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Running With Scissors, Washing Your Hands, Picking Up Maine Hitchhikers.

Strain, Gain, Filter, Squeeze Lots From Simple Maine Grateful Living.

Taking chances, being careful exploring and what you can do in Maine that you might not consider in other more populated, less safe areas.

Take hitch hiking as a mode of transportation. Using your thumb to avoid digging deep for gas money or because you don’t own anything needing fuel. Or when it is too cold for the pedal power of a bike. You can save a lot of money, cover much ground and make many new friends hitch hiking.

The feeling of getting a ride when waiting out in the cold or rain a long time is a good one.

A good Samaritan who got around to places using his extended thumb does not easily pass a hitchhiker. Because unless the fellow is unsavory looking, has three pit bulls or a starring role as a character in a Stephen King horror novel, you stop. Back up, ask the obvious…need a ride? It’s right along the way and conversation back and forth makes the travel quick for both of you.

Often it looks like someone’s college kid, one of our own too. Who may have a car that brook down.
Maine Is Outdoors, Friendly People, Less Crowds, More Beauty.
He suddenly got thrown into hoof it mode. Or just likes the experience meeting the locals hitchhiking that would be missed otherwise. Along the way to and from here and home. Or he is a nomad. On the road of life.

You are part of the mass transit puzzle piece.

Have a role. Glad to offer assistance. You are helping him out and can see yourself in the same situation too. Maybe you were once and someone always stopped over and over. You did not forget the kindness that was extended a lot graciously.

You learn from this traveler asking where you from, where you been, where you heading?

Hitting a truck stop to see who is going to Portland Maine and if you could catch a ride was not uncommon growing up in Aroostook. To get back to college. You did not feel scared or reckless. Like someone in East Boston, Hartford, The Bronx or some seedier sides of Philadelphia might. More from the Guide to Hitchhiking the World.

But back to Maine, what applies here as safe, standard day to day living is not the norm of crime, gangs, scams in the newscast blare.

That are the garden variety kind of day to day scary there. But every one gets numbed to the volume of it, the what to expect in urban areas where you learn to live in fear. Take extra precautions. More people, more crime, less small town connection like Maine is famous for, why it is remembered fondly here. Stands out as so so refreshingly different.

In Maine you don’t worry about a lot of the things that you would if you were fending for yourself in a big city. Same when you see someone hitchhiking in Maine. I’ve gone extra miles to help someone get closer, out of the cold, rain, snow. Or actually to their destination as a driver who can help if we did not share the same A to B. Sometimes the story they were telling, sharing was not done. Other times I just knew they would have a long wait at this place I was getting off the highway at so hit a spot more out in the open. More likely to get a quick “connecting flight” ride.

Maine. Keys left in the cars, that don’t get stolen, not taken for joy rides. Not used in a bank heist or for kidnapping. And we don’t have drive by shootings in the 4th lowest crime state of Maine. So when some new practices are instituted you wonder why and can we really afford the expenditure in a small Maine town? Is it really needed or has someone been watching too much television, cable beamed in from urban crime centers. Or this practice was needed where they used to live where lots of crazy stuff happened. Even with belts and suspenders extra precautions.

So back to hitchhiking in Maine and some of you raising your eyebrows and thinking is he crazy?

I did a lot of it growing up, met lots of neat people and never had a knife pulled. My wallet asked for at gun point. Pushed out of the jeep into the bushes as they became Clyde, not Bonnie in the shot gun position anymore. When I see a college student, two back packers by the road that look tired, I think know what that feels like.

Stop and pick them up. Back up. Think, picture someone with one of my own four kids doing the same and looking out for them. Play it forward. So they do the same and it snowballs. Gives you greater faith in your fellow man that starts with you and I, our actions, deeds. More on hiking the Appalachian Trail and where to stay along the way. Low cost way to see the best parts of Maine few tourists do because a majority just hit the coast and call it good enough. Turn back and head to their out of state, country home.

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

November 29, 2013
Metal Detectors In Small Maine Town Courthouses….

Recently, the trotting up Maine county courthouse steps to title search deeds, get a few copies of survey plat maps, something new introduced.

Metal detectors to walk through on the way across the first floor court house lobby. To hit the rows and rows of history smelling old property volumes in the registry of deeds.

There was a Maine murder trial underway upstairs in the courthouse.

The accused an elderly man with an old cold case being reheated and due process renewed, underway. But why the metal detectors and two personnel with earpieces, badges to run the empty your pockets, step through now back? The let’s try it again. Ditch that belt buckle routine like at the airport screening before the peanuts, beverage and maybe an in-flight silver bird movie. Please have your two dollars ready for the head set if not napping instead. The helpful correct change for something stiffer to nurse if you are nervous, anxious flying.

I asked the shirt, tie, blazer pair of fellows with dark pants, gray blazers how it is determined the extra security of setting up the portal to scan for metal is needed or not? One volunteered it was toward the end of the budget year, money left over so that was a pretty good reason to set up shop. Camp out for the cold winter week of weather during the warm, inside trial work deliberations. While waiting for a verdict to be hammered out. Recited loudly for all to hear by the standing up jury foreman.

The security pair looked bored stiff.

Sitting on hall benches. One hopping up when a stray wandered in as the front or side door opened. They bagged, tagged me three times. No one ever in line to cause a wait, delay when I made the pit stop to hit the registry a that week. The twins sitting, alternating roaming the halls. Studying old black and white images of past justices that tended the important job of holding up the legal scales. To determine guilt, innocence or somewhere in between shades of legal gray.

One court house screener told me his boss, if he had his way, would like to see the metal detector set up permanently all over Maine’s courthouses. Not just a hit or miss road show. Of stand up the doorway, then hit the highway, tear down mobile appearances. I could see if we lived in Chicago, a famous, notorious mob boss was on trial. Lots of threats on his life were circulating. Multiple change of venues happening to cool, soothe tensions, emotions. Maybe the metal scan is needed in Portland Maine judicial locations. Not so much in county seats in Aroostook, Washington, Piscataquis Counties.

Metal detector screening for someone high profile for murder trials, if we had gangs, where there is a flight risk and the extra caution belt and suspenders needed.

To up hold the due process, to protect the accused. The witnesses, their army of spiffed up, cuff linked, monogram shirt three piece attorneys. To orchestrate the ready freddy to testify and raise their right hand trial appearances. To be sworn in to tell only the whole truth so help me God. To add their two cent pieces in the who, what, where, when and why it all really happened of the legal puzzle piece collection.

As I got my searched for deed copies, scribbled my notes and left the registry the last day of the trial and metal detector screening, I thought what better job could the two security gentlemen have had that long, not much happening week. Of pretty slow, hanging around the first floor of the court house. First thought was weatherizing Maine houses. So the sweetheart elderly widow with walker inside this one, or the house full of rambunctious kids in that one could get some much needed insulation.

To end up spending less money they did not have. Shelling out the cash lacking, in tight supply to heat their respective homes or apartments this Maine winter.

To keep pipes, people, house pets from freezing. With a north facing new insulated storm window or two added here. Weather stripping sealing in the front and back door there. And like a sundae, top it all off with another six inch blanket. Pile it on thick of fiberglass strips or loose material with a high R value cherry on top in the attic.

Applying what might be needed in a big state like Maine in one place where the population is way higher the closer down the pike you get to the big green bridge at the other end. To smaller, eleven people per square mile rural areas in the other corners might be misplaced, wasteful in the 4th lowest crime state. Where those hinterland frugal locations are half that pretty impressive state lawless figure. Expenditures that could be avoided to cut costs. Or money shifted, better spent in other areas where the needs are greater, the return sweeter win win. It’s always a challenge, full time best practice exercise in a state like Maine.

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

November 27, 2013
Maine, A Place To Run Away To, To Breathe, Think, Relax.

The attitude, the tone, appreciation and respect for the surroundings you call home are the trampoline key to how high you get in life.

The quality of your existence on Earth is often hinged on how busy, commercial, populated it is in your circle, corner of the World right? When you don’t live in a rural state like Maine, it is easy to forget a place like it exists. You don’t have time to day dream. Get out of the habit of letting go, you stop the life altering visits.

Other things on your to do list crowd, take over. Robbing the real joy that being in Maine creates deep inside where real joy, peace, happiness and content hang out, live.

When you have huffed, puffed, stuck with the journey of blue broken dashes up the side of Mt Katahdin, the feeling when you climb up and over onto the table land at Baxter Park’s senior pinnacle is
Maine, Less Colors Than Late Fall’s Explosion Can Be Dramatic Too!
hard to explain.

No words form at first. No matter how many visits. But like the Tim McGraw country song about “I like it, love it, want some more of it” Sugar Pie. Don’t fight the feeling.

Maine, she will have her way with you. And all you know is sign me up for more. Get in line, stay in a row. Mountains cure amnesia.

You may have to head back to work out of state for Monday morning. Get on the green line “T” to be at the job by nine into dragon heart of the city. But you will be back. No doubt about it. Over and for over for a life long love affair that only shines brighter, grows hotter deep down inside.

Distance away from the urban centers is part of Maine’s mystique.

No billboards, there’s a bottle return law. 4th lowest crime state safe. And the rural, remove the large wads of cash stuffed in the pants to live day to day missing. Replaced with more barter than currency exchanging hands.

Means less commercial activity, enterprise happens. More outdoor no cost, low cost fun.

More self sufficiency, depending on your own skill set than paying someone else to tap into their collection for survival, existence.

When you live in a small Maine community of under 200 folks, do you think you can afford a million dollar town office, 8 story ladder fire truck?

Not needed. Over kill. Just like layers and stacks of cumbersome, expensive, time delay regulations for permits, code compliance. To herd all that population. Nope. The simple, kitchen table, common sense approach to living like that mountain top hiking, biking, skiing experience. Works just fine. Is real, honest, simple Maine living. Along with all this wide open, all to yourself waterfront, scenery, wildlife just adds arrow to the heart and keester. To love the freedom, boy we sure are lucky amazement to catch fire.

Real freedom in how you live starts with where you decide to camp out. Without Home Owners Associations, snarky upper crust elite telling you what are not doing right now. And what the fine, penalty is if you don’t cease and desist this instance buster. Or else threats of legal procedures being started up as the poison pen letters, sabre rattling bullying begins. You are not a hillbilly, you may be a fish out of water. A mouse in the wrong landscape. Adjust the GPS selector coordinates.

Ever think if being grateful for the bare necessities is more than enough for real joy was ever replaced with lots of people, plenty of money suddenly invading a small Maine town?

How everything would go to someplace where it seldom freezes over?

Oh sure, Maine could use more jobs, to tighten up on duplication of services and any waste in its government programs. But we pretty much live like we are always ready for a recession in our small Maine towns. Home made, not store bought.

Step up, pitch in, do your part. Don’t waste money, save for a rainy day. Our hand not out, shoved in both of our own pockets.

We make it work, we are happy with what we have. Plenty, we know lots of folks bankrupt in other ways mentally, spiritually. And not just talking about whether its red or black ink you live your day to day using. The lifestyle you show your kids as what is really important to seek out, achieve in life is so important.

Happy Thanksgiving and if you have an empty nest, are not traveling for turkey this year, help make one for others in your home town.

Homeless, shut ins, Veterans or other elderly groups that have no family.

Those that recently lost someone very near and dear that just wish the holidays were over. Because they are struggling with one big ugly, depressing reminder someone is missing. There is a big hole at their place at the table, their role in the home traditions holiday. Kids are the cure at Christmas, Thanksgiving. Make their time special, bright and catch the wonderment spark of the season through their eyes, hearts.

Work the tables at the local church, Elks or other civic clubs to bow your head with others. And be truly thankful, grateful, feeling so so fortunate for how we are really blessed. Pass that butternut squash bowl, cinnamon bun platter and green bean casserole dish to those that look hungry. We need some more light meat of Tom Turkey or Harry Ham carved up too. Let’s eat, give thanks to the table of bounty, abundance of home grown food to feast on in Maine.

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

November 24, 2013
Where Were You When President Kennedy Was Shot, Heard The News?

Black & White Delivery Of The News Outside A Small Maine Town On JFK’s Assassination. While My Mom Watched, Ironed Clothes Of Dad’s, The Four Boys.

Like 911, the Pearl Harbor attack, events in history hit you where you live.

When viewed from afar. The perspective age wise, geographical from up here in the right hand corner of the country. In a place with all that space called Maine.

I don’t remember the teacher at Bowdoin Street school giving us the tragic news. But I was only six, in the first grade in 1963. A head filled with more thoughts of what I was getting for Christmas. Worried if Santa thought I scored high enough marks or not. On the behavior scale to win, earn, deserve a slot in the right book. Of other good or varying degrees of rotten boys and girls vying for the guy in red velvet, white fur’s favor.

The teacher, Mrs Nelder, the school might have thought, let the parents handle this one, the JFK assassination news.

At this tender age. On Friday, November 22nd, 1963. About what happened 12:30 Texas time. As it made the ripples in the airwaves of news broadcasts from Dallas over the AP, UPI wires to Maine.

What I do remember is it was a cold gray day in Houlton Maine. Hopping down the school bus steps, walking up the long driveway at a Maine farm located 1.5 miles out on US Rt 2, named the County Road at the time. Bare maple shade trees swaying in the wind. No white stuff on the ground. But smelling like snow could happen at any moment. All the locals ready. Winters with more flurries. School was never canceled like today’s quickness to call it off. The long snow fence of wooden slats like you see on Maine coastal sand dunes in place. To slow the drifts, keep them from filling the highways so quickly.

Inside, putting the yellow, empty folding metal Disney lunch bucket bus on the kitchen counter for tomorrow’s refueling exercise.

Grabbing a couple home made, fresh date filled pin wheel cookies off the cooling rack. A glass of ice cold whole milk from our own cow. And wandering after the snack into the front room. Where my Mom was ironing, focused on the black and white transmission of the latest news information. Delivered by Walter Cronkhite.

Mom watching, absorb, distracted, upset.

Shaking a 1957 Pepsi Cola bottle with a green sprinkler head for the moisture to lubricate, help the process of ironing. Eyes and ears on Walter. On the TV set hooked to twin leads that pulled in three channels roof top from the aluminum array. Lots of numbers on the rotary dial not used. Nothing to pick up. No cable, no SAT dish in the Maine farm home at the time. Too many chores on the farm to perform even if they existed. Life was not spent on the couch growing up on a Maine farm in 1963. Pretty much the same way now.

The last two weeks, because of the approaching 50th Anniversary of JFK’s death, the five decades of reporting the President’s assassination has a mind numbing effect. The event approached from so many angles, perspectives, sources. Beyond just the lone, black and white version one Walter reported with journalistic integrity. We trusted him to get it right, tell it like it was. Cause that’s the way it is. How are you holding up and what do you recall from that day? Hearing the news and your reaction to it?

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

Mom was upset. So I became worried. This was big, something awful had happened.

November 20, 2013
The Color Of Maine, Sometimes Blue And Brown Works Fine.

Maine, Dressed In Just A Few Colors. Like Late Fall Brown Blue Hues.

When you tell your friends about the fireworks, the colors of fall foliage in Maine, it is a pretty breath taking, jaw dropping time.

But other combinations of colors can be the perfect backdrop to your Vacationland experience too.

Just blue, mostly white hit a positive major chord. It does not have to just be Jack Frost stealing the show with vibrant colors detonating for the second explosion bloom around the Maine countryside in fall.

The lack of color variety can play, come off to be more dramatic, memorable.

Stark to some, comforting and reassuring to others. If you are looking out from inside. By a crackling wood fire, while snow is falling. A home cooked meal just enjoyed or about to be. Or the sound of rain on the woods camp metal roof is happening. While you curl up with a good book. Play cribbage with an old dear friend. Glad to be high and dry so to speak. Inside, out of the elements while stormy weather plays out.

Maine, Less Colors Than Fall’s Explosion Can Be Dramatic Too!
I know revisits to the Maine coast to hang out with the camera to click click capture winter shots of a lighthouse is entirely different than sharing the venue with New York Yankee cap wearing crowds of tourists. Taking turns, waiting, collecting, after the same thing you are in summer. A juicy photo slice of Maine.

In winter, look around. Just you on board. And you get a sense this is really what being the keeper of the lighthouse in Maine felt like other seasons than during the warm sea breeze, strong sun of summer.

Rainbows of colors of harvest gold, reds, oranges, yellows and greens are pretty dramatic.

Hit you deeply. But so do the Maine paint by number settings when fewer colors get solos to sucker punch, suck out your breath pretty hard too. In places you don’t go much. Or were blind, not aware you had locked up, closed off deep down inside. The vast, sheer wide open space of Maine can be served up wrapped in different colors for entirely different take away reactions.
Colors Of Just Winter White, Weathered Barn Board Gray, A Splash Of Shaggy Horse Chestnut Brown. Work For You?

It’s all about how you chose to wrap your mind around what is now playing outside in Maine for colors.

And the mood, attitude you dress, wear around that morning.

When your feet hit the floor running.

Swing out of bed to begin your day.

Maine, wide open, all natural, nothing man made. That’s the most memorable take away. Always. Don’t keep her waiting. Don’t stay away so long.

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

November 18, 2013
In A Small Maine Town You Know All The People In The Audience.

Living In A Small Maine Town, Folks, Families Are Connected, Close.

You hear it a lot about how connected, close folks are in a small Maine town.

And the reasons are many. First because of the smaller population, and the entire community is more involved. Have roles in the social, civic, sporting, community fabric.

Family is very important.

The overlap of living, working, playing with other people makes you part of more than one. You all spend time together. Get to know each other better. Are just closer to your neighbor down the road. The next pew. Two rows down on the bleachers. You need each other in a small Maine town for survival. Worry, pray, check in on each other on a regular basis.

It’s like having just enough players for a full team in baseball. Or the bare essentials to cover the positions off the bench to play a regulation hockey game. With no extras in one of the 108 very small Maine towns. So in a way the local population in a small Maine town causes a greater responsibility to step up, pitch in, work together. And they do. Whether it is a church harvest supper, a grange hall building campaign for a new roof, or the local high school musical. Maybe playing in the local town band, having some role in the community theatre.

Which reminds me of Elizabeth Stone, mine, everyone’s high school English teacher.

Who was in the audience of a local play I was involved in in her home town of Smyrna Maine. I wondered what she would say for pointers if asked. As I recall her total immersion in the role of Lady MacBeth. Showing the class what emotion, acting, passion or sorrow were all about. To express yourself on the stage or in writing.

There are times when hunting, pecking recycled electrons in these Me In Maine blog posts thinking what if this was her English class? Some passed in blog posts would get an A+. But others would be riddled with written in red remarks. Reminding this section could have been shortened up, too wordy. Or you could have taken this area to the next level. If you had gone down this rabbit trail instead.

We all have days when the results could not have been better or other factors caused the opposite to happen right?

Usually your favorite teacher was your hardest. She held your feet to the fire and made you do more when she knew you were capable, could do better work. We were challenged, really learned from teachers like Mrs Stone. It was not just a job, it was their life, purpose in the small Maine town. Who are still looking over our shoulders, dead or alive. Still educating from up front. The lesson seeds planted by them working to shape us, improve us. Make us who we are. She was born to teach. Still substitutes. My kids had her and loved her. Know her magic, presence when she enters the room and takes control. Sit up straight, pay attention. The class ending bell rings too quickly.

Or parallel parking with no room to spare in front of the local Maine courthouse with the clock on top.

To trot into the registry of deeds for a survey plat, a few copies of some legal descriptions, I think of Terry Spurling. Like his colleague Mrs. Stone, and her husband Irvin Stone who was a high school math teacher, I prefer to keep it on a last name basis. Out of respect, because that is how I knew them first and foremost. How I will always refer to them, remember them fondly.

Mr. Spurling, a gym teacher and driver’s ed instructor would have given me a smile, high five for the perfectly executed parking maneuver. I learned how from him. Forty years ago. Mr Scott the principal while listing, selling a Maine lake property told me to call him Woody. Ah, smiling, can I keep calling your Mr Scott? I don’t want to get detention. A call made to my parents for disrespect. A note to take home about running in the halls. Acting out on the bus. Over extending senior privileges and forgetting where the high school was with friends. Close to the time to put on the square hat with the swinging tassel. When lilac trees, snow ball bushes were in full bloom.

In a large city, the degree of impersonal connections if there are any at at all increases.

Can you remember your tenth grade English teacher, driver’s ed instructor, etc with absolute clarity as if yesterday was today? Do you run into them after leaving high school? Maybe it’s like having 300 channels on your cable or sat dish plan. But whining anyway about “there’s nothing to watch.” I grew up with three TV numbers that worked. Pulled in signals from a Maine farm house antennae that picked up two Canadian broadcasts.

One American television cherry picker in Presque Isle Maine that could select from ABC, NBC, CBS for programming fare. And wait. Forgot. A fourth choice. One more option. Public broadcasting, MPBN beamed in Bert and Ernie, Mr Rogers. Turned out okay. Spent more time outside exploring than plopped on a couch. Never lamented to parents that “I’m bored”. On a Maine farm, that never happened. We were busy. Feet shuffling, moving, industrious. Everyone is in a small Maine town.

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

November 15, 2013