A Christmas Potty!

It has been AGES since I've held a contest on GAG!  Ages since I've had any type of writing fun, at all.  So...I'm gonna have a contest!

A "Photo Caption" contest.  

I snapped this photo in Kingfield, in the parking lot of "Trantens Too"... a popular convenience store, take-out and gas station.

Surely, you can come up with a funny caption for this photo?  Or... how about this version of it?

I have faith in you!  Come up with a caption, and enter it as a comment to this blog entry.  On December 11th, I'll have my pal Saint choose the one he likes best (unless he enters, himself--which I don't think he'll do...except that the prize is so....unique?  Coveted, even??  Hah!  Well, if Saint enters the contest, I'll have my oldest son Guy choose the winner.  He never reads the stuff his lame-oh mother writes!)

The winner will receive a DVD of the 'comedy show' I performed at Nostalgia Tavern in November of 2009.  Not a single copy of this show has been released anywhere (and there's good reason for that!!)  Listening to myself afterwards was PAINFUL!  Excruciating.  All I can say is... Thank God the crowd was drinking!!

Enter my contest and win--and I'll release one copy of that fund-raising show to you. It will be NON-copyable (is that a word?)  After all, I can't go around being a total bonehead to just anyone, can I?  Ugh...

Please enter.  What have you got to lose? Your dignity?  Nope.  I've got that one in the bag.

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Okay!  This didn't work.  So... at the suggestion of one of my Australian friends, who is an expert on...well, to hear him tell the story-- he's an expert on everything that I'm not-- (which allows him a fairly large repertoire!) I'm 'expanding' the contest (and writing a tremendously long run-on sentence, too!)

Below is a photo which will be easy to write captions for--and there is nothing in it to prompt any political zingers.  I guess....  (We try to save those for VOW...)

Here you go.  I'm closing this down on January 8th, and someone will get a prize.

Enter a caption in the comments section, please???

Thank you and Happy New Year from the crew at The F.A.R.M.--where there's Fresh Air and Room to Move!
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An Abundance of Aussies

By now, you all know about my awesome friends Down Under—friends made ‘by chance’ and under the most coincidental of circumstances.

First came Jack—big brother, lifter of spirits, co-writer and major pain in my behind—this man has been the topic of several of my columns, and has even contributed to “Observations” in the past. And when Jack wouldn’t take payment for his editing services on the sequels to Grumble Bluff, many of you helped me settle up with him. You came to a charity benefit night at Nostalgia Tavern and raised $1,700.00 to donate to Jack and Ali’s pet charities: Alzheimer’s Association and Hospice/Home Health Care. You even autographed his poster (which I’m sure hangs in a prominent place in his home!)

Several of you met my “mate” Larry when he came to Maine last summer. For a month I dragged him around with me; all the while listening to him gripe about what a “third world country” this was because he couldn’t get decent cell phone reception in our mountains. The poor man found ONE rock at my parents’ camp he could call out on--if he stood atop it (with left foot held out at a 29 degree angle)--and ONE turn-out between Greenville and Shirley where he could park in order to “phone home”. He pissed and moaned at me endlessly--and I split a gut, laughing at him.

You followed Larry’s “cell-phone saga” to its conclusion. He bequeathed his “piece-of-shite” telephone to Josie-Earl when he left the States, so she could use up his remaining pre-paid minutes. And then--we held the “Battle of Antique vs. State-of-the-Art”. My WWI era Luger 9mm was victorious over the high-tech cell phone; and with 2 shiny bullet holes piercing its metal armor, I mailed the contraption back to Larry in Oz (after a rousing conversation with Australian Customs, who’ve come to know me well [reference “The Great Spud Smuggling Debacle of 2009”]!). Larry was vindicated, and to this day, he says the phone is a great conversation piece--not that he needs any prompting to tell a tall tale!

Yep. Jack and Ali, Larry, Ali g and KK, Dozy and CP, Pete and Naomi. I’ve been blessed with “An Abundance of Aussies” from Queensland, New South Wales, and Victoria.

Dozy lets me crab and whine about the cruelties of life and she repays me in kind! We can’t decide which one of us is better at “whinging” (an Aussie term, pronounced WIN-jing). This woman always makes me smile--and she’s responsible for supplying me with the only sexy earrings I own. She's also the only person on earth who has gifted me with elephant dung.  Does she know me well, or what?  (I would have paid good money to see her collect and dry it for shipping!)

Ali g is a shining light—always kind, generous, and a little (okay… a lot!) irreverent. He gives excellent advice, and I appreciate it all the more when I ignore it, and regret it, afterwards. He’s educated me about the wild, testosterone-charged world of Rugby, and he’s made me fall in love with Australian folk singers. He’s a favorite uncle, a wise friend, and a mischievous troublemaker. I can’t wait to look into his smiling eyes.

Peter W. is my absent-minded professor—brilliant, gentlemanly, and generous to a fault. And CP is so much smarter than I am that he makes me completely comfortable in my boneheadedness! I know I can’t compete with him, so there’s a certain relief and consolation in acknowledging that I don’t even have to try.

Yes, I’ve been blessed with an abundance of Aussies.

Coincidences. Flukes. Some of the links tying me to these friends are beyond belief… but I’ve already told you about the gossamer strands of fate that connected me to these wonderful people. And now…I’m going to mention another amazing stroke of luck.

I was wandering the aisles of Trantens’ Store…grubby in my sweat shirt and pants; having come from packing boxes and moving furniture at my office. I was feeling a tad ‘down-in-the-dumps’—and a little sore and tired. Pushing my cart, I passed behind a gentleman in the bakery aisle just as a loaf Pepperidge Farm whole-grain bread slipped from his hands. He quickly recovered it before it fell to the floor.

“Slippery stuff, huh?” I said. (You know me…silence is NOT an option.)

I’m not sure what the fellow said when he responded, but my ears have grown accustomed to the unique articulations of my pals Down Under. Those three or four words the stranger spoke infused me with a sense of well-being.

“Is that an Australian accent?”

It was. And that’s all it took to set me off. In typical style, I proceeded to (in all probability) tell the poor bloke the story of my hum-drum country life. At a minimum, I peppered him with questions, and told him about my Aussie pals. Soon, we were joined in the bread aisle (aka the “toiletries, peanut butter and Stove-top Stuffing aisle”) by his companions Heather, Barb and Norm.

It turns out--Allan grew up just around the corner from where Jack lives. Not kidding. Right down the road. (You know how big the continent of Australia is, right? It’s HUGE! What are the chances, I ask you!??) And there were other coincidences, too. I was grinning from ear to ear when I left the store, and I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Jack. And Larry. And…well, everyone! I’d entered the supermarket dirty, dusty and down-in-the-dumps, and I departed with a smile. What luck!

Today I received a surprise gift. I can’t adequately express how delighted I am. Two weeks ago I spoke with Tracy at the Irregular, who told me “an Australian” had dropped off an envelope for me. I knew it had to have come from Allan and Heather…for how many Aussies are there in Kingfield on any given day (besides our good friend Rosemary at Daisy-A-Day Flower Shop)? Before I could retrieve the envelope it had passed from family member to family member until finally—today—I was able to take possession.

What a delight! Standing in my parents’ kitchen I opened the envelope to find an original painting by Allan English! It is lovely…wondrous, colorful, peaceful; a true reflection of “home”. These Australian visitors had been drawn to our town from 10,000 miles away by the descriptions and photos of our autumn foliage; and while here, Allan perfectly captured the view seen through a window of the Kingfield house he rented.

These visitors are long gone. They left town to travel to Maine’s beautiful coast, and then they planned to visit Nova Scotia before heading back to the southern hemisphere. I only spoke with them for a few minutes—in the middle of a busy grocery store--but in that short amount of time, they enhanced my life. And now I have a permanent reminder of how small this old world is—and how lucky we are when we connect with people who, it seems, were in the right place at the right time—just when they were needed.
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Photos: Aussie flag: G. Dowling
Jack on Moreton
Jack on Moreton--after fund-raiser in BAR (i.e. pub, i.e. tavern....!!!)
Larry and Kaz
Luger and Larry's cell pone
Dozy and African elephant (in AFRICA!)
Ali g and KK in Papua, New Guinea
Pete W. and Larry in NSW
Allan English watercolor from window in Kingfield, Maine, USA, October 2011
Photos I've taken at The F.A.R.M. in the past, which I thought might give evidence of what a wonderful job Allan did capturing Maine's autumn...

Stopped For Not Speeding--Part Duh...

I love Kingfield and the surrounding communities and I often think how lucky my family was when my father was transferred to this district in 1967. It’s not that other areas of Maine aren’t lovely—there are treasures to be found around every bend. But if you’ve traveled around the state at all, you’ve got to admit that the western mountains are a bit of a jewel… and the people of this area are among the best.


When someone writes to me or stops me in the store to tell me how much they enjoy “Observations”, it makes me very happy; happy that I brought a smile to someone’s face and pleased that I can make a difference, however small, in others’ lives. I love to hear people tell me about a memory a particular column invoked and I enjoy getting the low-down on their own funny experiences.

But one of the best things about being part of a small community is the giving spirit of our friends and neighbors. Last week, I recounted the tale of the ‘date’ I went on with my husband... and how we were stopped by police as we returned home through Rumford. Steven was pulled over for driving cautiously. (Even now, that makes me laugh…pulled over for driving under the speed limit and staying on his own side of the road… priceless!)

I understand now that cautious driving is an indication that the vehicle operator might be intoxicated—however illogical that seems. I understand that there are standard operating procedures law enforcement officers must use when approaching ‘suspect’ vehicles. I understand that it’s the law that a current insurance card must be kept in vehicles at all times. Yes, I comprehended all that. What I didn’t like, however, was the feeling of being considered a danger—and of being in danger, ourselves.

I am the daughter of a retired law enforcement officer. I grew up believing that police officers and game wardens and border patrol agents were here for our protection—that they were the good guys; the front line; the knights in shining armor. But on that rainy night in Rumford, I felt a little bit threatened. There we were—a middle-aged couple trying to find our way through a big town on a rainy, foggy night—and we were pulled over by armed men who treated us like criminals. As I mentioned, it wasn’t just a solitary cruiser which pulled in behind us; there was a Suburban, too. Four cops…cops who made a point of staying out of the ‘line of fire’, cops who engaged in no pleasantries, cops who didn’t make us feel safe. They made us feel threatened.

And that made my husband mad.

All that aside—there’s a point I want to make. On the Monday after that Friday night event, my husband called the police station in an attempt to have the large fine dismissed. He was told to mail the ticket in with his insurance card and the court would take it ‘under advisement’. So that’s what Steven did… and he’s been anxiously checking the mail ever since, waiting to find out what the final judgment will be. Hoping that the system isn’t as screwed up as we think it is.

In the meantime, I learned via that little-understood-but-well-known super highway called ‘small town scuttlebutt’ that someone has flown to our defense. It’s been repeated out and about and here and there that a friend read of our experience in the Irregular and wrote a scathing note to the Rumford police department protesting the ‘incident’. He not only wrote a note—he sent it! (Since the gentleman may wish to remain anonymous—not receiving credit for his charitable act--I’ll just refer to him as “Drew”.)

Drew’s actions tickled the heck out of me…so I told Steven what he’d done.

My husband stopped in his tracks. He stared at me. He asked, “Drew? Have we received notice that the ticket has been dismissed, yet?”

Oops. I suspect the chances of that happening may have plummeted. But I realized something. We are lucky to have friends who will fly to our defense when we need defending—and sometimes, even when we don’t. Folks like us who live in communities like ours are blessed. There are no two ways around that fact. We’re among the lucky ones.

We might have points taken off our licenses unnecessarily and we might pay ridiculous fines, but by golly—we’ve got each other.

And that’s priceless.

Thar She Blows! (Just an FYI...)

Hello, my grumbling and grinning friends! As some of you know, I have been immersed in Big Wind, lately. To the exclusion, it seems, of almost everything else...

This is just a quick announcement...

On Sunday, February 28th I, along with other members of the Friends of the Highland Mountains, will be conducting an informational meeting on the proposed industrial wind turbine development slated for the five mountain ridges in Highland Plantation. This meeting is an attempt to get the facts about these projects out to the general public. Although FHM was formed to specifically oppose this particular development destined for Highland, we are dedicated to 'getting the word out' to citizens all around the state. Many, many towns are being approached by Big Wind, and we do not want them blindsided by this issue.



Please help by educating yourselves, and feel free to take advantge of the multitude of information available... factual, testimonial, and unbiased. And if you'd like to join us this Sunday, please come to the upstairs meeting room at Longfellow's restaurant in Kingfield at noon. I'd love to see you there.

I'm bringing pie! Well, maybe not homemade...

Meadow Muffins and Bonehead Moments

It has once again been proven.... we country folk are easily entertained! What better way to spend an autumn Saturday then to attend a meadow muffin contest!

Someone from 'away' might ask what a meadow muffin contest is. Is it a cooking contest, similar to a chili cook-off? Is it held outdoors, in someone’s meadow?

Well, yes, it is an outdoor event. But no-one is baking pies in order to win a blue ribbon. Think cow pies instead.

That’s right! We Mainers know how to make the most of a good BM! As a fun way to raise money for charity, we like to pit our knowledge of the bovine gastroenterological system against that of our friends and neighbors! A section of field--or meadow, if you will--is divided into grids and fenced off. (Imagine a bingo card with MEADOW MUFFIN across the top and numbers 1-12 down the side, creating 144 square blocks of earth.) People 'buy' a square of ground inside the paddock, say D-3 for example, and then settle in for the show. The object of the game, of course, is to have the cow deposit a kucky cookie in the square that you paid for, thereby winning you a prize.

It’s not unheard of to arrive with your family in tow and a picnic lunch in a basket. Lawn chairs are set up, and the anticipation grows. The air is festive, and the excitement is contagious. Once Bessey, the heifer (the queen of all the cows) is released into the paddock, the suspense is a palpable thing. Will Bessey graze for a while, increasing the tension of the crowd? Will she give the spectators any warning before she makes a pattie placement? Will she perhaps stop and pose for a second so that everyone can witness the grand finale? What happens if she’s ambling along, calmly regurgitating and chewing the contents of one of her four stomachs while flopping the flap, and it lands in more than one square? (Cows can do that, you know. Their manure manipulation maneuvres are magnificent.) The potential variables of the extravaganza are endless, and add to the fun and excitement of the day.


Alas, all good things must come to an end. Bessey, in fine form and with little more fanfare than a quick crook of her tasseled tail, makes her meadow muffin at last. The crowd crows with delight, the cow is praised for her fine form, and the winner is cheered.

Even though the contest is over, the day is not quite done. The fence comes down, and beautiful Bessey is led back to her stall in the barn. The cow pie is offered to the winner of the contest. When the champion declines the gift with all good grace, someone else takes care of the muffin removal. The spectators pack away their left-overs, load up their trucks with camp chairs, blankets and kids, and head through the field towards home. The sun dips low on the horizon and a whippoorwill calls across the now-quiet meadow.

Are we cheap dates, or what??

Yes, I appreciate that we can have a blast doing something as mundane as watching a cow chew her cud and waiting with anticipation for her to drop a doodle on a patch of grass. I love the fact that a community can join together to raise money for a worthy cause, and do it in a way that is inexpensive, hilarious and fun. I think it’s fantastic that you can make some money betting on the bodily functions of a half-ton cow!

And I gotta say it--I love any cow named Bessey.

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This Bessey will be doing her bit for charity on Friday, November 27, 2009 at 7:00 p.m. (No!! Not THAT!!! Sheesh! I'm nowhere NEAR that regular...) To benefit Alzheimers (Maine Chapter) and Franklin Home Health Care, I will be performing 'Bonehead Moments' and 'I Love Ya Man...But Get a Grip!' at Nostalgia Tavern in Kingfield. Tickets are $15.00 per person, or $25.00 for a pair. Only 100 are available, and they are going fast, so please contact me if you would like to attend this evening of comedy. Tickets are also available at Nostalgia Tavern and Tranten's Store in Kingfield. During intermission, a character name in a Grumble Bluff sequel will be auctioned off. Here is your opportunity to have your name immortalized in a novel that takes place right here in the western mountains of Maine! Raffle tickets are also on sale for a quilt made by my 93 year old grandmother, and the winner will be drawn that night, as well. These are available at the Kingfield Woodsman Restaurant (where the quilt is displayed), at Tranten's Too, and at Narrow Gauge Realty.

Please join me for an evening of fun and help support these worthy organizations. I'll do the grumbling, and you can do the grinning! Call me at (207) 628-2070 or email me at roomtomove@tds.net for tickets!

Bonehead moments... Whose bright idea was this, anyway? Come discover the answer at Nostalgia Tavern! (He is SOOOOO going to pay for this!)
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For those of you who are discering readers and followers of GAG, I'd like to take this opportunity to assure you that I DO know the bovine in these photos is NOT a COW. HIS name is Blue, and he is one of the steers at home here on The F.A.R.M. I DO know the difference, boys and girls! Cows don't have HORNS, after all! Sheesh...

Life is full of changes...

Life is full of changes. And really, aren’t we lucky that’s the case? How boring our existence would be if everything was the same, day in and day out. The same weather. Identical food from one meal to the next. Conversations that were similar—or worse—that were constantly in agreement, with no debate and no stretching of the mind or consciousness. What if we were continuously surrounded by the same people who were caught in an eddy of stagnation, with no new ideas or thoughts or dilemmas? Or, how boring would our daily commute be if everything appeared exactly the same, with no variation of sights and sounds and activity?

Yes, life is filled with fluctuations from one day to the next. It keeps us interested and animated. It forces us to tap into a small portion of that vast intellect we each possess. Life keeps us ALIVE.

It is autumn, here in Maine. A season of transformation. Just days ago, it seems, we were reveling in warm days and slightly cooler, refreshing nights. The windows were left open to catch the breeze. Jackets stayed on hooks, and bare legs and feet were not an uncommon sight. And yet, we are just three weeks into the fall and we've already passed ‘peak foliage’ and have had our first snowfall, too. The colorful display of leaves was gorgeous, but short-lived. The snow was also fleeting and (to this woman who is still a girl at heart) was wondrous to behold. Before we know it, that frosty white stuff will be in residence for the winter…insulating our houses against the bite of cold and wind, and providing a playground for skiers, sledders and snowmobilers. It will spur the economy as people buy studded snow tires, fuel to heat their homes, and parkas and boots to warm their bodies. It will bring a bit of magic to the holidays.

And then, just as we get tired of it…just as we begin to feel the frustration of another driveway to plow, another roof to rake, one more set of steps to shovel off…just then, a spring zephyr will whisper its way through the forests and across the fields, softening the crust as it caresses the drifts and gullies. A steady rain will fall…not one that glazes the snow and turns it to perilous ice, but one that permeates and melts and washes away the frozen precipitation that has carpeted the earth during its dormancy.

A robin will appear in a bare patch of ground under an evergreen, and its morning call will awaken us, causing a feeling of renewed hope and revitalization as we begin our day. A crocus will push its way through the snow, its vibrant color bringing a smile to our faces and a lift to our spirits. At dusk, a woodcock will give its distinct mating call from the edge of the meadow…ending our day in the same way it started. With hope and anticipation for life. New life, for some--and a rejuvenation of the existence already in play, for others.

Yes, life is full of changes. And really…aren’t we lucky that’s the case?

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The photo above was taken this morning, October 14, 2009. The view is of snow-capped Abraham Mountain, with the village of Kingfield nestled at its base. A morsel of waning summer, a taste of advancing autumn, and the bite of winter’s promise, all in one. Ah, life.

Copyright Karen Bessey Pease 2009