief, played by blue-eyed Jeff Chandler, stood in the middle of a pow-wow session, folded his arms and dramatically declared: “I walk away!” “Our Gang” had seen the movie once, but we stayed for a second showing to get back to that pow-wow scene again, when we stood in the theater, one by one, folded our arms and declared to the rest of the audience: “We walk away. People call them punks today. We were harmless “hooligans” then.”

On the way home from the Colonial was Ed Houdlette”s Drug Store which was known to have a particularly vulnerable pin ball machine. We hung out there a lot because Mr. Houdlette was also nice to us.

Water Street is what I like to call a street of dreams because it conjures up so many memories of shops and businesses that vanished with our youth. Remember the five- and ten-cent stores that anchored the center of down town Augusta – McLellan’s, Kresge’s and Woolworth’s. We had ‘em all. I was a stock boy and soda jerk for the Kresge operation, but it suvived anyhow for awhile.

Then of course, we had JCPenny, D.W. Adams, Chernowsky’s, the Army-Navy Store, Lamey-Wellahan, Montgomery-Ward and Sears & Roebuck. A jewelry store graced the corner of Water Street and Bridge Street – A.J. Bilodeau’s. Another one sat on the corner between Farrell’s Clothing Store and the post office. It displayed a sign with a picture of a diamond ring. The caption stated: “I came here to talk for Joe,” a popular World War II love song. Speaking of Farrell’s, it once boasted just a single aisle between two counters with a little space downstairs where I bought all my Boy Scout gear and a tux for the senior prom. Nicholson & Ryan Jewelers was always there, it seems.

Near the botom of Rines Hill was a liquor store where my father and grandfather liked to surreptitiously shop. They would always leave their change with the Salvation Army lassie who parked out front. Once, running an errand for my mother, I dropped some change into the lassie’s tambourine. When my mother questioned me about that, I replied: “That’s what Papa and Grampy always do.”

On the other end of Water Street were the beer parlors which gave the neighborhoods a shoddy reputation. Across the street was Allen’s Grocery Store. a fish market and Berry’s Cleaners. Depositor’s Trust Co. on Haymarket Square was on the ground floor of a six-story affair which is now the site of the Key Bank building. We’re talking ancient history, I know, but who can ever forget Stan Foster’s Smoke Shop next to the old Hotel North. He specialized in meals, smokes and some real great pin ball machines. Near the Depot News was Al’s Barber Shop which took care of ducktail haircuts and crew cuts in the early years. His partner and relative bought him out and opened Pat’s Barber Shop at the other end of Water Street near the lights.

Swan Street and Water Street have undergone a lot of change in the last 60-plus years or so. Downtown was the main thoroughfare to all those movies, and it was the pathway to Cony High before the new bridge opened up. Most of those downtown places are now long gone, but the memories (some a little fuzzy now) will remain forever. I wouldn’t swap those memories for anything. Growing up in Augusta was as good as it gets.

Read Part 2 here: Growing up in Augusta: Priceless (Conclusion)

Milt Huntington is the author of “A Lifetime of Laughter” and “Things That Make You Grin.”

SOLON & BEYOND, Week of January 12, 2017

by Marilyn Rogers-Bull & Percy
grams29@tds.net
Solon, Maine 04979

Good morning, dear friends. Don’t worry, be happy!

It’s a happy day when I receive the Solon School News letter.

The Solon Kids Care Club sponsored a Secret Santa activity again this Christmas. Students and staff members drew names and each one designed a tree ornament for the person whose name he/she selected. These ornaments looked great on our school Christmas tree.

The Solon PTO sponsored a Children’s Shopping Day on December 15. Students were able to shop for inexpensive gifts for their families at a “store” set up by the PTO. Thanks to parents who donated items for this activity and to the PTO, and to the PTO members for helping out.

The Solon Christmas Program took place on December 19. Families joined in as Mr. Rich Roberts led them in singing favorite Christmas carols. Hot cocoa and cookies were served.

The annual District Christmas Concert took place at Carrabec Community School on December 14. Band and chorus students from grades 4-8 performed holiday songs under the direction of Mr. Gilbert.

The Solon Fire Department invited the students in grades K-2 to the Fire Hall for a Christmas Party on December 20. We appreciate this special activity the fire department does for the students every year.

RSU #74 Disrict fifth grade ski and snowboard trip to Sugarloaf Mountain will be held on Friday, February 3, from 8 a.m. – 4:30 p.m. Parents are welcome to join the students. Look for permission slips and other forms to come home with students. Contact Mr. Kirk Robinson with any questions.

Third grader Karen Baker was the winner of a contest sponsored by the Solon Fire Department. As the winner, Karen received a special T-shirt and a ride to school in a fire truck.

When the Solon Fire Department came to the Solon School in October in conjunction with Fire Safety Week, they taught students how to keep themselves and their families safe in the event of a fire. They asked students to write about what they learned and draw a picture to go with their writing. The firefighters chose Karen’s entry as the winning one. Congratulations, Karen.

Just a reminder; The Embden Historical Society will not be meeting during the months of January and February.

Don’t know whether any of you made New Year resolutions but when I do, it is usually hard to keep them all. But this week’s memoir from Percy is a good one entitled, ” Do It Now!” If all of the things that could have been done, Were done at the time they should have been done, There never would be any reason to say, “Do it now!” If our unanswered letters were answered , And all thoughtful acts were performed, There never would be any reason to say, “Do it now!” If we didn’t cling so tight to our old friends, And neglect to make any new, There never would be any reason to say, “Do it now!” If all of the things we thought about doing, Were done each day as it passed , There never would be any reason to say, “Do it now!” But since we are all very human, And tend to forget as we go, Let’s remind ourselves of kind deeds undone By the three little words, “Do it now!” (words by Jean Grindle).

Obedience: The foundation of all we do with our dogs

by Carolyn Fuhrer
Owner North Star Dog Training

AKC defines its obedience program as trials set up to demonstrate the dog’s ability to follow specified routines in the obedience ring to emphasize the usefulness of the dog as a companion to humans; and it is essential that the dog demonstrate willingness and enjoyment while it is working, and that handling be smooth and natural without harsh commands.

In other words – the dog and handler enjoy working together. If you have ever seen beautiful heeling, you understand the wonderful flow of energy between the dog and handler. If you have ever seen bright, crisp signals and recalls, then you understand the focus and understanding between the team that comes from the heart.

Obedience is the foundation that enables our dogs to do all the wonderful things they do with us and for us. Obedience enables our dogs to be search and rescue dogs, herding dogs, therapy dogs, assistance dogs, agility dogs, freestyle dogs, and on and on.

Without obedience as a foundation, dogs could not participate in these activities. They need to be able to ignore distractions, make good choices, work under pressure, follow directions and have focus and attention. This is what obedience teaches and this is not a bad thing. All pet dogs could use these skills – it could even save their lives at some point.

There seems to be some feeling that commands are bad. Actually, in reality we give our dogs commands all the time, such as “wait” when we open the door to let them out; “sit and wait” when we go to put their food bowls down; “come” when we need them to join us. Whether you want to call them cues, requests or signals, is a question of semantics. We still expect some compliance and good manners when we ask something of our pets. This is not bad.

Correction seems to be another difficult term – correction is simply a way of showing how something should be done. It does not imply pain or harshness mentally or physically. To anyone who has a poor opinion of obedience my guess is that they have never attended a good obedience class. In a good class there is fun, excitement, laughter, challenges and lots and lots of rewards in many shapes and forms. Dogs are never – and I repeat – never corrected in any way for something they do not understand. This would be self-defeating for all involved. How could we create a willing, joyful, trustful partner if this was a method we employed? Are there poor obedience teachers out there? I’m sure there are, just as there are bad doctors and poor attorneys.

Positive training is not an entity in and of itself, but simply a way to teach obedience. Positive training and obedience training should not be an antithesis. Positive methods are employed to teach dogs obedience and life skills, and most successful obedience instructors use positive methods. There are also people out there claiming to use only positive methods and are not very good at it because they do not understand how to teach.

Even improper use of “clicker training” can cause terrible mental stress to a dog that is overwhelmed by the improper criteria.

So, let’s hope 2017 will be a year to bring more mutual respect to all those in the dog world and for how we choose to spend quality time with our dogs. We all basically share the same goals to enjoy living with our dogs and enjoy special activities with them.

A dog with an obedience foundation is a joy to live with and actually gets a lot more freedom than an uncontrolled dog. It is irresponsible to allow an uncontrolled dog total freedom. All dogs need an obedience foundation.

I am very proud of all of my students and the relationship they have developed and built upon through obedience. Not sure? Find a good obedience class to watch and talk with the students and learn how much it could do for you and your dog.

Carolyn Fuhrer has earned over 90 AKC titles with her Golden Retrievers, including 2 Champion Tracker titles. Carolyn is the owner of North Star Dog Training School in Somerville, Maine. She has been teaching people to understand their dogs for over 25 years. You can contact her with questions, suggestions and ideas for her column by e-mailing carolyn@dogsatnorthstar.com.

Gardening from an easy chair: Plan your dream garden while it snows

Emily Catesby  Emily Cates

As I type this article, the first real snowfall of the season gently and gracefully descends from the sky to my yard. I look out the window, captivated. It’s hard to be inspired to work in the garden when it’s snowing. However, there is a different – and some say as exciting – way to get your green thumb fix, all in the comfort and convenience of a cozy armchair. If snuggling up to a seed catalog comes to mind, then we’re on the same page. What other publications evoke such passion and nostalgia?

Our mailboxes and the cyber world are filled with all kinds of catalogs this time of year, begging for our attention. The glossies have their impossibly perfect pictures of flawless specimens, raising our hopes sky high that our gardens will likewise produce such beauties. One catalog offers what seems an unbelievable deal and another has a coupon for a specified amount of “free” merchandise (or shipping) if the cost of your order reaches a certain total. Another catalog claims unmatched quality and another has varieties that are “exclusive.” And yet another catalog is brimming with full-color photos of rare and endangered varieties that are so unusual you would wonder what planet they were from.

So many choices! So much hype! How can a practical-minded gardener keep it simple and affordable, yet remarkable and pleasant? Here are some hints, I hope they help:

First, I should mention that the best seeds are likely the ones you or your friends and neighbors lovingly saved from last year and thoughtfully maintained. However, when purchased seeds from a catalog are desirable, check the reviews for the seed company. Dave’s Garden and other online forums are oftentimes helpful to sift out the “bad seeds.” Also, make sure their offerings will grow in our cold northern climate. (Some companies actually grow their crops in warmer locations, yet market those varieties as being suitable for northern growers.) Usually it is possible to tell if they are a “seedy” enterprise or not, especially when their catalog is honest in its descriptions as opposed to inflated hyperbole. Be realistic! A good rule of thumb is to order from a catalog where the seeds were grown in Maine or another location similar to ours. I have always had good results doing business with Maine companies such as Fedco, Johnny?s and Pinetree. Give these guys a try; each is a unique, high-quality seed company that has never disappointed me. All of them offer valuable heirlooms for small gardens as well as worthy commercial varieties for markets. Look for early bird specials, consider group ordering possibilities, and save on shipping by picking up your order whenever practical.

If you are looking for something truly unique that cannot be found anywhere else, read the descriptions carefully. Pay attention to the days to maturity and growing zones. Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Company in the Ozarks and Sand Hill Preservation Center in Iowa are both seed companies I would highly recommend for rare and heirloom varieties. Also check out the Seed Savers Exchange and Territorial Seed Co. if you are interested in something different.

Happy seed-searching!

The birds and a brawl at the feeders

Roland D. Halleeby Roland D. Hallee

It’s a new year!

Boy, that was a news flash.

Anyway, we’ve turned the calendar to a new year, the holidays have passed, and we are now settling into the reality of at least three months of winter.
Over the recent week or so, we’ve experienced some messy weather, and the aches and pains of moving the snow – and anything else that nature throws our way.
With all of this turbulence, there is one thing that still brightens my day, and that is watching the birds at the feeding stations.

Following a couple of years where my wife stopped feeding the birds because of the constant battle with squirrels (I know, squirrels have to eat, too), she decided to give it another try. This year, she was introduced to a new bird seed (Spiced Food), one that repels squirrels, and decided to try it. Besides relocating the feeders that make them less accessible to the little gray rodents, the new seeds have been a success.

I have seen squirrels (that would be Martha and Stewart) sit on the porch railing and assess the situation, knowing that what is going through their clever little minds is trying to figure out how to attack the stations. Well, they have tried, and they have failed.

Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor), Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren), Mitch’s sister Cathy (Veronica Cartright), and his mother Lydia (Jessica Tandy), prepare to escape Bodega Bay while the birds gathered by the thousands, driving every resident from the hamlet. Internet photo

In the meantime, the activity around the feeders has been remarkable. Every day we see a plethora of birds coming and going: chickadees, nut­hatches, gold finch, cardinals, house finches, the occasional titmouse, and the most unlikely of all, a hairy woodpecker. We have lots of crows and bluejays around, but so far have stayed away from the feeders.

Sometimes there are more birds than there are feeding stations. That causes a problem, for the birds that is. They engage in a little bit of rough housing. Maybe that is what is keeping the crows and blue jays at bay.

That is fine with me.

Ironically, my wife and I, following a hectic weekend, sat and watched the Alfred Hitchcock classic film, The Birds, last Sunday night. As we watched the birds, mostly crows and seagulls, take over the small hamlet of Bodega Bay, supposedly located north of San Francisco, driving out all its residents, I really didn’t make a correlation between that, and the birds that have, literally, taken over my side porch at the house.

What if…?

That could never happen, could it?

Monday morning saw me standing at my kitchen window, watching as the onslaught continued at the bird feeders. My imagination, which has been described as a little on the strange side at times, began to take over. What if those little feathered creatures came to the conclusion there wasn’t enough food or feeding stations, and decided to try to enter the house to get at the feed bag? Maybe they could even engage the cooperation of the squirrels.

Slap! Slap! Wake up, and get a hold of yourself. They are only tiny little creatures. They couldn’t possibly do the kind of damage those big birds did in that film. Could they?