The green, red or whatever canoe color, kayak you have somewhere in your garage, shed or at whoever’s house that borrowed it last.
Is the watercraft ready to grab and go, heave ho for spring Maine river races? (Splash) Maine River Race 2014 ScheduleWhere you can put your hands on it quickly for a launch into a swollen, very fast, highly verbal Maine river?
Lots of snow this past Maine winter means faster rides, more spring run off water to make for a lively, more memorable race adventure.
Spring is a time in Maine where gears get shifted. Washing away winter road sanding dirt, hosing off the buildings. A rebirth of of green chutes, the horsepower of Mr. Sun overhead cranks up some added wattage, BTU value. The Maine Canoe And Kayak Racing Association (MaCKRO) Website.
Start paddling. Zip up that life jacket. Stuff some trail bars in your pocket. Water bottle wedged under your seat. Let’s go. Giddy up. Find a Maine river race near you or decide this year to do more than any year before. The new locations, folks you meet at the venues make your weekends richer, more fulfilling. And not to mention the exercise, outdoor fresh air and brand new surroundings the take away on the Maine racing circuit on the river water.
A Couple Past Maine Local Races On The Meduxnekeag River In Southern Aroostook County Videos.
The Maine River Race schedule. The Meduxnekeag River Race Is May 3rd, and register by April 28th and get a free 2014 t-shirt. Contact the Houlton Chamber of Commerce at 207.532.4216 or Peter Blood 207.532.2577. See you at the rite of Spring, the Meduxnekeag River Race for canoes and kayaks in Southern Aroostook County. Race craft put in in New Limerick on the Station Road, Welllington residence just south of the Louisiana Pacific (LP) OSB mill entrance. Puts out on River Street, the Medexnekeag River Landing off the Highland Avenue Bridge in Houlton Maine as shown in videos above. All those happy paddlers munching on hot dogs, chips, talking up today’s, this year’s spring ride on the Maine river.
Not like this many other places. We know. What you don’t do where you live out of state, we can in Maine.
Vacationland is so incredibly spoiled. In all the natural beauty we can move around and enjoy, sample it. But lucky in so many other ways. Especially when talking crime. Because we score a blue ribbon as 4th lowest in the country for misdeeds, law breaking.
More space, less people, kids taught respect growing up in friendly small Maine towns.
All sifts out to finely create freedom, safety, family values. We’re not on house arrest or living in fear. Space. Safety. Maine. Nice.
Simple Maine Living, Moving Around Freely. In Maine we don’t consider daily, round the clock all the awful things that could happen if we dare to sneak out, leave our homes. Because we don’t have to live in fear. Or have cyclone tough, barb wire topped metal security fencing around the property line perimeter.
In cities you better pay attention, watch closely, be diligent. Not so naive, trusting as we can be in small Maine rural towns. It’s an entirely different attitude, approach to living. You can walk, jog, bike, move around feeling secure here. Not just the adults either. We don’t carry tasers, mace, bats, concealed weapons for protection.
Thursday night I walked downtown to the movies.
Set me back only five dollars for the flick. Leaving the jeep in the yard sleeping. Do it a lot. Quicker to be hoofing it, beating feet to the splash of light on the big silver screen. Walking you see others doing the same shuffle your feet. As seasons change looking around, enjoying the surroundings. And always say hello. Nodding, smiling, waving in passing Sometimes stopping to talk with others out and about too.
Because we know each other. Hard not to in a small friendly Maine town. Because you work on community, civic, school, sporting, church events. Somehow related to many. Your kids do a good job involving, introducing you to their friends, other parents. We are all at the same activities. In the local paper take turns in photos and stories. Around the same social media circles we all follow. Comment on so in the know. Care about, are involved in each others’ life ups and downs.
Well lit at night small Maine towns. No walking dead zombies, or native Stephen King characters roaming the streets in the shadows. No lurking vampires looking for a warm type something negative or positive drink like Anne Rice writes about in her books. Feeling part of a neat small Maine town where everything is close, accessible. Not Telling Where He “Caught” The Maine Fish He Proudly Displays.
Cities have mass transit and cars can be almost a nuisance. In the expensive find a needle in the haystack place to put one. To avoid tickets. And talk about traffic, accidents, road rage and raised fists, fingers and shouting.
In small Maine towns plenty of parking, no meters. Out after dark in Gotham City, some urban areas might be the craziest, riskiest thing that a person could ever do. Unless they have a death wish. To leave those thick security doors with surveillance cameras overhead all triple locked, dead bolted, chained.
We don’t have to iron bar, barricade doors, there are no gangs.
The doors unlocked. No drive by shootings. No second thought given to being out while the sun is borrowed, shared. Being enjoyed somewhere else on the planet. Not frowned on to have your kids with their friends up at the park during the four day Fourth of July State Fair rides, exhibits, games either. Have heard over and over from out of state Maine real estate buyers who never, ever let their kids out of their sight. Or to leave their yard where they used to live. That’s not living, that’s not Maine.
Sure the 4th for fireworks, the parade, grill cook outs with families all together. But kids are safe, free to roam and take advantage of in town parks and recreation events, after school programs. Ride bikes, walk to friend’s houses. Work on farms. Don’t have to have Mom and Dad for a shadow. No one worried about them getting snatched or finding themselves in harm’s way.
Other than teaching them about crossing our low traffic streets. Riding bikes to Little League to be careful. Look both ways. Or when with neighborhood friends out to the movies. To behave, be good or we’ll hear about it and you lose that freedom Jack or Jill. So kids are taught to be more responsible. Feeling empowered, independent, getting exercise, being social is growing up right. Tooling around town. Running errands, to the store, library. Helping out, contributing and feeling part of the family.
Having an important role. Mowing lawns, shoveling snow, baby sitting, doing chores to earn their spending money. Not just handed out folded, green dead Presidents gratis. But weaved in, partnered with some worth ethic pride of a job well done skills learned.Fueling Up The Sledder Along The Trail In Maine. To do it right or here we go again. Last time for the do over.
Many urban areas have neighborhoods to avoid like the Bermuda Triangle.
Not just skirt, avoid them like the plague after sundown. But any time for any reason. Cities have these thick, multiple rings like Saturn of ghettos. Red lined skull and cross bone, jolly roger flying blighted areas. Don’t go there.
Where life is not worth much. Definitely if traded, exchanged for anything of value on your person using a knife or fists or stolen gun. Or eying what you drive, have in, on your vehicle. Or medicine cabinet back home. Ahh….Roll through that next series of eight sided signs, red lights please. Trust me, just do it. Don’t argue, don’t stop! Lock your car door, keep your head down. That’s survival other places but no way to live, not the Maine I know.
All that’s typical, worried about in large cities is missing in Maine.
Frees you up. Giving you space inside to add things outside. You are a happier camper. Enjoy doing more in the moving around freely. You won’t be ignored here, just ask for anything you need. Except maybe where this guy got Moby Dick, the big Maine fish. Those details are guarded secrets. The story behind the wetting the line is sacred. Tightly lipped and Mum’s the word. So when are you scheduling, going to visit Maine? If it all sounds too good to be true, like a fairy tale dream. Time to wake up, get here quick as you can.
I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573 info@mooersrealty.com
Like the expression you are what you eat, in Maine it is also all about you are where you hang your hat.
Happier is easier. If your surroundings are unspoiled, natural, uncrowded. Safe, family and small community oriented. Drop dead gorgeous like sparsely populated Maine. All four seasons.
That long feature list of what everyone wants but does not get to enjoy in tight for open space city settings.
Has to help pour the solid foundation so you can’t avoid having more over the top good days. Increasing the odds, extending a helping hand to give you a sporting chance of being happy easier in Maine. Singing inside. Like a hot air balloon that could go to outer space. Being in a room without a roof. That happiness is a truth. Clap along if you feel like that’s what you want to do.
What makes you happy?
Or have you learned yet it is not something you chase? That is not way way out there someplace up ahead along the road of life. It resides deep down inside all of us, near your heart, next to your soul. Happy is a process, a habit, a routine, reflex. Ten ways to be happier if there is some slack, something lacking in that inside place.
Maybe happy is love that is on sale at the local five and dime at closing time. Small Maine town, a strong connection because few people means huddling together, needing each other, knowing everyone in the place. That the village raises the kids.
Music is life, big part of Maine. Especially the home grown kind. When our youth are holding, playing the instruments. Belting out the music with a smile, full throttle passion. That makes you happy, sing right along inside. You groove in your seat, raising your toe up and down. Want to dance, sing along. Put your hands together.
So a song in your heart, humming or singing, maybe feeling the toe tapping inside as you experience Maine.
Add to it that the song is wildlife, a Maine lake, river, ocean water sound. Crickets, loons singing duets. A grandchild laughing or just the listen. Hear that? Nothing but the sound of silence. When a calm day, no traffic and the wind, breeze calls in sick. Takes a personal day. From the howling around the old farm house eaves. Back porch wind chime or banging the unlatched barn or machine shed doors. Not whispering sweet nothings through the pine needle vibration.
So start whistling, you are home where I am with you… Maine. It’s a happy love affair.
Maybe if you are a walker, stuck in a city, it’s a pressure cooker. Keeping you from being happy in your surroundings. If you march to a beat of a different drummer, start the hitting the pavement. Thumping the skins. Heading, trotting, heck it’s over due for a hand gallop. Time to neck rein, high tail it to Maine. Leave those strangling regulations. Put those too many people everywhere you look in your rear view mirror.
Happy begins, plays, ends for me in Maine. Where when I am high on hill with snow skis. Hiking a mountain to the top where I feel pretty small, plenty humble, very grateful. Happy. Like on a Maine lake, during sunset, after a great meal the family all helped create. And now sitting around a camp fire thinking this was another great day in Maine.
Same as visiting a Maine lighthouse when the tourists are back home out of state.
It’s just you on a nippy, crisp air winter day at a Maine lighthouse. And the take away is clarity, getting it, knowing just a taste of the space, solitude the lighthouse keeper enjoyed every day, year round. Hear yourself think, clearing your head and heart. Organizing your thoughts. On the journey, direction to be the happiest you can be in a place. Can’t bring you down because the boost from the love is too high. Like only all natural, unfiltered Maine can do to you. Once she grabs your heart. You don’t ever want her to let go. And are only fooling yourself thinking you actually could.
The car in Maine, not the horse breed of the same name.
The Maine sporty car parked on the lot on US Rt 1 north of Houlton Maine caught the eye of a young lad. Clean cut, well mannered and telling the used car lot salesman Gerry, I’ll take it. How do you plan to do that? The answer, paying cash. Writing a check. Which he did and got the keys, after signing all important paperwork. Drove away.Shiretown Houlton Maine.
The deposit of the check to buy the Maine car opened up the can of worms.
As the sad tale unwinds. Spins and twists. When the car lot owner got back to town later that day from a buying trip down country, the first hiccup happened. Seems a visit to the local Maine bank to cash the check shows a problem. Little irregularity.
Last check in the book all junior had. The one and only. Used to “buy” the blue Mustang. Written on an account. But the signature is not the owner of the account. The grandson helped himself to just one of Grampy’s checks. The payment needed to kinda, sorta buy the car with the horse emblem on the body sides of blue.
The owner of the used car lots does not call the Maine State Police or Sheriff’s Department or local HPD men in true blue or wearing black. All headquartered in the border town loaded with law enforcement. Because he figures time is a wastin’. If he does not track down the car soon, there won’t be a car to hunt. Or when found it will be far away costly geographical out of state to pull back in, haul home. Or nothing of value is what he will end up finding. Maybe both happens if he does not get on his horse to hunt down the Mustang.
Far away and destroyed is worry. Or missing for good, never found might be best if insurance covers the loss. His big hit to eat as a chalk it up to experience mistake. A very expensive, major kick in the butt. That outshines the effort the report pen pushers would throw into the “find my car now” the car lot owner figures.
In small Maine towns, a couple phone calls and you know everything you need to make a plan.
Seems the grandson is headed to Biddeford Maine. The Maine used car lot owner scribbles down an address. Calls a buddy with a tow truck ramp to ask for a favor. He knows the guy from working in the Portland, Southern Maine area where he lived a few years back. In an earlier life with the wife, kiddos.
Sure enough, like in the repo cable television series, the ramp truck spies the car with the 14 day paper plate. When trolling in circles. Round the address given over the cell phone. Under the cover of darkness. Calls North, relays the “found it” news. What now? The order given to haul it in. Bag it and tag it. Cable the hook up to the frame. Tilt, hoist, reel it in like a prize fish. High tail it with the Mustang piggy back parked on the truck body up I-95. Giddy up go to Aroostook County. Drive it like you stole it to get clear of the junior car thief.
The grandson comes out during the loading and asks “what’s up?”
Lack of payment muttered. Means this little four wheel pony is headed north. Back to the used car lot corral display area cowboy. The grandson ten shades of red faced, steam out the ears mad. The car filled to the brim with gas, packed for an early heading out the next day. At the crack of dawn road trip planned. That the ramp truck just canceled. Made “null and void” stamped sideways appear across the best laid crooked plans.
Car comes back to its large missing tooth, parallel angled spot on the lot on busy US Rt 1. To resume the puppy dog at the pound sad look. Searching for an owner with the cash or financing to get the set of keys legally. The Mustang Ford car home again. All within the same day the hub bub, drama unfolds.
End of story? Not really.
Just warming up. The grandson comes home to Aroostook County, hitchhiking straight up Interstate 95. Cause no ride of his own that disappeared, evaporated. Goes to Gramp’s on Rt 212 in the Smyrna / Merrill Maine area. A fight, argument ensues. A knife is produced, waved, used to make a point and the sad long and short of it is, Grampy ends up dead.
The grandson with blood on his hands has another stop in mind and heads east to the Shiretown, Houlton Maine with the knife.
Looking for the used car lot owner who messed up, foiled his plans to get out of Vacationland in the fueled up Mustang. That he only got to slide behind the wheel long enough for a quick ride south to Biddeford, Maine. Until the yank back surprise. Now you see it, now you don’t presto chang-o car retrieval.
The police cornered the angry grandson with the cutting tool behind a series of potato houses on the Ludlow Road near Wally World. And just a half mile up the road, where the rightful owner of the Mustang lived, the visit with the knife never happened. About two decades ago and something to rehash during a slow news day. Or eating lunch at a local Maine diner counter stool. Shooting the breeze during lunch hour hook on the burlap feed bag. Listening to the story. About the crime, doing the time from the used car lot owner. About the one day when everything went horrible wrong that started out seemingly innocent, low key.
Maine is the 4th lowest crime state and when it does happen, it is definitely not the normal daily buzz of events.
Not like the day to day in an urban area with gangs, drive by shootings and all kinds of awful crimes being committed round the clock. Other stories from Maine car dealerships. They get stolen, abused, used, just not quite the way you think.
Expectations, meeting needs, balance. What you hope to accomplish and pretty much a matched check off list the person sitting across the table is holding. The date at your side in the corner booth with the flickering candle low light.Floating Your Boat, Bopping Along Together In Maine.Soft jazzy blues music mix. Tasty fresh Maine seafood to die for dishes arriving right on schedule to sample together.
And you talk, enjoy each other’s company. No matter what you are doing or topic discussed. Learning about the other. Sharing. Observing, collecting. Just being together feels comfortable. And the spell lasts, endures, deepens. Or get me out of here happens. Check please. Back pedaling. Swimming to shore.
Because that is dating. How the cookie crumbles.
To get back out on your own again. Zinging down the open road moving. Not parked. Or going backwards in life, relationships. Radar love turned way up loud on the radio. Driving 10 and 2 with the seat pushed back. Scanning, waiting, learning lots about yourself in the nice to meet you, tell me more process.
As what you are capable of bringing to any relationship, need coming back the other way too formulates. Is taking shape. Rack focused crystal defined in your head. Down in your gut where instinctive decisions are made. Inside your heart that you guard how close people are allowed to get from experience, survival, for healing to happen. As you get ready. Speak Up, Be Picky, Be Positive In The Date Your Mate Hunt For A Partner.
You need to be somewhat picky, selective. Or you won’t get what is best for you and the other person unless you are right?
The person is not good or bad. The relationship is all about the peas in a pod. It works well, barely at all. Or somewhere in between. You are not going to settle but can you be too picky?
Or is that high limbo pole standard a safe way to keep you off the dating singles playing field altogether? In a fool yourself self inflicted time out justification when someone asks “so how come not dating huh?” Or “Gee, really? Not seeing anyone at all. How come”?
More than a feeling needed as Boston sang. Because the lovey dovey warm and fuzzy has to turn the corner. Continues to lub dub chug chug into a strong, growing friendship. As you log the miles, put in the time together. Grow closer. You like the person, not just love them. Because both partners arrive at the same conclusion at pretty much the same time. This works. Is good. Me too! So do I!
Both are better off with the pairing than each would be wandering around by their lonesome unattached, single. But neither just joined at the hip and clinging together to simply avoid being alone. Wait, don’t be afraid of being alone.
Amy Webb explains the engineering of online dating, a new creative reverse approach.
How to rough sketch, do the math. Study the spread sheet numbers. For your own self designed, dating site framework for love algorithms. How to put your best sexy foot forward in this Ted Talks video on dating sites. You need optimistic language in your online dating site profile, 97 words or less, and to ask questions. To be more approachable. In your search for the glass slipper fit. The right one for you, you for them out of the herd.
The scientific approach, the least expected approach way to bump into someone, the probability to find your life partner with online dating. All gives you pause to think, ponder dating today and the options to reach out but avoid those $1300 plus out to dinner tabs to pick up.
How you fill the empty questions on profile surveys, superficial data in, garbage out happens.
Say what you want, mean what you say, be who you are. The rest will fall into place like Amy’s grandmother above predicted. Thank you to a Texas blog post friend who made this topic suggestion. Good luck, staying away from those courtship catfish relationships.
You see some pretty clever ones. Floating around lakes, ponds. Heading down Maine rivers. Moored in coastal Maine town harbors. Plying the water along the rock bound coast of Vacationland. When you fly out of Maine to sample some blue green water, island fun to split a winter in half. What Name Would You Pick For Your Boat?
Had a Maine lake home neighbor with a family boat called “Nickels and Dimes”.
A Four Winns blue and white boat with a 302 V8 Ford inboard motor. Skipper made his living with vending machines. Stocking, refilling the drop slots with munchie products.
Not a Miami Vice Wellcraft Scarab but 38 foot boats on a medium size lake are a little overkill. For high speed profiling, revolutions. Still, the Four Winns a pretty neat boat just the same. Kept spotless, ‘er ship shape so to speak. Just like his Checkmate before that.
Collecting the loose coins in the box. The currency in the changers. Wheeling it all back to Southern Maine banks for the presto, change-o exchange. The delicious cycle that bought the Maine boat. Explaining where the name was, er “coined”. Not a handle painted on the back of the barge, the aft, because of breakdowns. Like you might first think of expensive, one after another breakdowns with the label. Maybe you envisioned empty cans and bottles. Held hostage, taken back one by one for the deposit ransom bounty. Maine is a returnable container state, no billboards either remember?
What would you name your new boat in Maine?
Something clever like “Going Propless” if you float a sail boat? Moonlight Boat Rides On A Maine Lake Summer Night. Priceless.“Dances With Waves”, “Fishy Business”, “Lobster Mobster”, “Missed Stress”, “Sea Sea Rider”, “Vitamin Sea”, “Wake Watchers”, “Eat Drink And Re-Marry”, “Chum Crazy”, “Jane Dough”, “Got Debt?”, “Billable Ours”, “Cirrhosis of the River” to suggest a few.
One more reader, blog post follower added one she caught, thought was clever… “Sotally Tober”. Fire water, wild women seem to be common boat name theme tie ins. Okey dokey, fine and dandy. As long as the boat captain is not three sheets to the wind, toasted, dozing at the helm wheel to the rudder. Missing, not grazing any and all icebergs.
If you scrimped, saved, wheeled and worked a deal to buy a boat, what would you plaster across the back and why?
Can you imagine moonlight night rides, under a million twinkling stars? Slowly circling a Maine lake as the sun sets in red, orange, pink fireworks? Lonely loons sing songs. Grills’ sizzle sweet smells as you get hungry.
Suddenly thinking about eating something home made, waiting back at camp with your hands when you tie up, hop out of the boat back at the wharf. But for now enjoy idling by bobbing in wood or fiberglass with family and friends.
Studying the jagged, jutting shoreline of camp fires. Heavy hanging clothes line of wet, drying colorful beach towels, swimsuits. Crowded picnic tables eating burgers, dogs, lobster, clams, corn cobs, watermelon rinds. Summer shanty simple cottage living with tiki lights flickering, strings of Chinese lanterns hanging, glowing. Kids running around chasing frogs. Or lightning bugs collected in jars. To light up tents, travel campers set up outback the cottages.
Or the sound of laughing, splashing, water skiing. Tubing behind the wake waves you make on a Maine lake when the sunshine, blue cloudless sky is high overhead.You Ready To Get Wet?
Or parking that same pleasure boat out in the middle of the puddle. To use as a swim platform. A fishing station with multiple lines cast early in the AM before most are up? Or with a sail boat, tacking, adjusting those sails for the the maximum speed, tight wind canvas advantage.
Out on the water, where it’s cooler than on shore or in town. Hanging out, working on a tan in your Maine boat.
Not a bad dream to wake up from, to realize. Air brush yourself into a colorful boat. To clear the mental cobwebs. Putting work, your day job way way in the background. Not visible for a few hours, days, weeks in your shift to vacation life rear view mirror. Or when it is welcome to retirement in Maine. Day after day play. Relaxing just the way you like it, planned it.
If you visit Maine, maybe via one of the 100 cruises ships that parked off the Pine State coast, you will notice lots of colorful, catchy lobster, fishing boats. With names that more often than not seem to have a woman’s, daughter’s names on the port, starboard sides. Keep your eyes peeled, camera ready. Watch for Maine boats. Especially high powered lobster rigs that if you ask nicely, you can get the freshest fish, seafood around before it hits the Maine pound. Comes ashore. The only fish product fresher found is still swimming in the Maine sea.
