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Getting Potluck In Maine, Five Star Dining Without The Same Number Of Forks.

Getting more quality out of life is a common goal.

No matter what your health, age, situation, location. Making life for you and others better than it was, with what you have to work with should be a daily exercise. Turned to after the counting your blessings that Maine families do on both ends of the day.

We are a grateful bunch and pretty spread out thinly in a state not flush with cash.

But wealthy in what counts for natural beauty, space, values. Individuals step up but not for the attention, to hog the spotlight. But because it’s just the right thing to do. To show your kids how it is done. Awareness, appreciation of others around you. Sensing, just knowing your role and place in the Maine community. When there are not wall to wall populations to recruit for what needs doing. And family is everything.

Maine potluck supper gatherings of family, friends, community members are like five star dining.

Missing that same number of forks to create that kind of rich experience. Table talk adding the seasoning. The food made with love, past down tried and true tested dish recipes. And without any organization of menu inventory to make sure it comes out balanced.

Ever noticed how the potluck supper array is always the full compliment of dishes to sample?
Maine Church Pot Luck Suppers, Covered Dish Spreads, Nothing Compares. Baked With Love, Served With Pride.
Everyone did not end up bringing the same pots of baked beans. No no, it’s salads of all types. Casseroles, scallops, Mexican dishes, Swedish meatballs and lasagna. Baked macaroni and cheese. Shrimp, hot wings. Lobster, ham, egg, tuna mini sub rolls.

Meat platters, veggie trays, breads, sweets and talk about pies. How can you pick when it is like a dessert pie Disneyland? You’re a kid again but taller.

Towering over the pie table that is no longer nose high. To study the blueberry, mince meat, graham cracker, coconut cream, apple, pumpkin, raspberry or wait a minute.

Is that strawberry rhubarb?

Excuse me, coming through. That last piece has my name on it just so’s you know. For munching after this blog post.

For as far as you can see, every conceivable kind of pie, cobbler, puddings, date square and cookies of all varieties. Show up to be sampled, seconded. To stack, chisel off a slab, finish the meal with a slice. Or with hot coffee, a cookie, date square. While you try to make room from the earlier courses roller coasted down the open wide pie hole.

Delicious, mouth watering food. Parked on your DOT highway portable scales bell ringing overloaded double paper plate.

Maybe the reason much of the made from memory, no cook book read along food is so good is it was prepared the way your Mom, Grandmother, Aunt Helen did. You don’t get this caliber food at a local restaurant, can not buy, duplicate it in can. Haul out of the grocery freezer anything on par.

The out of this world food usually found only where a very big meal end tip is expected, included. The meal made with individual love, passion, consideration, kindness. Like an offering bought to the supper to share with others who did the same act. But not the same dish.

Different people in a small Maine community. Not identical, and home made not store bought nutrients, sustenance, goodness under every covered dish makes it memorable.

Along with the conversation, task at hand in the small Maine community gathering at a church. Maybe it is held at a grange hall, a snow sled monthly club meeting, social gathering, someone’s backyard.

Like Forrest said about the not knowing what you are gonna get in that full life box of chocolates, it’s hard telling without knowing. Like that out in the community in a small Maine town. Most members hard working, realizing you get out what you put into what you bring to the table at that Maine potluck supper gathering.

The Harley driver who did not spend twenty thousand dollars for the ride with leather and shades, dew rag with the price sticker still showing.

With extra cash splashed for all the doo dad chrome accessories. The real Maine is like Buddy Schillinger.
Whoa. Need A Cat Nap, I’m Stuffed. Looking For A Sun Spot Inside Rays.
Buddy owned one very old, crippled Harley bike in a time when not everyone had one parked in their garage. Had run out and bought one too like it seems today everywhere you look.

This black two wheeler Harley bike rescued from its sleeping, twisted grave in a junk yard.

Nursed back to health. Parts scrounged for, patiently collected when the money in the thin wallet was not in abundance. Just not happening. Flowing in like there was a major restrictive life kink. But sufficient to keep juggling all the balls needed to live in his corner of Linneus Maine. And get the bike on the road. Eventually.

Tinkering in the one bay garage. That was a “you can have it if you move it” free situation. A master of having everything, eventually but as the third, fourth owner in a “living in gentile poverty” approach to life.

The black two wheeler originally built without a speedometer, turn signals old. And kept, preserved, run that way. The degree of wind in your hair, amount of bugs in your teeth telling you in your gut you are going the speed limit or not.

Lifting an arm and pointing a hand to show what direction the next turn is going to be naturally, not mechanically.

Like the potluck supper richness, goodness, the Harley was made road worthy with a prayer, shoe string budget, lots of late nights in the shop. Improvising, bartering, trading services to achieve something unique, special. Just not instant off the showroom expensive.

Maine is a four season state that many have to settle for one week’s vacation to do them the other fifty one weeks. I am so lucky, fortunate, grateful to live in Vacationland full time for the potluck rich experience on all levels surrounding me in a small Maine community.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

December 12, 2013
The Place With All Those Buried Truck Drivers Lost In The Maine Woods.

Hungry, Being Grateful, Thankful For What We Have Living In Maine. Sing It Loud.

Meet some interesting people in my line of work. Online from all over.

Last night before closing up the property listing in Maine workshop, the last call for real estate came in from around the world. From Queensland, Australia to pinpoint the location a few clicks away.

The voice, from a man originally from Pennsylvania gave me the order for the property listing kitchen. (Ding Ding)

Shared his wish list with number one to be away from people. Where he can heat with wood. Everything around him paid for, not doing debt. And using a generator if no land line juice available suits him just fine. His wife too who is a native of Australia. She being described as wiry, feisty, vertically challenged. For two years before he entered the picture, she had lived in the outback, the bush where the generator was all she wrote. Building her house from ground up all by her lonesome. Move over Bob Vila. Craftsmen tools may be signing on a new spokesperson.

The email, contact information exchanged. We ran the drill of one by one what he wants. The does not need no thank you helpings of business check off list thoroughly thrashed out too. Then I had to ask. How did you get to that far corner of the World from Australia. Pause. It’s a long story so thought no blog post fodder train of inspiration would be coming round round the mountain. But it did. There is always a woman involved.

Long story short, Frank did two tours of duty in Vietnam working for Uncle Sam in an unpopular war he did not cause.

But a fight he did not walk away from, in back to back bouts in the rice paddy jungle ring. In 1970 while the shooting and shelling were still going on, he stepped up to the counter to take his allotted rest and relaxation. To hop across the puddle to Australia, where he met Marilyn in Sydney. The spark connection between the pair happened. But so did life’s obligations. The “back to work GI Joe” from Vietnam wake up call. Signalling the R & R was over. Ten hut, not more at ease soldier away from the barracks.

So fast forward to back in the states with Frank and swinging a carpenter’s hammer. Running a planer. Making piles of sawdust for a living. Holding down a position in a noble profession, trade of crafting furniture. Creating custom kitchen cabinets. Far safer than the Vietnam 9-5 earlier rat race job.
White Tail Deer, Haynesville ME Is Disneyland For Them. Population 2010 Was 121 Friendly Souls.
For thirty eight years before he and Marilyn met again. He started looking for her. She had always wondered, not forgotten him. About the same time. Like the song “somewhere out there” sang by a mouse with only the moon to share the sad heart felt tune. Both did their part for the long distance reunion.

Frank had to dig, with bits and pieces from contacting friends in the APB of a MIA. For someone that he still felt the L-O-V-E light beacon shining.

With help of a personal GPS like big brother the Internet. Not using a private eye or a short wave radio, writing letters like the black and white movie love stories. He found her, she found him. He moved to her native Australia. Married a local, low to the ground, not showing up on radar green screen sweeps. Like low flying B-52’s in Aroostook County back when Loriing Air Force Base was in it’s hay day. The couple joined after nearly four decades of being apart.

Tow tickets to paradise, bought for Maine on the silver bird and the very long flight. Lots of standing up by the bathroom and stretching your legs between naps, peanuts, inflight movies. Will be in Maine with his wife and her green card paperwork all neat and sweetly typed out, filled in for the December 30th touch down. His and his bride’s eye on 53 acres in Haynesville Maine with a one bedroom home, attached double garage that would come in dead last for all time best home locations for trick or treaters.

Dead end road, not a neighbor in sight and just the way the two liked what they saw, heard in the video. Rewound, rewatched, studied.

They’ve already been to the place before they get here. In, around the home and land for sale in Haynesville Maine. I’m going to educate him about the off the beaten path place with all the supposed song buried truck driver mile markers in Haynesville Maine that Dick Curless crooned about wearing an eye patch.

The blue and green spinning marble is a much smaller place with a faster pace. And why many just want to step off that merry go round. Find their small private, no population space on that marble. I’m going to help Frank and Marilyn and learn a lot about Australia in the process without making the leap to see it first hand. Or maybe I will after they describe what it is like cooking on the Barbie, watching kangaroo jump, pouch the kids which is about the extent of my knowledge watching television.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@moersrealty.com

December 10, 2013
Too Much Alike, Opposites Attract, So Which Is It That Works For You?

If a people pair are dubbed by their peers as “two peas in a pod”, would that earn the label carbon copy?

Peas In A Pod, Getting Along. Maybe Sisters, Best Friends? Waiting For Their Ship To Come In?
Not identical twins. But pretty close to clones in what makes them tick deep down inside? Sized up, USDA graded “A” number one. Rumbling along the one potato, two potato life conveyor assembly line. An awful lot alike. Or the chemistry of the two elements, personalities combined causes difficulty in determining where one starts and the other leaves off in the relationship tag team of two.

Or is it like the porridge the girl with the hair of gold was finicky about, highly selective.

Not going to sit down and eat until it was “just right”. Kept looking, sampling, not settling for anything that was not just so. Same breakfast mush but the temperature seemed to be the one defining selection variant in the eenie meenie miney moe. The standard sought before the bow the head grace and digging in. To beam satisfied, be all smiles with a happy tummy in the break and enter brunch buffet. Without the baby grand piano player, fish bowl tip jar, freshly squeezed, sweating juice pitcher array.

But we are not talking food you like or not. Instead, it’s what leaves a good taste in both people’s mouths in the mostly blue sky and sunshine relationship labor. When it works, clicks. And they still all do demand effort. The give and take. A work in progress. Rock polishing, smoothing. Finding the rough edges together.

Then eyes on your own paper. Roll up the sleeves. At your private time desk. Each filing and sanding their fair share off in the building of a lasting, enduring friendship. Changing the way you you used to look at things, the new way you react in a good, positive way. That can not help but improve the weather, atmosphere surrounding the relationship.

To come closer together in alignment for harmony. To be orbiting in the same circles.

Sand blasting, hammering out, chiseling away at their differences from each rise and shine daily experience. The notes on the page transposed to music that is sung, played on the right pitch, in the same key, matched in time rhythm.

Weathering the storms that happen right on schedule in anyone’s life. Everything happens for a reason. Paying attention develops the clarity to light the murky, watery channel ahead around the “islands” of people. To learn how to put it all in perspective, to come out stronger, wiser in the process. Who wouldn’t want the best possible relationship ever. Because you are in it, get to sample the ambrosia you helped make. We are talking appreciation, not the wrecking ball of pride raising havoc, taking over.

All this hunt and peck talk about becoming more alike, so where does the “opposites attract” part camp weigh in, apply?

If you and I were too much alike would there be no room, or nothing new for adding to the recipe crafted, baked together? To surprise, delight both of us. Drawn up from the deep, cold well of talents, skills, experiences of the other in the combined repertoire?

Maybe over thinking leads to the need to control, alternate, delete time. Like the porridge simple. It just tastes good, goes down well. Gravitate to those things, people that do. If someone comes up along side you that says me too, smile. Don’t fight it. The pairing happens naturally, not so scientifically in the match making of what just works game.

Trouble shooters can be good in keeping a business ship afloat. The ink not flowing red but black. But need to throw away the office template in the affairs of the heart. To just sit in the boat, paddle with the current and drift, relax, wait for what is around the next river bend. Could be a class five rapid or a quiet pool to eddy out for lunch when the porridge wears off. Time to dine, feast again.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME REALTOR
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

December 7, 2013
Aunt Charlene Belonged To A Local Maine Food Co Op.

Once a month, Aunt Charlene would do her part in the distributing of the bulk food order from the local Maine food co op.

And ordering for what everyone needed for food supplies was done in the Ronald McDonald Room ironically. Downstairs where the little kids get wired on way too much cake and squeal, NASCAR fast circling the area the tall clown with the big feet, way too much lipstick and the wild red hair hangs out under the golden arches. You know, the place where you deserve a break today, change back from your dollar, Mickey D’s. Don’t forget to super size that value meal deal. Move ahead please.

Eating healthier dark, heavy multi grain breads, letting go of bleached wonder white air puff stinking thinking.

Pass the yogurt and that red pepper humus will you please? The joy of having the Maine home pantry stocked with the good stuff. To spread around the family kitchen table that is highly nutritious. Bulk bought food where you fill, store, have ready everything you need to knock down the meal times.

To save money on avoiding all that colorful, eye catching, wallet opening marketing containers. That razzle dazzle a tired, hungry, in a hurry person pushing the wire cart with always the one bad, squeaky peg leg wheel. The place with the muzak, where you pay more for one can of corn rather than buy the whole case wholesale thinking foiled.

Less trips, not dependent on the grocery store means more time, money for something else.

Not running the roads as much. Savings happening, building for peace of mind, those rainy days. And along with the food co op bulk buying when the freight comes in, weaving in the food you grow yourself outback in the garden plot.

The close to home locally raised produce, fruit, veggies you score when in season has another conveyor belt into that same pantry too. Fresh is best. But canning and preserving part of the ritual in a Maine household.

Eating better, less stressed, feeling in the pink.

You are what you eat. Not trying to just be trim but fit too and eating healthy. Because your body is a temple, something to protect, preserve and to enrich life by daily maintenance of the physical, spiritual, mental health balance. To keep it that way.

In balance with moderation and awareness of what is going in the pie hole. The good thoughts coming out of the same portal. Or remaining silent if there is a storm in the heart or head and oh oh, here comes a tongue lashing. Heads are going to roll. Venting helps put out the fire, but inner joy, peace extinguishes the need for all that kindling to maintain and build the blaze right?

Not happy, poor me is a choice. Staying that way is plain lazy.

But not so hand stand, heel kicking clicking happy goes hand in hand with not feeling so hot. Maybe because the diet is not helping. But often the last place they look under, behind. It’s all in your head may need to move over with the what are you putting, funneling, siphoning into your gut cowboy? Besides that can of beans, beef jerky, slice of cactus? Washing all that trail dust down with a gallon of swamp water. MMmmm not so good. No, I’m not going to pass the Little Debbie’s oat pie hombre. You’ll get your shot of formaldehyde when it’s RIP time.

Here is a Maine food co op directory that needs to be added to, feel free. Update to display where locally you get your bulk food, the know where it comes from and how it was grown vittles your family deserves. That’s so so important to the simpler, healthier living in Maine schema.

Another portal to throw, toss into the grocery cart for the Crown O’ Maine Organic Cooperative. Nature’s Circle in New Limerick Maine still one more shining star organic food operation that is anything but Mickey Mouse, rinky dink. Or maybe you need quality seed to start your own backyard enterprise for good wholesome, grow it yourself food? Wood Prairie Farms is a good resource to add to the list in your determination for better, healthier living in Maine.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

December 4, 2013
Everyday Miracles, Joy In Maine Small Town Country Farm Living.

The large rickety barn door on the Maine farm creaks open.

Rattles, groans as you lift the latch holding it shut. To pour, splash, invade the shadows inside. During the early morning sunrise of long not so powerful rays this time of year.

The winter farm gate keeper, motel manager for four legged guests causing sunlight to enter the rows of standing stalls on one side. Larger category eleven and twelve roomier box stalls along the opposite wall of the barn. It’s feeding, haying, graining, watering time on the Maine farm.

You don’t get a morning off when you sign up for the raising critters life style of country living in Maine. Up before first light means you toddle off to bed a little earlier. To avoid the need, cattle prodding from an alarm clock. The animals expect a wake up visit. Turn, glad to see you for breakfast, any meal during the day.

Your pair of peepers squint, adjust to the lack of barn light before the old fashioned, outdated twist electrical switch is reached.

Stepping in,closing the home made door barely hanging on the hinges. As you gawk. Survey what some of the horses got into for mischief overnight. Checking on the mother due to be in boil water, tear up sheets, hard labor soon if your calculations are right. You and the vet have a little bet on that miracle of life about to be delivered on the Maine farm.

Watch the last standing stall on the right. That appaloosa kicks, bites, slams you into the wall if you don’t pay attention. There is a lot of room for improvement in his stable table manners. Like some people, his ears are always back, teeth bared, lips quivering. As he horses around, acts up for the wrong kind of attention. He’ll take whatever kind he can get, deserves. On the menu.

The second Maine farm barn box stall hay burner is very social.

Also has her own hard to break bad habit of cribbing. Considered a Maine horse stable vice not virtue.

But boredom, neglect, confinement causes its horse like human dysfunctions too. You add galvanized sleeves to the nibbled, exposed wood sections of the stall but good luck with that. You can’t wrap it all in metal.

Therapy for skinny rescue horses, learning what type of country music they enjoy. Getting them saddled up, out to trail ride. Or at least on the revolving end of a brightly colored lunge line into the fresh air. It all helps create peace, contentment. Breaks up a long Maine winter for the handler and horse combined.

After so many flakes from square bales are first, slowly lowered to avoid breakage, then oh crap happening. Losing one side, or both un-gluing of bailing twine packaging. Stored in the stable’s adjoining big Maine farm barn hay mow loft. Stacked, racked, jacked up the conveyor off the truck or tractor wagon. After compression into short rectangles, collected and parked inside on the hottest day of the Maine summer.

After the hay dealing meals from your wheels, the right mix of grain, and hold your horses on the watering to absorb, not flush all those nutrients on purpose delay. It’s wheel barrel time.

To clean out what went in from the other end.

Filling, emptying multiple, endless wheelbarrows of cedar shavings and straw. Getting a barnyard work out more of a healthy habit when the mercury is sinking, sitting low in the tube. More so in the winter when it is too cold, or raining. Too windy for the steeds, horses, ponies to be out in the open weather elements. Even with a lean to horse hovel, three sided run in to avoid the worst of it.

The spring, summer, fall turning out, emptying of the stable means a reprieve. Less runs up and down the fertilizer pile. The one you really have to give it all you got during take off. To make a run for it. A quick heave ho, put your back into it lift off. Up the series of planks, the twisting narrow roadway airstrip.

The steaming, growing taller organic food for the vegetables. Forming out behind the Maine farm barn. Less visited when grass is green, growing. But used as the take it easy. Helping the horses avoid too much rich clover early on when like drunken sailors of eat, drink and be merry. That’s part of one grazing session chapter. Talked about, studied in your Maine farm operators job description manual too.

Moderation, good luck teaching that to a a Maine farm pleasure horse.

Who wants another apple, carrot, rub behind the ear. To be curry brushed, tail and mane combed out from those burdocks. All the time. That tangled in their coarse hair needing soaking in the pail of water to loosen up, disintegrate and let go. The feet one by one to be tapped just so, lifted. Picked up, held between chest and one arm. Hoof picked with the other while checking for ailments. Scrapes, dings, grazes, bites needing salve, love and attention. As you reach for the Bag Balm green square tin of protection. That helps when it hurts.

Ride me, take me for a spin those big brown eyes, sometimes one with an non matching different looking pale blue gray lone, maybe a pair of watch eyes pleads. As Flicker, Trigger, Big Lady or Briar snort, stomp, push up against you and act frisky. Wanting, needing to run, fill those big lungs with fresh air. Kick up their heels like you and I need to do as often as possible. Did you grow up around, do you now own horses, other critters or want to be on a Maine farm for the simple country living lifestyle?

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com
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December 1, 2013
The Job Interview Where The Tone, Attitude Was All Wrong.

Had a head hunter stop into the office who had been doing his job for the same length as my Maine real estate career, coming up on thirty four years.

Looking for property and I asked him how his job has changed once I knew what he did for work. He said the attitude, tone, lack of respect knob volume has steadily been increasing in job seekers he deals with daily.

The job interviews used to be with a candidate quiet, nervous, anxious.

Hat in hand. Sober faced. Needing the job and willing to do whatever it took to get it. Not making demands, not grand standing. Humble, grateful, hopeful about the job process. What happened and where did the shift take place?

The erosion started with some applicants spoiled growing up and thinking the world owes them a living, anything. A big fat salary, comfortable life, benefits package no matter how improperly schooled or prepared for the job.

This seasoned head hunter said he saw more and more applicants make demands, have unrealistic expectations. Not many gave the impression they were in it for the long haul. Opportunistics, ready to jump ship to feather their own caps.

Spouting more of “if I decide to take this job and it all depends on this company measuring up” tone, ultimatum. If you guys jack high the ante.

Feed, raise the pot to my satisfaction” attitude, tone plays out during the interview quickly heading south. Going badly but no where to bring it back around. Salvage something good from the session for both parties.

Often the “not getting the job” candidate when told he wears a cocky attitude and his lack of team player spirit were two reasons does not take the rejection well.

Tells the interviewer hiring, screening where he can put the job. That he would never consider working for someone so rinky dink, mickey mouse, bush league.

Blaming others for his difficulty to get the job he knows he deserves at the nose bleed high pay scale level he expects. But is just not best suited for the long and short of it. Many times these out of whack expectations come from parents who spoiled the lad or lassie. Told them pretty much nonstop growing up that he or she could do no wrong. That the world pretty much revolved around them. The grand scheme to expect immediate results without passing go short cuts. Others expected to say how high when asked to jump, perform, meet their needs.

This head hunter, job placement veteran was not working in Maine, not interviewing job applicants from Vacationland.

In Maine work ethic is everything. Dedication to the job, to go above and beyond to keep it. To pour the same blood, sweat and tears into our local communities, families. Because it reflects on the person, his or her Maine town, family and shows what they are made of is instilled in us as young grasshoppers.

Maine, hard working small town friendly, uncomplicated folks live here. Looking for a place to launch, start your business, watch it grow with the right attitude? With hard working, dependable Maine employees in it for the long haul? Not a bad way to grow your business this place called Maine.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

November 30, 2013