Category: Uncategorized

The Need To Consume Affordable Luxury Items.

Consumption for a product, what motivates folks to reach for something off the shelf, online to be shipped to their doorstep?

In Maine, or anywhere a person is parked. Resting, sitting on their haunches. As the slightly tilted blue and green revolving marble spins.
Preparing For Storms In Life In Maine. We’re Ready. Hang On.

The perceived or real need to have to have it.

Gotta go to the bathroom squirming like right now to abandon all sense of responsibility or consequence. Just take the ahhhh plunge to purchase. Whether you can actually afford it or not. Strangling the urge to wait because it would be cheaper to do a little shopping. Toying with the options for a better deal. Using better impulse control to separate want from actual need.

Some who were dirt poor for material goods growing up might argue those stormy, brooding days are over.

Long gone when they leave the sparseness of the household nest. That someone without their consent made them feel ashamed over. And let’s double clutch. Shift gears. Stimulate the economy.

Driven to work three jobs, marry for money, go into a life of crime, etc. Obsessed with catching up for lost time collecting stuff. The latest and greatest to gain attention and live in the public spotlight. They somehow felt inferior not having but wished they did growing up without the new, shiny, highly polished. Consumption is the self medication to fill a dark hole that is bottomless.

More stuff passed please.

But not for personal enjoyment like a kid by a glistening Maine pine or fir tree covered in sparkling tiny lights, shimmering tinsel and garland. No no, the real fun of owning the latest and greatest possession is outside where others can know you have it.
Luxury Not A Word Used Much On A Maine Farm. It’s Basics, Survival, Preparing For Set Backs, Storms In Life.

Don’t keep it a secret. In the dark. Show it off to everybody and anybody. So others wished, filled with envy, started uncontrollable drooling over lucky you. Whoa, that’s not how things roll in small rural Maine.

In small town Maine sometimes the bare essentials are more than enough. Knowing you have squirreled away money to keep your property taxes current. The next winter fuel account in the black payed ahead. Fully funded first is the target of the household spending. Not to impress or la dee da with the hoity toity. But taking care of what is real, important, practical.

Luxuries are the extras in life that make it more fulfilling, more rewarding, more comfortable, more enjoyable.

As a person’s income rises, it is argued the needs change in how wide, often, easily the wallet or purse pries open. Luxury is Latin for extras in life. Maybe it is four dollars simple designer coffee or a French light and flaky pastry pleasure. A hired cleaning lady or lawn service.

When my Dad asked my Mom which engagement diamond she liked best as the two bent over, peered in the ring display. Before he sailed across the puddle to serve Uncle Sam in the WW2 European war effort. Under the bright lights of a Woodstock New Brunswick jeweler’s case, her answer was a question. How much can we afford? Considering other expenses needed tending too. Keeping it all in perspective.

No red flag demanding response from Mom.

Sputtering “Buster, you better make a three carat honking, blinding to look at rock to call attention to me or forget it”.

Maybe spending in rural Maine seems square to some. Or that we are depriving ourselves. But it goes back to life on the Maine farm when you have food, firewood, shelter. Worked hard, made the best of the weather and markets. Survived on the love of a large family working together to stay on that patch of dirt.
Maine Pleasures Are Many, Small, Real & Natural. The Best Kind Are Free.

Not much disposable cash income made it easier to forget about resisting the urge to overspend too.

But basic needs met. And the shift in focus of lamenting what you did not have. By simply taking better care of what you did. Excited about finally getting the bad half of the barn roof replaced. Purchasing a new to you pre-owned piece of Maine farm equipment. To improve the crop yield or ease of planting, cultivating, harvesting it.

Or adding to the herd of critters. With income from the investment plowed back into reducing, removing debt. With the end all goal always in the front of your brain, out front where you could see it and not to forget. To one day living free and clear of a mortgage. Or the burden of revolving monthly expenses. Which frees you up from worry.

Gratitude is riches.

Stuff is not the temporary reward. Family, community, relationships are. All worked for, respected, preserved. Knowing fully that those institutions, the best things in life are not store bought and in tight supply, limited brands to keep the price up. But free, constant, all around us. Everywhere you look in pure, unfiltered all natural rural Maine.

Come sample the fresh air, blue skies, sunshine making natural diamonds on the crystal clean water. And the best part, the down to Earth hard working friendly people that dot the small Maine communities anxious to meet you.

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

May 23, 2014
Asking For A Critique But Not Really Wanting One The Maine Way.

If you are brought up, taught to just take what you need, leave the rest for others.

To improve situations the best you can. Strive to make them better that they were. To contribute for the greater good. Well now Mister Man. You’d fit right in nicely in a small Maine town.
What Red Flags, I Don’t See Any. Let’s Charge Right In. Saddle Up For The Last Stand.

Because there is a connection, an urge, a need to pitch in, help out.

Plenty of opportunity in a sparse population. There would not be a small Maine town for long if that fire in the belly fever, passion was not the case. If it was just a dog eat dog, every man for himself. All about me.

But sometimes the critique asked for because of pressure from a local community board is something that just gets lip service by a CEO.

Lt Colonel Custer just needs a little direction, guidance, correction but is the last to know it. Wearing blinders like you put on horses to keep them focused on a task. Less aware of activity around them that could spook, distract them. Pride is the wrecking ball in all relationships from work to love and in between.

The need for change happens in a person, a group, a community to create peace. Not continued drama, turmoil, confusion. Technological developments can improve life too. Help cause greater efficiency. To lead to harmony, even fun, joy to permeate your thoughts, relationships on all levels in your small Maine town surroundings. It is not just about survival. It is about quality of life for others, yourself as the secondary gain.

Tweaking, dial adjustments, small changes to the any one’s day to day. To approach this, this and a few other critical issues from a whole new approach. Because things are starting to wobble. Or the Maine expression, “go out of kilter”. Don’t jive. The planets are just not lined up correctly Chummy.

The community relations group I was on polled the audience. Each asked our sphere in the circles we make in the small Maine community for input.

For a show of hands one by one on a private level.

Taking notes, not using a mic or camera. To gather the crystal clear common themes, perspectives that started to emerge.
Peace, Harmony, Delicate Handling Of Small Town Relationships.

Because without this asking for a critique to get to the bottom of what is wrong “it’s hard telling with out knowing Bub”. The interviewing where no one leaves their name, the sources are kept in the shadows.

But knowing the collective truth will set you free. Of whatever is causing the friction that leadership just does not have its finger on the pulse of the problem. But needs to swallow the bitter pill and fix the ills.

That are the fresh poison, lingering toxins needing weeding, not feeding.

When we reconvened for a breakfast meeting, after passing the eggs, toast, home fries and a couple coffees.

The new and old business agenda items housekeeping chores were checked off the list, here it comes. Light and bright stopped.

What are you hearing out there is the community? I had my turn, fourteen specific areas shared from my informal polling of community members. From both folks working in the organization and out. Public opinion sorted through after asking the pointed questions to get to the root of exactly what is the problem needing a socket wrench. A cutting torch, new ideology parts bolted, welded, brazed into place.

The CEO’s smile left the room.

All eyes were on the man wearing hush puppies. He waved an arm, gave one of his customary annoying nervous laughs. “Nothing to any of that”. I thought of Col Jessep’s “you can’t handle the truth” famous line from A Few Good Men movie. But there was no need for a court martial proceedings because we were not all on the same page.

Constructive criticism ushered out into the daylight, given fresh air, put on the table. If allowed to be considered with a what if, just what if approach. From the pretty solid minds that live, work and play right in your neighborhood. If collected, shared, chewed on, batted around. Then something for a plan comes out of the pow wow. If implemented and “now we’re cooking with gas happens” is a very very beautiful thing.

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

May 21, 2014
Need Blue Hair, Dentures, Four Prong Walking Canes, Hearing Aids To Drink Tea?

Heck no. Tea time if you are from English descent is a given daily sacred ritual.

But in the USA coffee beans dominate the drive through hard to understand outdoor microphone requests. Gotta have a hot cup of Joe to go. For some make it ten sugars. Just black as the inside of a Maine cow. And okay. Dash of Holstein or Guernsey. Add a pinch of turbo expresso could ya please? I’m dragging. Need the NOS blue bottle fast and the furious tap tap jug shot.

The hot tea not so much asked for in the eenie meenie miney moe. But the cool iced version gets it’s share of the liquid refreshment total score.
Sit A Spell, Take It Easy, Watching The World Go By In Maine. Not Like This Other Places.
The Charlie Brown’s teacher muted trombone sounding orders for the touch screen. Will that be all and no? Your total is, move ahead, drive around.

Like it’s coffee cousin, the pause for tea gives comfort, reflection on a lot of levels.

Something hot in your hands can warm them during a Maine winter. The process of a whistling tea kettle singing loudly on a Maine wood cook stove. Asking, then hollering for a tea bag, inviting it to take a swim. The water’s just fine for soaking, relaxing.

To round up a cookie to go with it as an afternoon break companion. Whether first thing in the morning with a muffin, a bagel, some oatmeal. Or mid afternoon stop to gear up for the final heave ho of a busy day in Maine. Doing whatever it is you need to for that pay check. Or in retirement where they keep coming in on their own. You hope.
The Places With Less People, More Outdoor Space. Get To Maine. Off The Grid.

Rocking chairs in motion add to the spot of tea, conversation experience in Maine.

Whether kicked into gear on open or glass with screen porches. Or in Maine home kitchens the proximity handy to that wood fire companion. Being as close to Canada as this Maine blog poster is, Red Rose tea with the comical chimps seemed to be the brand reached for if it was tea please.

What is the value of tea beyond the social, snacking, something warm to gurgle, siphon and funnel down your throat? Medicinal, Maine teas for wellness are reached for sometimes. Others are peddled, owned and operated by Maine native hikers who scaled Mt Katahdin, offering Maine gourmet teas.

Or the warm and fuzzy Sleeping Bear tea which would not be what you brew, pour and store in a thermos for work, for that long drive of many miles. To nip from, slurp to help enrich, improve the experience it is tag teaming. What is the nutritional value of tea, whatever color? Helps with blood pressure.
Settling In, Relaxing, Easy Does It.

Catechins, antioxidants to prevent or reduce the incident of cancer drinking tea.

Getting high amounts of vitamins B, C, D and K from daily habit of tea. Over 300 nutrients from tea are hard to ignore too. I always ask for the Chinese tea to fill the way too small handle-less teeny weeny cups.

You never see the Big Gulp, super sized version of once and done applied to tea beverages.

Sometimes Being In Hot Water Can Be A Good Thing. Relaxing, Refreshing.

But there are lots of neat ways to put your loose tea in containers, vessels to steep the beverage. Get your spot of tea without the bag that some reports say is not good for you.

So just the tea makes the seep, leap into the clean Maine water to give it the color it does.

To know that particular favorite shade like a Maine tourmaline means you are ready for the next step in the tea drinking process.

All the kids, cousins too got exposed to the tea time ritual with Nana. She was a two fisted drinker of her caffeine. Morning coffee with my Dad, afternoon tea with the grand kids. After school when they got off the bus at the Maine farm a mile and half out of town. For fresh baked cookies, squares, fruit breads. Whatever was whipped up from scratch for the day home made treat out of the Maine farm house kitchen pantry.

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

May 18, 2014
The Maine Way For Pay Back, Settling The Score, Not Carrying A Tab.

Maine is a state where folks are pretty cross trained.

Not narrow and super duper at one or two things only. Jack of all trades and pretty masterful in many. Or they have a family member that is skilled. A country neighbor down the road who knows how to braze, weld, fix and repair. Lots of the local community has talents in the DIY department. It is learn how to or go without for take your pick choices.
Big Pets, Maine Horses Are Also Workers. More Than Hay Burners. Pretty Against The Green Backdrop.

In a state where you don’t need to be flush with cash. Just be a true friend to others and tit for tat , back and forth starts up, never stops.

Was buying a new camera lens at the local Maine Wally World over the weekend.

And the store clerk I knew was talking about fiddle heads. She had hit the mother lode, a diamond mine of the Maine delicacy. And like we do with vegetable gardens, fruit patches, when we bake stuff. Mainers always grow, have more than we need. And half the fun is giving it away. Delivering it in person or with a heart felt handwritten note but no name. To someone that is so appreciative.

But those on the receiving end want to pay you back, do you a favor in Maine.

. Everyone more givers, than just takers. And they do the return scratch your back in very creative ways. Asking around for just the right gift if they don’t have a strong inkling from past conversations.
Waiting, Idling Maine Greenhouses. Ready, Set, Grow!
Just knowing the person and what they enjoy or are struggling with and could really use. Hey, where did that cord of cut, split, delivered, just the right stove length wood come from that suddenly showed up one day?

No one knows, everyone but you knows. Get used to it if you are moving, relocating to Maine.

Usually home made something. Hand made and one of a kind. Everyone has their specialty whether it is my Mom’s Olympic medal winning cinnamon rolls if they gave out the gold, silver, bronze.

Or a handicraft, photo, fresh cut flowers arranged just so. A decoration with your family name on it. Maybe providing a service you need. Like snow blowing or plowing out your driveway, mowing a lawn. Help buttoning up the house with banking for a Maine winter.

Delivering a mince meat, or some other Maine flavor of heirloom pie.

This lady who provided the fresh feeds of early fiddle heads. All picked, cleaned, fresh and ready to steam, sprinkle on vinegar. She got her just desserts.

She had mentioned wallpapering her bedroom but short on cash in a conversation a few weeks back. Voila. Seven rolls of pretty wallpaper picked up for a song at Marden’s were dropped off with a smile. Along with the hind quarter of a Maine moose hit last fall on the highway. That was ready to portion out for the family size of the new holder. Open up that chest freezer and say AHHHhhhhh. Tasty about to happen.

But wait there’s more. A random act of kindness plays forward. Comes back ten fold. No good deed goes unrewarded. Help putting up the wallpaper part of the gift. The giver had purchased the wallpaper for her home but decided she liked her bedroom just the way it was after all. Her friend needed it more.

The sweetest gifts to give are the ones you cherish the most, old family items.

And the recipient knows they are near and dear. But you parted with them anyway. To see the joy you could cause. Letting it go. Sharing it.
Antique Wood Kitchen Cook Stoves. Not For Show, We Use Them For Heating, Eating, Baking.

The hand quilted or stitched Maine needle work. The farmer down the road who slam bam lowers the plow, harrow, then disc to make a smooth seed bed for your precious garden.

With his red, green, blue, whatever color field tractor. To help you get on your knees. Grateful, you’re already a prayer. But also for planting those garden seedlings.

Those young plants started, babysat indoors before it’s warm enough to go outside to play, stay. Until fall harvest or earlier pick and place along spring and summer. For the family supper table eat and greet. Of green peppers, tomato and other vegetables perched on the glass sun porch window ledge first.

Or with old newspapers reused, laid out on unfolded card tables. For cucumbers, the rest of the veggie tales line up. And populating the high test soil, the perlite filled peat containers. All those skyward pointed green chutes. Reaching hard on their tip toe roots for that grow light. Or to drink up, thirsty for the Sun’s rays when he shows up. Comes out to play.
Maine Sunsets, Every Single One Is Incredible. Share Them. Don’t Do Them Alone.

In small Maine towns, payback for favors could be a beach.

Letting someone use your camp on a Maine lake or in the woods on a river for a week. When you know they have company coming and not enough room. Will be splitting at the house seams.

Or for a second honeymoon, to re-new your sacred vows as a couple, alone. With only furry four legged wildlife, song birds, jumping fish as witnesses next to the running water setting.

During amazing sunsets, an outdoor cooked over a fire meal for two. With the best seat in Maine for dining. For the re-taking of the sacred pledge. Grateful for each other, your partner. For the generous folks rooting, supporting the knot tying long ago, along the way. For you, the pair, the entire family in a small Maine home town. Come to Maine, feel the strong connection.

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

May 14, 2014
Mother’s Day, What The Four Boys Learned From My Mom.

As a little kid, mothers are the first person known for making it all better.

For the there there, you’re okay. If you take a spill, scrape your knee. Get wounded in action on a Maine farm working. Playing outside with three older brothers, the few neighbor friends when it’s rural living in the country outside a small Maine town.

Mom To Four Boys, Nana To Many Other, “Weeze” To My Dad.

Mom is the charge nurse always on duty, on call.

When you are are flat on your back, sick as a dog. Comfort from a Mom to the rescue who guides, leads you back to health. With the homemade soup, the back rubs of witch hazel, the cool damp wash cloth applied to your forehead. Your Mom is a constant. She loves you unconditionally, is selfless.

The Vicks Vapor Rub greasing you up, lubed on to your wheezing, rattling, raspy chest. To get you back on your feet.

The ones with red PF Flyers. That she would use her thumb in the take a spin. Asking where your big toe is at the Boston and Shoe Store. With sneaker or dress shoe pairs brought out by the tall bean pole bald headed guy that always wore a bow tie. Who lived on Lincoln Street, was a fixture at the store with the stool, shoe horn, sliding foot size and width metal tool and those low to the ground mirrors. He hunched down, squatted on the stool to open up, tie down the laces. To help mom get you back on the track of the circle of life.

Mary Lou Mooers, She Was A Benn, Second In Her Class At Hodgdon High! Raised On A Dairy Farm Like My Dad.

Moms. What you remember most. I bet the soothing words, to help you sleep better. Telling you not to worry about something big happening tomorrow. Tucking you in after saying your prayers. Encouragement. To get you through the night a little easier. From the person who brought you into this brave new world. Squinting, all pink, pretty small and very helpless. Mom, the lady who also knits mittens, hats, Christmas stockings for you and your brothers. Gets you to hair cuts, the dentist, school activities as you grow big and strong.

Reminding you before you speed out of the yard on a bike to be careful, look both ways.

Make good decisions. Before the link up with friends. And to be sure to be back for supper hollered. As you wave and peddle or motorbike, snow sled away from the Maine farmstead.

Like my brothers, Dad, I worked hand in hand with my Mom on a Maine farm. Picking fruit and vegetable produce to sell at a roadside stand. Counting tickets from potato harvester workers to tally up the barrel count. What they had earned spud picking each day.

With the newspapers down on the cleared of supper dish Maine farm house kitchen table as two brothers took turns, washed, wiped.

Lots of fine field dust, the numbered tickets placed in piles by Mom and I. After spilling out of a collection can from farm truck crews. That hoisted the barrels, rolled them to the back. To fill the rolling platform spaces. That when fully loaded the creaking truck was shooed. Whisked away to dark potato house storage bins.

One Potato, Two Potato… Well You Know The Rest.

The golden nuggets to be upended, cascaded, to hibernate, snooze through a Maine winter. Before being woke up, graded, packaged. Shipped one potato, two potato… well you know the ditty. Loaded in trailer trucks the family owned to 10-4, breaker one nine.. got your ears on? Get to the large produce markets in MA, CT, NY.

My Mom worked as hard as my Dad.

Both were raised on Maine farms. Lazy was not a label that anyone would ever pin on either of the pair. She could cook, can, shake and bake. Create one of a kind blue plate specials better than any five star World class restaurant. My brothers enjoyed being welcomed to a house full of flavor smells. With a fresh batch of home made cookies, donuts, pastries cooling, waiting. As we walked up the long driveway. After tumbling down the steps in the front of the yellow school bus number thirteen drive by Cy Dunlap, then Hibby Thompson. That picked us up at 7:15, brought us home at 3:45. Sharp.

The conversations around the family Maine farm house table meals were about everything under the sun. Sundays were spent going to church. Then afternoon turns taken rotating through the brothers and sisters homes. Of my Mom’s eleven child family that lived local. So we saw our cousins at a different, revolving take a turn family homestead weekly. To play while the grown ups caught up on each others lives. What was moving, grooving out and about in the small local Maine community.

My Mom taught me about human nature, preached love and moderation.

How to do tasks right or do it over until it was. Not harshly, negative and but reinforced in a positive, with a smile sort of way. My Mom was a strong woman with a deep faith in God and believed in my Dad too. In family, in community, in life. She was smart, trustworthy, had a sense of humor and very disciplined. Not wishy washy or a whiner. A roll up your sleeves, a person you could depend on. To do more than her share of what faced us on the Maine family farm.

When You Live In Maine, Everything You Need Is Right On Your Back, Carried With You Daily For Skills, Talent.

Mom was well read. Taught us about tolerance, to work hard on ourselves rather than judge others. To keep our eyes on our own paper. To be responsible, take ownership when things went bad. Not just through successes. Like Dad, Mom believed in each of her kids, grandchildren, in God. Taught us all she knew to prepare us for our life. For when she was no longer here.

She is gone from Earth now but lived into her 80’s. Her amazing flower beds at the Maine farm I bought from my brothers still grow tall with a variety of colors, types of plants.

The love and care of her handiwork, the many lessons live on. Family is everything. She taught us death is part of our very short lives. Makes it more precious. Death is not to be feared and is the reminder that this is not your real home. Just a dress rehearsal for bigger and better things to come. Love you Mom. Thank you Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

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

May 11, 2014
Strawberries Grown On A Maine Farm.

Big Red, Sparkle, Robinsons, other proven strawberry varieties to plant, train the runners.

Home Grown Fresh Maine Farm Strawberries.
Or what are called the “spider” satellite plants to give direction. Off shoots spinner thin IV lines off the mother fruit producer of red succulent nectar nutrients. Sold by the single box or flat. At a roadside open air farmer’s market of produce, fruit. Food grown close to home in Maine, not imported from California or out of state, the country.

Picking strawberries in early morning when there is glistening dew on the fertile soil.

As the sun shows up to start another summer day on a Maine farm. Creating a scorcher of a picture perfect day. The perishable fruit heaping out and over the wooden boxes. Brought in from the field. To get out of the sun’s oppressive rays with no chance of shade.

We used to load the flats by pickup. Shuttle them to the Earth floor cellar of the Maine farm house I grew up on. Where it was cool, damp, dark and a good place to double park. To preserve, protect the luscious Maine fruit. From settling which meant tapping into another box of strawberries. Loosing part of the profit. To level out the others needing some rounding. That are sinking, dropping from the over heaping by field pickers. Created from the rich fertile soil on the Maine farm. To avoid those losses of air, that compacts and settles the juicy payload.

Where rows and rows, divided by stripes, corridors of straw layers keep the strawberries in line.

The grass too from choking, over powering the red fruit with green seeds. To avoid requiring grass removal until the berry plants are high enough, all established. To hold their own with saw tooth leaves converting sunlight to sugar.

I ate so many strawberries as a kid on a Maine farm doing time picking them. To the point that all the other fruit was game for sampling, enjoying. But took a sabbatical from strawberries for the rest of my childhood. Other than the occasional blend of strawberry rhubarb Mom was known to roll out, tuck in the filling and slide into the oven.
Small Maine Towns, Good Wholesome Food Grown Locally.
Add some heaping ice cream scoops invited, that are escorted to the end of meal celebration. And well, how can you resist a slab of any pie presentation?

Bought a big plastic container of strawberries from Andy’s IGA this week. As I sample them, what a tasty sensation.

Not because they are more flavored than ones we raised on the Maine farm in a three acre field by Moose Brook. But along with the fruit taste explosion, memories of the work that went into planting, training, picking and peddling them as a Maine farm kid adds to the take away. And maybe avoiding them for years created the renewed hunger.

Like falling in love again with an old flame but new knowledge, wisdom and coming into the relationship from a different on ramp that has no exit. The urge to sample the red berry taste that meant long hours, work obligations had been self shelved.

Feeling like a veteran soldier back from fighting foreign wars on other soils.

High decorated from picking potatoes growing up. Season after season. Still have the field dirt in my veins. Doing the circuit. Work ethic happened along with filling the empty barrels. Finding a top slot to wedge in your ticket number for credit before the hoist. Payment at the end of the harvest week of working outdoors. In all kinds of weather and field conditions.

The fourth year we could turn the strawberry fields into you pick situations. What a free for all. Like trying to herd cats. No way to keep the pickers from all over creation that swooped in on the field in just a few sections of the grow. And you better plan on four boxes being eaten picking the one. And sky scraper stacking them to make sure a box was on steroids. High altitude and weighing in at a box and a half. Then plow them under and replant. Do it over in a new spring on a Maine farm.

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

May 9, 2014