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Ringing Bells, Red Flags, And Ooh Ooh That Smell.

What Needs Fixing, How To Approach Problems In Small Maine Towns.

Sometimes it is easy to caught up in the day to day living and with the speed of life blur miss cues.

To not be as sharp, aware, to see with clarity what is happening around you. When you pull, rack back the focus and see what’s going on as the Buffalo Springfield song warns. Not everything is always hunky dory. There is plenty to gripe about, to whine and wish this or that situation was different if that is the sit down and have a pity party approach you want to take.

But making things better than they were starts with realizing some tinkering, fixing is needed.

Mistakes happened but lessons learned from decisions made in the trial and error tinkering. But arriving at some common ground where the folks that swim with you, the birds of a feather that fly next door are in pretty much overall agreement. On the same page of where are we now, where do we go from here? What is my individual role to help not hurt the process? Sometimes it’s say nothing, don’t fight, take the high road. But not being apathetic, discouraged just sizing up the situation to see where you jump in.

Nothing stays static. Try to keep up or take shelter under some flat rock to avoid being stampeded can happen when you live where there is nothing but a sea of not so happy faces anywhere you crank your head to gawk, take a gander look-see. Finding a place where the pace of life is a tad more sane, lower miles per hour is a start. Where you are aware of the night sky stars overhead. The clean sparkling bubbling water, the neat well versed seasoned neighbor. Those are just three Maine face cards in large supply. Where the population is not wall to wall that always comes with a severe price in the trade off.

There is a reason the population is smaller in a Maine community.

A little ways away from major markets. Insulated from the rat race. You have to make your own opportunities. See new ones that could work with passion, dedication and right thinking, near perfect timing. But is small town Maine community life the same for everyone or a carbon copy of the day to day you would live in a larger population center? Absolutely not.

Maine, Outdoor Four Season Simple Living. Real, Rich, Simple.

You swap certain things, give up and gain much when you relocate, move, invest in a Maine small town lifestyle.

Time spent sitting in traffic, worrying about personal property disappearing and saving your own hide from harm gets traded for not having to lock your doors. Not always looking over your shoulder. Protection not needed from the folks that smile, make eye contact. Mainers that have manners, are polite and considerate makes everything different. From ones who seem disinterested, rude, too busy. Or just avoid connecting, reaching out and acknowledging others surrounding them when you bee line for a life in the city chasing the dollar to make ends meet.

The “don’t get involved in an urban area” is exchanged for pace yourself, relax, breathe. Pick and chose carefully like signing up for college classes to avoid being overwhelmed with credit hours. Over extended and pulled in too many directions for community service. There are never enough local volunteers. Plenty of folks that say it can not be done. But the step up to the plate types in a small Maine town you will find have a heart that nothing compares to, is stronger. Because of fierce pride, passion, a will to pitch in and see their role in the local landscape to improve the small Maine town. To apply the talents, skills or hone them to apply, do their best when not many sign on. Step up in a positive way.

Get On The Highway To Maine. Simple, Beautiful, Outdoor Special.

The ringing bells ringing are bickering on the local level that wastes times, does nothing for confidence or to inspire folks to sign on.

To buy in, pitch in, not shy away. The red flags are the finger pointing instead of offering solutions and collectively hammering out the where do we go from here, what do we do now to stay on the straight and narrow. The right path.

And the ooh ooh that smell is the unmistakeable odor that oozes, permeates when something is rotten. Feelings have no IQ but can stall, side rail or push back the work process that needs to be done in a small Maine town. Unmet needs, not “feeling” appreciated or needing recognition can be in short supply but replacing it with pride, self satisfaction and more self reliance is what under populated, natural Maine simple living is all about right?

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

October 12, 2013
You Live In A Small Maine Town, But This One Has Faster Internet.

Staying Huddled Close, Tightly, A Connection Living In A Small Maine Town Means Faster Internet Has To Happen.

Speed of thought internet, where access is not the garden variety typical available options.

Not what most local providers offer to the general public. No no, this small Maine town invested in a wireless blanket to cover the community. Lightning fast internet bandwidth speeds. With wireless nodes on poles through out the burg, around the village. And serious thought, an investment of tax payer dollars were earmarked to get the zip code some kind of well wired.

Local ambulance EMT’s tap into the wall to wall internet strength and hospitals see the vitals as it happens, real time on the way in and prepare for what has to start stat to save a life.

Firefighters have the same information pouring in. Know the situation, who needs to do what when and where before they even roll up the big fire house doors. Fire up the diesel engine. Turn on the lights and siren. And the black and white spotted dog leaps on the back end of the lead fire truck speeding out of the station.

Why? The economic strategy of the small Maine town was to make sure all the existing manufacturing, distribution and service providers already here were never taken for granted. Where municipal officials worked hard to meet the many needs of those already putting cash in the local coffers. But also promoting the safe small town way of life by seriously courting, sparking and going all out with a full court press for the telecommuter. The Jack and Jill out in the wild blue yonder who live in a Hartford CT, Providence RI, Boston MA or NYC who want a change.

The online worker who can take their job anywhere on the planet but the tractor beam tugging at his heart is pulling him to Maine.

That are not tied to a specific location and may have to fly to a major city of two a few times a year to make the leap to the Maine small town work. To smooth any wrinkles being a little further away from the face to face with the customer can cause. But these online bring your job with you folks are some kind of good at what they do. They are valuable to their present employer or are independent contractors that bid on jobs. Proven dependable, on time, to do expert work.

No one wants to lose a valuable trained, seasoned employee or service provider like that right? So what about your local internet providers, show us what you got that’s hot. Entice me, “tease me please me” has to happen.

So why this particular place to call home of all the 108 small Maine towns to live, work and play? To raise a family or to think about retiring in? Because of all the four season natural recreational options. The down to Earth friendly people who live in a small Maine town who care about each other. Where there is a connection, a flavor, quality of living that they just can not strain, squeeze, take away from the crime riddled city. The expensive, noisy, dirty, just too many people in a small space urban area.

But this Maine town offering bigger, better, “wicked” fast internet. Hands down as close to lightning as possible for the quick as you can get on the planet.

Takes an investment from the local municipality. Pushing, moving a stack of colored chips onto that economic development life board game space is worth it. Telecommuting to work was not an option fifteen years ago due to limitations of service and speed. But the bugs on that are worked out, and straight ahead highway paved in fiber optics means floor it. The sharp dangerous curves and blind spots have been removed if the small Maine town has vision, a plan, a strategy. A pipe for the electrons to ride the information wave.

And just as important as all the wonderful things Maine is famous for from clean air and water, no traffic, lower cost housing, it’s the long list of what we don’t have here too. That is a strong attraction to the telecommuter. You don’t have to lock your car, there are no daily drive by shootings, no gangs, no living in fear or having to never ever roll through this or that seedy neighborhood where you take your life into your own hands if you do. That’s no way to live. That is not what it is like in Maine. People wave, smile, make eye contact and hold doors open for you. Let you go in traffic. They are happier because of where they live that has high test quality of life written all over it.

Telecommuters to Maine, don’t need employment to open up, already have that.

Have a satisfying, rewarding job, will travel is the motto on their card. Like a hired gun. Bring it along and spend the money they make outside of the small town in the local community. New dollars to turn over an average of six times in a Maine town means they create wealth. Not recycle it.

I am lucky to live in a Maine town with not just internet, but faster, more dependable, advanced connections. And working to be even better at a rate other areas have ignored. Or have a false sense of security that they have good enough internet service already. It’s keep up or get left behind. Let go of that thinking or get dragged under happens. Make it a sport, passion to be better, way beyond just “good enough”.

So the wireless, DSL, cable, whatever internet partner options available in a small Maine town need to hop up on the leather examination table covered with paper towel like material.

To turn it’s head and cough, have a thorough physical exam. To stay healthy and ahead of the rest of the herd of other small towns. For the “pick me pick me” feeling showing proudly. Like the one you experience every time you wander into a Maine animal shelter. And one pooch or feline does a better job pulling at your heart strings. Ending up riding home with you to a forever home.

To live in a world where we all know time is money. And the only way to make more time is by better use of what we already have. Faster connections, quicker uploads, downloads and redundancy. For consistent, never loose that signal to happen. And always having a pipeline that is providing a bigger chunk of the bandwidth speeds from the ten meg horsepower. So it is like someone put the nozzle of 100 octane aviation grade fuel into the telecommuter’s computer. Strapped, bolted on a blue NOS bottle of rocket juice. To really zing, sizzle. All the time.

Maine, The Place To Live, But Work Online, Telecommuting. Make It Happen With Job Outside Vacationland.

For Dick and Jane to work hard, be productive online but then shut it off, to enjoy the four seasons natural beauty of Maine.

That everyone from outside of Vacationland wishes they could tap into for more than just one week a year away. If there were just the job options like they already have in the city in Maine. For the telecommuter, with a high tech town in Maine that can offer the speeds and in all spots, he or she now can make the move to a rural lifestyle. Broadband is critical for a small Maine town’s survival. The fastest internet speeds in the USA is in a small Washington town of about 7000. pretty close to the same number in a head count of my small town, Houlton Maine.

What little small Maine town would not want to have an extra 1000 people for tax payers, contributors to the local community with all the talents they bring along and contribute to the area? To stem the flow to cities for jobs that are just not available locally. Or ones that were but dried up with automation. Other economic reasons. Folks employed that buy local and keep the lights shining brightly for everyone that already lives, loves and wants to stay in the small Maine town. It’s a beautiful thing.

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

October 10, 2013
You Look Good In Blaze Orange, Camo, But Maine Fall Is More Than Hunting Season.

There is always a hesitation, a pause to reflect while the next next of Maine’s four season backdrops squeaky wheels into place.

Sometimes because the season you just enjoyed so much ended way way too soon. Because all you wanted to do in the outdoors in Maine that season was left with a few items just not scratched off on the mental to do list. Juggling life events and keeping a balance in the important areas of your life secure has to happen too right?

You try to have the yearly traditions like hiking up Mt Katahdin or camping at Baxter Park. A trip or two to the Maine coast. Hiking, piking, kayaking, or just walking, sitting, gazing. Being fully aware of Maine’s natural beauty surrounding you. One more wet raft ride down the Kennebec, Penobscot, The Dead Rivers. But in the fall wearing a wet suit of neoprene top and bottom. Hitting all the senses, not just using the eyeballs in all we experience in Maine.

Peaceful, Four Season Drop Dead Gorgeous, Maine.

Fall in Maine happens right on time. As you tramp through the woods but wearing orange, red in search of game.

Or just sitting on an open porch of a lone Maine log cabin in the forest. Listening to the quiet. Watching one by one colorful leaves spiral, drift to the ground. Smelling the fall aroma of trees, grass, ground cover, morning frost, evening dew. The crackling, sparking, blazing camp fire. Or something good cooking up, sizzling in a large black iron skillet. That whatever is served will taste over the top special. Because it is the yearly tradition, handed down recipe of stew, biscuits, home made this or that. And because your lungs have OD’ed on fresh clean air today.

It’s like someone put on a face mask early in the day pumping only green bottles, canisters of pure oxygen. So different, foreign, refreshing after the city smog, smell of industry, automobiles, diesels trucks and trains. That is your usually air supply. All your body is fed round the clock.

Fall is a time to reflect on summer, get ready for winter.

Each season is connected, wired in series and all detonate, fire up, percolate all year long inside a person. Because it is so different when you pull back on the crowds of people. Rein in the crime, traffic, and open up the skies. With a black velvet back drop high overhead. Of a zillion brilliant stars that you admire and forgot were up there because the city light pollution robs the opportunity to visit them nightly.

Digging out the boards to go skiing, moving the snow sled into position from in front of the car in the garage to beside it. Uncovered, waxed, fluids readied. Digging around for the registration to trot to the local town office to get a new different colored sticker for the sides.

Getting the wood splitter back from your neighbor to finish up what has been put off. Needs to be racked, stacked in the cellar after the splitting process. Removing air conditioners, replacing door seals, tightening window latches to batten down the Maine home. Bringing the green canoe out from behind the garage, to its special spot tucked inside. Along with the patio chairs, glass top table and flower pots. Leaning a picnic table up against a tree sideways to shed snow.

Seasons change, color, filter the people of Maine that enjoy all four. In distinct unique ways, locations, with the neat people who all somehow find their way to Maine.

Attending harvest church suppers, craft fairs and thinking holidays with the family. But admiring summer images on the refrigerator of moments captured that make you smile, happy to live, raise a family in Maine. It’s not just about summer weather, and we have no Maine polar bears, igloos in the winter. There are four seasons to collect, over and over through out a person’s lifetime in Vacationland. Maine. Get to know her, don’t stay away so long.

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

October 8, 2013
Not Many Bad “Seeds”, Kids… Usually Lousy Parenting.

Let’s rewind back to your childhood, and what worked, what did not in the kid-parent partnership.

Everyone in a family has a role, responsibility and should feel their special place in the household. And that Maine home would not be the same, like the small, tight, local community if the individuals that make it shine were missing. Not in the equation. But lots of “experts” will shake their head side to side when you claim to be one of the lucky ones. And think your parents did a pretty good job of raising their Maine family.

Raising kids is a process. But like anything, opinions on the good, bad, the ugly are all over the landscape about parenting, how best to do it. Ten mistakes in parenting. Every kid is different and so are you through out the cross roads, mile stones of ups and downs in your life. Because of what else is going on around you in the day to day. While parenting and the effect all the people, events, situations ripple. Cause for disturbance from the other balls, knives you juggle to try and hold down a job, improve relationships, to provide a warm, healthy, safe, happy Maine home.

My oldest brother of the four boys Mom and Dad brought into the world says he had different parents than me.

He’s ten years older, I’m on the tail end of the lineage. Parents had some logged miles under the belt by the time I climbed up into the high chair at meal time. And I think he means they were new at this parenting game board, gig. Started immediately after the stork with the tail wind flew over. Air dropped the package. The bundle of joy that was him. The first grandchild that my Aunt Ruth took a real shining to and to the point my Mom had to remind her to bring him back to his real home.

My brother Steve also claims the first kid is a throw away baby because there is a such a steep learning curve for brand spanking new parents. And due to just no written manual on the corner of the coffee table to thumb through for the follow along. To guide, navigate, for directions. To help in the humming the song until you learn the words. And don’t you just get it figured out and there they go. That class is over. Into another new family phase of exploring, independence happens. And the awkward point of still a kid, not quite a grown lady or man presents itself. Spoiling a child is far worse than neglect. A guarantee of unhappiness when others don’t provide the same ego stroking lavishing praise, trinkets. And not being taught responsibility for their own actions, taking ownership of mistakes they do, will make.

Slowly letting out the rope. We prepare kids for the day they leave the aircraft carrier. Launched out into the wild blue yonder. Jettisoned with everything we have learned, passed down and mixed in with items gleaned along the way whipped into the education. To prepare them for the life journey. For when we are gone and no tether harness to bolt cut, saw off, un-knot. For total freedom to run, be in charge of their own life.

One thing for sure, the pirate approach of “the beatings will continue until the morale improves” might work in prisons.

But outside the crow bar hotel or under household roofs not waving the jolly roger or skull and cross bone flag, it is all about consistency. It is moderation. It is routine. Unconditional love and two parents on the same page or at least presenting a unified front. Until behind closed doors, or over coffee in a pair of open porch rocking chairs or on the same swing. To hammer out a solution that is not one or the other but a blend. Of the best of both in the approach to what do we do, say, need to see happen.

So the kids can not work one parent against the other to achieve their means, meet their desires.

New blending families are ripe breeding grounds for missed cues, waving then dropped red flags. The kid wanting his or her way. To game the out come of say “am I getting the keys to the car to go out on a date Friday night or not?” Wanting to know Monday. But being told “It depends on what kind of week you have Suzie, Jimmy”. With hopefully no outside family interference in the leave and cleave. What would they do on The Walton’s, Little House, Ozzie And Harriet, or Ozzy and Sharon? (Record diamond needle ground, ripped across vinyl record scratch, screech sound).

Ever been somewhere when a small child has a tantrum, meltdown? Ever want to give advice but not your kid but you see who has the upper hand, no respect for the one that is suppose to be in charge. Pushing the card, paying for the goods at check out. During the carrying on, screaming, beside themselves emotional boil over.

Video On Not So Happy Small Kids, How Parents Handle It Right Or Wrong.

Did your parents threaten to put your tantrum, melt down on You Tube instead of the standard default response to a quandry. “You wait until your father gets home.”?

Maine, we keep it simple, it’s all about the four season natural setting, pitching in, making it better in life.

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

October 6, 2013
Your Favorite Flavor Ice Cold Milk Shake On A Hot Day In The Maine Potato Field.

Little things, kind gestures go a long way to make the day.

Especially if you are a young child sitting, standing or dragging along a Maine potato field basket. Under the hot sun of a fall day of brilliant colors during potato harvest. Potato pickers get a major boost, shot in the arm when out of the blue, the farmer’s wife delivers an ice cold treat. Which at three oclock when the snacks are gone, wearing off, the water jug getting warm and low in reserve. It’s a welcome out of the blue sight. Mirage like but for real. As one by one the tired, dirty, rag tag motley crew of potato harvest workers reach for, get an unexpected present.

Our kids picked potatoes for Hodgdon potato farmer Kirk Wilson.

His mother was the popsicle lady. Showing up and answering the charge with afternoon delights. So did Littleton Maine potato farm owners Leslie and Greg Schools. Who on the last day of Houlton Farms Dairy Bar’s season rounded up each potato harvester and spud bin winter storage worker’s favorite flavor milk shake. Took the order, picked up, delivered to the individual worker as a treat. A thank you for your effort on the potato chain gang. We need you, appreciate you, and here’s something to remind you how important you are. A pause for the cause. The treat that refreshes. Hits the spot.

Harry Bass, long time and now long gone Maine potato farmer had a five cent bonus rule. And candy bars. For the crew that stuck it out, could be depended upon to be there when the last gun was fired. In the last row dug, picked, hauled away to the long tall dark potato bin for the winter storage. A perk, incentive to hang in there. Stick it out. Stay on board. To pick them clean. Fill those barrels. And to remember, no matter how many rows you get behind in the potato field, no one leaves at the end of the day until everyone is caught up, picked up. And reaches for the empty dinner bucket, radio, water jug, sweatshirt used as a section marker.

Looking back when you were a kid, remember busy adults but not too helter skelter to take, make the time?

To do something little that looms large inside for the rest of your life? That touched a place, filled a need and is never forgotten. Meant so much and hopefully spurred you on to do the same in your life in little ways. Whenever you could, in whatever small fashion that presents itself. Kids remember, don’t forget and learn from our actions.

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

October 4, 2013
The Maine Potato Picking Field Checks Gladly Handed Over To Your Mother…

The long standing tradition of picking Maine potatoes, when harvest hand crews reined supreme, kids were king.

My Dad a farmer claimed that potato pickers, the rag tag motley crew of mostly kids did the best job. Leaving less behind in the field. Picking them clean as the field boss walking by would remind.

Hand crews dressed in layers of clothing for frosty mornings. But stripped down to just a t-shirt by noon time as barrel production was in full swing. Hit the top efficiency stride with only a short break when the tractor digger broke down. And you darted to the woods for a nature call. Or pulled up a seat with your back to a full pair of potato barrels. To tap into the food supply stash. That tasted oh so much sweeter, more delicious because of working hard out in the Maine fall fresh air and sunshine.

Both cedar stave or taller, narrower more expensive plywood potato barrels used, bought new in Bridgewater Maine from Wheeler’s Mill.

Wearing your number on the ticket flapping in the breeze. Slid into the top barrel groove wherever you could find a space to securely wedge it. To tell the world you get credit at the end of the day. When the one by one hoisted full, 165 pound barrels of golden Maine potatoes rolled to the back of a field truck got counted. Tallied up. The ticket can and all that fine Maine potato dust filtered down on to the yesterday’s newspaper. Laid out over the farmer’s kitchen table to reflect, record each pickers production efforts that day.

The Maine farm trucks cruising up and down, plying every other picked row in the potato field. Vehicles used pretty much just for a three week stint each year. Whipped into action. Thirty years old but only showing less than 7,0000 miles on the cab dashboard odometer. The triangle over and over mission from the field of the day, to the potato house bin, back to the farm headquarters was a small one.

Greater yield, avoiding the bruising and skinning of the famous Maine potato is why Dad and Mom kept very large picking crews of kids.

Harvesting, picking potato acreages that were usually table stock varieties. Burbank Russets, Katahdins, Green Mountains, Superiors, Ontarios, Shepodies, Atlantics to name a few. But all destined for a housewife’s supper table in states to the south. If they stayed good, held up in storage. If pockets of rot, or over production in other areas, too low market prices did not mess up the plan before the trip to ship to market.

Talked to Joe Fitz, a local business man from a large family who at this week’s Rotary Club meeting Monday remembered the ritual. Work hard, hand the picking check over to your mother gladly. To buy your own winter coat was part of where the earnings got ear marked. New clothes, shoes for church and school replacement wear was each child’s job, obligation. And the individual kids in the family felt more responsible for their welfare. Gave them a sense of pitching in, to help carry the load of the family household where each held down a special spot. The Maine farm potato picking job and entry level employment that sets the stage, becomes the rock solid foundation for your approach to every other work assignment.

A few dollars trickled back from your mother was part of the plan each fall harvest too.

To spend wisely. On something not so practical but that fueled, provided the steam to get up in the dark, very early each morning. To drive the process of motivation to head to the potato field. Where the local farmer needed you to show up, counted on your presence. In the field for another long day where it might rain.

Once in a while snow flurries happened, spitted, appeared on the scene. If it became too late in the game for harvesting the rows and rows that never ended. Where the section you marked out represented just long enough a stretch so you were picked up completely just as the squeak squeak squeak of the digger bed and old familiar drone of the tractor engine approached. Pasted your section providing another row of uncovered spuds to remove the tops. Shake them free and fill one of four weaved baskets of brown ash to make another barrel for the cause.

Kids did not feel picked on, taken advantage of or abused.

And all your friends were in the potato field. The norm not the exception. Trucked in riding with filed to the brim metal dinner buckets of loving prepared sandwiches, snacks. Carrying precious water jugs. As you climbed up and into the back of a canopied pick up truck. On the chain gang. The same vehicle that delivered you back to your house at the end of the long day in the farm field. To hop out, head to the bath tub, clean up for a hot meal waiting back at home.

While you thumbed through the just arrived Sears or Penney’s Christmas catalog. And between mouthfuls of supper thought about what to spend that few hard earned bucks on. That were all yours to enjoy. To make the executive decision solely by your lonesome. On where to spend those dollars. And whatever it was you bought, what you did Saturday night down town in a small Northern Maine community, you took very good care of the wise made purchase. Respected it more because of the patient selection process, study. All due to the effort it took to raise the funds, on your own wallet horsepower, to actually be able to buy the item.

Sometimes you walked away.

And left the pondered item parked back on the shelf if that was just too many barrels of potatoes in your opinion. The final conclusion to not let go of the hard earned money that easily if the value was missing. If things just did not add up in your young mind to represent a fair exchange, trade. I am so glad like my three older brothers, all my friends growing up that we all had the family farm picking potato experience. All of my kids did too. None are the worse for wear because of the valuable work ethic lesson. All think proudly of the contribution each had, the role they played each fall in Aroostook County spent out in the fields.

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

October 2, 2013