Category: Uncategorized

  • Maine Farm Barns, Like Dinosaurs, Going To Their Knees Slowly.

    Hay Storage, Animal Shelter, Machinery Storage, The Maine Farm Barn.
    The Classic Maine Farm Barn, Slipping To One Knee. Becoming Extinct.

    The Maine farm barn was once a thriving, vibrant center stone in the crown jewels of a country acreage land spread.

    But square bales of hay not collected from fields, conveyor belted or lifted up overhead for winter storage now. Man power to hay, less farmers, smaller families all led to big round bales that machines can handle, not humans alone. So the big massive storage capacity of a Maine farm barn is under utilized. Everything has to be on the ground floor now on the Maine farm. Like our Maine schools for handicap access.

    Nothing excites but bothers me at the same time as spying a big farm barn while exploring around Maine back roads.

    The fact the Maine farm barn is still standing is a testament to it’s construction. And to the caretakers, good stewards that kept the roof shingled, weather tight. That replaced sills that were kicking out, windows that needed re-glazing. But getting that high up to use that many shingles, paint or stain that large an area for something that two thirds of it is has no use. Makes it a labor of love, more than a good business exercise on the investment of time, money, resources.

    I spied with my little eye a Maine barn this weekend on US Rt 1A in Limestone, in Aroostook County. That definitely had a better side for profile images. Just like you and I. From the south, the need for some paint for the barn doors and trim. The shingled cedar weathered and au natural. The aging asphalt roof fatique apparent. But big metal cupolas stood stately, proud, straight.

    Rusting cupolas, a pair of them used to help vent the big barn full of yearly new harvest hay. That heats up if the moisture is not removed in the field before storage. If put away wet. And that’s the source of many a barn fire total loss destruction. Because hay wasn’t left to dry, condition, cure. And heated up to the point of spontaneous combustion. Barn lighting rods in place, purchased during a good potato year. The overall Maine farm barn seemingly straight. Eye candy for a Maine farm boy that never grew up, excites easily.

    But on the north side of the Maine farm barn, that gets the weather, especially out of the northwest, watch out.

    We have a problem Houston. And the posts, beams, dowels when the roof is peeled back and side barn cavity exposed to the open elements. All that Maine weather means she will bleed out fast. Exposed, unprotected and like someone did not just leave the barn door open and the old gray mare got away. The entire side of the structure is naked, unprotected, vulnerable Getting wet, drying out. Being lifted up jerked, pushed down hard. Bullied sideways by grounding pounding wrestling winds, Maine weather.

    Racking the barn frame and trying to make the place lay down for good and die.

    As it sinks, which will happen with enough weather, more time and lack of maintenance to save the Maine barn. This barn’s attached machine shed or animal stable pulled away, helping accelerate the tail spin, stall and dive to the bottom of the farm spread ocean.

    The Poor Side Of A Maine Barn.
    Wind, Rain, The Attached Machine Shed Or Animal Stable Pulling Away, Tearing, Straining The Maine Farm Barn As It Titanics.

    The loss of the giant Maine farm barn makes the ones that still roam the Earth, in Maine, elsewhere that much more special, unique, cherished. Insurance companies don’t like them. Know how much they cost to reproduce with six by sixes, eight by eight beams. If there is a fire. There is just so much that goes into a massive Maine farm barn to repair.

    Keeping one healthy means find another Maine barn to be an “organ donor”.

    Salvaging, scavenging cupolas, metal door hinges and fasteners of the period. Steel cross cables turn buckled to like a girdle and buttress the spread, squat, sag. To work against gravity in combination with careful, slow, tedious jacking. Adding more hurricane bracing. Trying to keep the box square. Or make it rectangular again. The gambrel barn roofs are more needy, higher maintenance than the simple “A” gable ones. But ah, the gambrel barns hold so much more hay. Offer tremendous, usable storage. To draw from over a long Maine winter in hay storage for rows and rows of critters. Or used that way when the family farm, like my Mom who was a Benn from Hodgdon Maine was the norm. Meant eleven kids in her family all pitched in to help perform daily chores on a bustling dairy and potato farming operation.

    Like an old rusted 1959 Cadillac, Square Thunderbird, Lincoln, Corvette or other other classic that comes with a parts car. Or two because you need them for the original labor of love restoration if you are a purest. Or have time to tinker, not just ching ching mail order in genuine imitation expensive parts. That look close to what the original yesteryear ride did when she rolled off the production line in Detroit. Playing some R and B, Motown music from it’s dashboard AM radio. Smelling of new upholstery and rug, rubber, vinyl and chrome trim, fresh paint.

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

  • Honest Mistakes, Does Any One Make Them Today?

    One Maine Potato, Two Maine Potato....
    Maine Kids Learn About An Honest Days Work, But Do Any Of Us Make Honest Mistakes Any More?

    Back in the early 1980’s I taught a University of Maine adult education class on real estate practices.

    At the time you needed the practices class which highlighted the day to day of being a Maine real estate agent. To get your salesman or broker’s ticket. With courses taught by an attorney for the law, and appraiser for the valuation end of listing, peddling property listings part of the three course process.

    One night before class started, while folks were filing in to pick their same seat as last session, one older lady had a major melt down. Each week she complained about not needing to be in the class. Looked for sympathy. But had let her real estate license lapse and the state thought differently. Said attend or else cease and desist the desire to be a Maine real estate agent. Find another line of work.

    Always putting on the Ritz, dressed to the nines.

    Extremely over dressed for class. More dolled up looking like ready to go out on the town and paint it red. This particular night, while wearing a sheer, frilly blouse with way way too many front buttons unemployed, not working. A gentleman from Mapleton accidently bumped, spills his coffee. A few drops land on her dry clean only expensive blouse that did not come from Kmart, Ames (pronounced in Maine AIM-zezzzzz) or Woolco.

    Not losing the entire cup or even a tiny fraction when she suddenly turned around and ran in to the gentleman. Who pulled off a remarkable Columbia bean elixir save, recovery. While negotiating up the rows of seats to plant his keester in the one behind her. No No. Just a few drops was the claim if any at all were shed on her clothing in the java bump that she initiated. Foul was whistled shrilly. Wrongful doing air raid sirens sounded. Call in the coffee police. File a report. Put up the yellow do not cross police crime scene tape. Heads are going to roll.

    Normally when a mistake is made, and this cup carrying class mate apologized, offered to pay for her blouse to be dry cleaned or replaced, then you expect things to settle down. Not in this case. Miss Snarky proceeded to ask him in the room full of large eyes and stalled midstream conversations how he could be so stupid. What was wrong with him was barked over and over.

    You could silently feel the sway of the room when no side was picked in the mishap at the onset.

    The boat listing to port. To suddenly the entire class was feeling badly for Mr Coffee. Wearing his hush puppy tie ups. Because it was an honest mistake, if any java, of the cup of Joe was actually spilled. And if it was he had sincerely, emphatically showed he was truly sorry. All apologetic beside himself. With sincerity written all over his face and his words to right a wrong being obvious to the rest in the real estate class room night session. Other classmate intervene to remind “he said he was sorry”, “let it go”. It was an honest mistake.

    The powder keg, blown way out of proportion episode made me realize why juries award ridiculously large damage settlements. Sometimes they hate big companies that come out as greedy. Chasing the almighty dollar. If no remorse was shown, if extreme negligence is apparent without a shadow of a doubt. But also why folks get off the hook and not just on technicalities. Because of the way the people in the trial present, handle themselves. What is expected in society and when it is obvious the norms, values and what’s fair is out of whack? We all judge fairness based on what should happen with an honest mistake but what if it was our ox getting gored? Feel the same way? How situations get exploited, heading down a different rabbit trail.

    The belle of the ball, over dressed with teetering tall sequined high heels was wet hen upset.

    Could not let it go. The pressure cooker was whistling, steaming she’s gonna blow. Her dander up, ears back, teeth bared, showing in a grimace, snarl. You know who was about to be kicked, bitten. The personal attack approach left abandoned “the seeking sympathy from the class” reaction to her plight. This misdeed, tragedy, quandary instead of soliciting the class to join her cause, did the opposite. You could not help but feel sorry for the student just trying to take his seat behind her. The sprinkle spillage could not take on the epic proportions, draw any similarities to the sideways oil tanker one off the coast in Valdez, Alaska. Sorry.

    Public opinion, is there an honest mistake made any more?

    An honest mistake is unintentional, one not made with malice or any forethought.

    You are being honest when you say I am sorry. It was a mistake admitted. And you don’t hide from any other intentional agenda or sheer reckless malice. Ah, and that leads us to the topic of forgiveness, situational ethics. Easier said than done it seems. Made any honest mistakes lately? How about everyone around you? Do they still happen in a world that has shifted, thinks more about me now than others?

    Maine, big state, lots of special spaces, places to figure things out. Hear yourself think.

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

  • Comfortable In Your Own Skin, Getting A Rhythm In Maine.

    Digging Your Own Hole In Life.
    Got To Get A Rhythm When You Got The Blues.

    Maine is a great state for retreats, private times in beautiful places without all the wall to wall people.

    To spend memorable moments reflecting with just you, yourself and I. Removing all the distractions, crutches, conversations and deadlines. Stripping away the old comfortable ways that have gotten you this far. Putting the “fun” in dysfunction. But limiting anything that has kept you from living up to your full potential.

    In my job the common theme from out of state Maine real estate buyers is something is missing. Not happy but not sure why. Thinking it must be others, can’t possibly be just me. And a change of geography, a whole new natural backdrop, a slower natural place like Maine has got to help find what is lacking. Some are running away from skeletons of the past. Many are living fast forwarded way into tomorrow. Anxious to fulfill future dreams put on hold for too long. And time’s a wastin’. Better chop chop hop to it.

    Others are trying to strip away what has robbed their peace, inner joy, kept them from experiencing a fuller, deeper life.

    To tighten the focus on just deal with today. Living in today. Johnny Cash sang about needing to “Get A Rhythm” when you got the blues. To get back on your feet. To walk the line when there’s a burning ring of fire. And you feel like you’re in Folsom Prison. Oh yeah, that comes in future songs he penned. To get the suffering, frustration, confusion out. Sang to help ease the pain. To make room in the over crowded heart that was wore black to free up space so understanding could hang it’s hat. Come home to roost.

    Hello, I’m Johnny Cash, Remind You To Get A Rhythm In Song Video.

    How to feel comfortable in your own skin. Starts with no longer trying to meet the expectations of everyone around you. That for some reason want, need to define you when they should be working on their own short comings. To keep their eyes on their own laundry list of faults, struggles. Some say loved ones are hard on each other because they just want to help improve you. But we are our own worst, harshest critics. Without rhythm in the song we sing, the notes just don’t arrange themselves so sweetly. But we have to write our own sheet music. Or play it by ear as the measures roll on. You are the best star to be considered for the role of “This Is Your Life”. No one else.

    When you have kept yourself pretty much round the clock busy, time alone to hear yourself think is not allowed to happen. And when you are not confident without approval, validation of others around you, spending time alone can be awkward. Fish out of water uncomfortable. But what you don’t enjoy is often the bitter tasting medicine you need to swallow. The old adage about what does not kill you makes you stronger rings true. You don’t always get what you wanted but always what you needed happens.

    The bottom line of the pitch from many advertisements we are bombarded with these days is it’s time to change you.

    Become the new you with this product, service, book, set of CD’s with three easy payments. Maybe the old you has just been slammed into park. Not allowed to be started up, taken for a spin. As the Guess Who sand “I got got got no time.”.

    Obligations in life put off the self analysis. Raising a family, holding down a job to make a living, working on the many relationships around us through out life. Not a lot of time left for just how are you doing questions. Posed eye to eye with the guy or gal you share the mirror with brushing teeth, combing hair each morning.

    Slowly, as kids leave the nest, the learning curve of a career planes out, many find Maine is the place with the space. To really start to learn about yourself. The things that make you happy. Make you tick. And you find that inner rhythm. By taking better care of you first. Not just pulled like the scarecrow apart at the seams default pattern to end all make everyone around you happy.

    It can sound selfish but you are not thumbing your nose at the world when you put your foot down.

    It’s just when you reach a point in life where a shift happens. A conscious adjustment causes the factoring in of more alone time. Me quality time. To not just get your satisfaction externally any more. But adding the most important element of joy. Built from within, deep inside. To places not many are allowed. No fly zones. To areas even you have to open up the Delorme Gazateer to explore, find your way around. The way back out.

    You know the expression that you can tell what is happening within a person by what’s written all over their face? Not the staged smile that they hide behind when people are looking. The contenance, way they project, what radiates from deep down can not be kept a secret. Even though the world is your stage and we are but mere actors playing out our roles in quiet desperation.

    Maine, explore, discover, relax. Whew. You made it. No hurry to leave, no reason to stay away.

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

  • Stained Glass In Maine, Not Just In Churches Any More.

    Kids Are Like Stained Glass, Come In More Than 31 Flavors.
    Pick Your Favorite Color, Use Them In Your Life.

    Colored, stained glass that filters light.

    With each shade, intensity and the pattern contributing like an orchestra to the experience out in the audience. The sunshine that fuels the backdrop provides a different sensation than a set of spotlights trying to do the same job artificially.

    Not just found in Maine churches these days but still has a certain sanctity, sacredness because of the events you were exposed to growing up around stained glass.

    When a small child with feet that did not quite reach the floor. In a church wedding where everyone is low voiced whispering. When you are a kid used to using your outdoor recess voice for communication. To make a point. Or at a funeral with shades of purple trappings, sadness enhancing organ music and occasional bell chimes gonged. Resonating, signaling the end of time. Before the shift to let’s celebrate the life of the newly departed people. Can I get an amen? Not cry our eyes out and feel sorry for our own loss. Remembering they’re going, headed, on their way to a better final place, their real home. While the hole in your heart heals.

    Some stained glass church windows donated by family members in memory of the loved ones.

    To soothe the loss. To remember, not have the memory fade and the person’s “light” to live on. And lots of stained glass with scripture inserted. Tied into the array of colors and patterns. Stained glass is neat. But not just in churches in Maine any more. The image above mostly ordinary sea glass. But not so simple and transformed into something of dramatic beauty. Because of many hours, a highly creative spirit of the artist who proudly displays it at a local Lubec Maine coastal eatery. Here is another of a Maine moose of colored glass.

    The front entry door to where I live in a Houlton Maine home has a small vertical rectangle window space. And the old plain jane glass needed replacement a while back. I had a property behind me that sold to an Arizona couple. She was a nurse, he had royally messed up his back as a fire fighter. And instead of taking pain killers or keep trying to be put under the knife for more operations when the rails on the train had run out, the husband drank beer. All the time nursing cheap beer, Blatz barley pop. Like it was on an IV pole, plugged in by a hose for a slow drip constant. Except no metal pole on squeaky wheels or the swinging, hanging bag. Just right hand curls of the cheap beer through out his day. Into each night. Creating lots of returnable deposit empties, dead tin soldiers.

    One hobby Lloyd developed along with his default beer drinking as a professional, highly functioning alcoholic was stained glass.

    When he did not have time for the pain, he repaired removed church window sashes. In his carriage house workshop. Creating new stained glass window works. He brought tons of glass of various textures, patterns and hues with every color solid and combination pigments known to man. From West Germany, and in special 2×4 construction bins for each. Mostly sheets, squares but every smaller piece from a previous job kept for a shepherd’s pie of sorts. For repair and new window creation.

    Some green glass remnants he had kicking around made a local electrician sigh in big relief.

    When he broke a piece changing, swapping light locations in our house. But Lloyd cut the exact replacement color, shape and wham bam soldered, whipped it in securely. Nice and tight. And all was good again. His old Highland Avenue Houlton Maine home has lots of stained glass work left behind that is now owned, enjoyed by Anne and Andy Cottle. That used to be lived in by neighbors Margaret and Gary Hagan before the stained glass ta da embellishment took the place up a few notches.

    Maine churches in the area lamented hearing the relocation news. Sad to see him move before their immediate need was met in their sanctuary of worship. But while here, he was a Johnny Appleseed of sorts for long overdue stained glass church window repair. The local Houlton Maine churches in the flock could not afford to hire out of state firms to travel way north. Lloyd was well received and kept as busy as his lower back would allow.

    Before he left, back to that window out front where I live. I asked if I could hire him to make a replacement of stained, colored glass.

    We drew out a design of diamonds of lavender and milk glass, he measured the opening. And in short order, a new windows was created for what I thought was peanuts for compensation. It was a hobby, past time not full time work for Lloyd. He could not work the standard forty hour week. But when he was feeling his oats so to speak, having a good day, he created something beautiful. Above and beyond.

    Here is a Maine stained glass link of beautiful galleries to inspire. The lamps with dragon fly, jewels of intricate, rich hand blown colored glass beads, real antique ones not reproductions are neat. But creative spirit and not just solemn, proper, pious church applications has flung, no nailed the door wide open on stained glass “sky’s the limit”.

    Creations now only limited by your imagination and time allowed, the commitment from your wallet for the DIY stained glass designers. But stained glass also like ordering a restaurant meal options and how do you want it cooked has become more sophisticated than just repair of existing church windows. The cost has come down as the increase in the size of the market extends way way beyond church buildings, religious applications tied to just the collection plate.

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

  • Checking Your Oil In Maine, Fill ‘er Up At The Twilight Zone Garage.

    Stretching Your Legs, A Maine Gas Station Stop.
    Fill ‘er Up, Check The Oil, The Hoses Please.

    Life moves fast and you gotta keep gassed, filled up.

    But despite the hurry scurry, the double time to hut hut stay on pace, out of no where happens. Like you’re driving scenic Maine US One, our version of Rt 66 to get your kicks. The rock bound craggy coast and salt sea air left shrinking way way behind in the big rear view chrome mirrors. As you venture north into the heart of interior Maine.

    And out of the corner of your eye, coming in to full ten and two hand position vision ahead you arrive at a yesteryear garage mirage. Stuck in time, rusting relics, static, waiting for the gas filling station pump attendant. The oil topping, tire changing, battery boosting grease monkey. The missing driver, passengers in the car under the canopy at a Topsfield Maine way way out in the country gas station. All gone. That must of been collected. Rounded up, sucked up, lifted slowly skyward. Bathed in a pool of hot bright blue UFO light vacuum and whisked away.

    Topsfield Maine, population 237. Not far from Danforth Maine. Population 589 and many of those households are lakeside, empty much of the year. When snowbirds fly away to lands where winter snow shovels are not operated, needed, sold.

    Business at the Twilight Zone Gas Station as I call it is not brisk.

    In fact, the same collection of rusting relics continue to wait for parts to come in. Repairs to be performed as weather happens. Seasons change. People come and go, buzz by on the highway the gas station is parked smack dab within the right of way. Of this four rod wide once vibrant artery.

    Waiting lines, a small mom and pop Maine business pulsating, percolating with a steady string of cars, trucks. Mostly locals, a handful of straggling tourists. The occasional horse or Maine farm tractor. A laughing collection of local kids. On bikes, trading in empty soda bottles for candy. The highway establishment a whisker too handy to the shoulder of the now not so well traveled Maine roadway.

    The stop for a pop spot. To poke change, for Clyde to fish, then drop a dime down the slot. To place an important long distance pay phone call. To stretch, remove leg, shoulder knot joint fatigue. For Bonnie to freshen up, splash some water on her face, adjust her lipstick. The entire dog and pony started with a bark of fill ‘er up. For gallons of gas, quart of oil, new wiper blades paid for with unfolded green cash. Not a magnetic strip plastic card. Where you settle up in thirty days. Or carry the bill with interest and increasing debt.

    To witness, watch the whip out and wipe off the dipstick maneuver.

    For the gas station jockey to squint, decipher, measure oil levels in the crankcase of big V-8s. Heavy, framed cars with skirts, sleek curved swooping lines, straight pipes, real steel bodies. And power plants that lacked smog emission control devices. Sedans, coupes, two tone colored station wagons, pick ups, farm machinery with a motor. Or tires needing air.

    Some panel delivery trucks with real “woody” grain side panels. But no power windows, missing air conditioning, sans leather seats. Just limited AM radio stations to sing along to the words, to just hum if you don’t know the song. But each vehicle equipped with triangular front side windows. That cranked, rolled out to redirect wind. The velocity, gust controlled by the lead level in your foot. Inviting a breeze to pass into and through out the car’s interior as the accelerator is squeezed, pressed to the metal. The man made wind, drifting in and out with distant radio frequency broadcasts that are turned up louder the hotter it gets. The faster you drive.

    The lone white painted cedar shingled building, a refreshment center of fluids for man and modern tin lizzie combined.

    Set ready freddy as a filling station ding ding rural outpost. Providing road maps, verbal directions for the lost. Those new to the local turf. Not from these parts. Being of service to all who swerved, rolled in, then out. Labeled with hanging and nailed porcelain coated gas company logos. From flying A’s to soaring winged horses. Staged, ready for Maine seven decades ago for a real deal backdrop movie set for the right script. If it’s time for a vacation life experience, if you’re on empty, your story begins in Maine. Don’t keep her waiting. Fill ‘er up. Pull out the map, log some memory miles.

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

  • Winter Snow Skiing All Fun And Games Until An Avalanche Triggers.

    Beautiful Sunshine, Snow Ski Conditions In Colorado.
    Colorado Ski Avalanches, Can Happen Like At Arapahoe, A Basin In Summit County Saturday.

    When you live in Maine, kids are raised pretty much outdoors and winter snow skiing on the fun check list.

    Our recreation, work is four seasons. Winter down hill snow skiing complements pond hockey, ice fishing, snow sledding in Maine. So when your Maine family enjoys down hill, cross country snow skiing, the kids grow up to carry on the leisure activity. Some gravitate to places like Colorado.

    Two sons were skiing together at A Basin in Colorado over the weekend. Luckily Saturday they missed a snow avalanche that hit fifteen skiiers at A Basin. My son has asked for a snow avalanche locator beacon for back country skiing safety. So being found under snow can happen because time is critical when air is cut off. You find yourself under layers of shifting avalanche snow at Arapahoe Basin, other Colorado ski areas.

    A skiing avalanche, it’s a bigger deal than when your a Maine kid in a snow tunnel you carve out with your neighborhood friends in the backyard.

    Making rooms under a mountain of snow that plow trucks deposit. Knowing in construction kicking, using hands, shovels that not much for overhead tunnel support. And that if you ever got claustrophobic, you could bust up through the bright spot. Get up and out without any worries. To fresh Maine air and safety away from tight panic attack close quarters.

    Son Alex was working one of the A Basin ski lifts this past Saturday. Wondered why ski patrol sleds were zipping by. Return chairs higher up the mountain had return skiiers wearing only one board. Missing poles, other standard equipment signaling something was wrong. One skiier in the A Basin party was completely buried under a snow avalanche. Luckily his partner saw him disappear and exactly where. And by hand scrambled to dig himself out. Then the endangered out of sight buried lost on radar skiier. Luckily knowing his last seen whereabouts before the snow pile up avalanche hit.

    Special safety ski equipment is needed for natural terrain, hidden outback areas closed to the general public.

    Avalanche beacons cost around $300. Alex says there are snorkels to breath out the back, parachute like brightly colored orange inflating ballons too that are on top of special back backs. That have CO 2 cartridges to explode like blowing up an accident dash air bag. To create air space in the snow around the skiier to help mobility. To aid the buried avalanche skier to show up. Be spotted by safety patrol rescurers. Frantic, but trained to know where, how to dig. While the highly critical avalanche rescue time is ticking away. When it’s life and death to get your under snow, disappeared skiier uncovered. Back to unlimited fresh air.

    You only have a couple minutes max of cavity air when buried alive in a snow ski avalanche. And as you breath, if you don’t keep a clear head and can not relax, the snow becomes crystalized, turns to ice quickly with each life ending breath exhaled. Like being underwater. Flailing, wasting energy, panic does not help the serious accident situation. With the little air you can not afford to fritter away.

    My oldest son and his brother Elliot, his girlfriend Cindy did get to ski A Basin after Alex was off work.

    But the Colorado avalanche was a grim reminder that snow falls happen. Unlike skiing in Maine. This avalanche triggered to actually shift to the point of bare ground showing where the snow was. Before it shifted, slid, rumbled, thundered down the back country terrain mountain side. Picking up speed where there are no groomed trails. Outback areas that are only available for skiing with inked at your own risk legal waivers signed. And expert abilities experienced skiers partnered with an A Basin trained guide who does not want to die either.

    Spring time will uncover lost snow skis, ripped off equipment of the party of fifteen. At the Montezuma Bowl that remains closed today at Araphoe Basin ski area in Summit County, after February 18th, Saturday’s avalanche. Like forest fire danger conditions in Maine, Colorado’s Avalanche Information Center tracks the probability of a sudden release of side mountain snow.

    It does make you think when you kid asks at Christmas for what he wants and it is an avalanche probe, a safety beacon rescue ski signal transmitter. The sports get more dangerous the older, more serious we get right?

    Maine, big state, she’ll take your breath away. In a good way.

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