I find myself staring out the windows or standing on the porch, scanning the fields, in the hopes I catch a glimpse of my favorite wild creature. Normally, they start making their way through our yard, returning from wherever it is they winter, before the snow has even fully disappeared. With this year’s peculiar weather, the snow is almost gone, and after doing a walk about in the areas still covered in snow and the mud from the thawing ground, I came across nothing. Not a single track from any creature. Perhaps, they are just doing what my daughters have always said they do, they are either hiding from me or waiting for the opportunity to kill me. And trust me, I’m pretty vigilant. You may be wondering what I am talking about. The most beautiful oddity. The majestic Maine Moose.

After a long Maine winter, the girls and I would hop in the truck and drive endless miles in search of a moose. Many days, we would see five to eight. We knew all the hot spots and areas they fed from and frequented. That was over twenty years ago. Now, we can travel miles and miles without a single sighting. Newcomers to the area say they are around. Yes, maybe so. But not like they used to be.

The first time I took the girls out, we were heading north and getting into an area where power lines no longer run. They were asking me what a moose looks like and I explained similar to a horse with a bit of cow mixed in. When they asked how large, I stated they were roughly the size of a horse and just as we came around a bend in the road, there stood a large cow moose and her baby. I think of this moment every time I drive around that bend, which is on a regular basis.

Years later, we were heading to camp (now home) for Reaghan’s birthday. Kenz, Reaghan and I, had just picked up Reaghan’s friend, Skylar, in the tiny town of Brighton. This particular day, I was driving Jesse’s Dodge Charger. Being a truck girl, I wasn’t used to sitting so low to the ground and having so many blind spots. We were heading down the same stretch of road that we had seen the mom and baby on. Sky and Reaghan were talking loudly and excitedly in the back and Kenz was in the passenger seat. All of a sudden, Kenz yells, “MOOOSEE”. Next thing I know, there is a moose head in front of my face on the opposite side of the windshield. A millisecond before we connected, the moose reared, spun and ran back in the direction it came from. I never saw it beforehand, because the car sat so low and the door frame acted as a blind spot. Needless to say, I drive VERY slow through that area now.

Another close encounter wasn’t in Kingsbury, but it’s another one of the reasons why my girls have said that moose either hide or try to kill me. In reality, they don’t actually try to kill me. I just tend to have a few far too up-close experiences with them. Reaghan had been away at Bible camp, and we had gone to pick her up. We decided to head south to Bangor to have dinner. As we were going through Howland, along the river, I told Jesse to back up. He put the VW Beetle in reverse, and I jumped out. I had seen a moose standing down in the river and about the same time I jumped out of the car the moose ran up the embankment. There we stood, with only the roof of a VW Beetle between us. I’m not sure who was more surprised or whose eyes were bigger. Kenz was looking out her window and the only thing she could see were legs and a chest. From the back seat she sternly grumbles, “Mom, get in the *%@$ car!!”. I said my Hello’s and goodbyes and got back in the car. Needless to say, no pictures were taken that day.

Nearly, two years ago, a friend of mine and I were returning from a day spent at The Common Ground Fair. Heather and I were on the six mile stretch of dirt road home when I noticed something up ahead of us. She was in the passenger seat knitting away, as she often does in the car. Once I realized what was running directly at us, I slammed on the breaks and threw the Jeep in reverse. Heather is laughing at me asking me what I was doing, she wanted to get a picture of the moose that was barreling down the road at us. I explained to her that moose have terrible eyesight and can’t see straightforward, as their eyes set towards the side of their heads, which creates a blind spot in front of them. This guy probably didn’t even know we were in front of him, especially since it’s in panic mode, just like me. As I continue backing up, the out-of-state Hummer, that was chasing down the moose, kept following it at a pretty good speed. Never even stopping as he approached us. Thankfully, the moose veered to the opposite side of the road just as it reached the front of my Jeep and went into the woods. I was shaking and cursing at the ignorant driver of the Hummer. I told Heather the moose would probably be dead in the woods soon enough from stress. As we made our way home, we could see the hoof tracks in the dirt road, dug down deep and long strides. That poor moose was chased and ran over a mile. Let’s just say I had a few extra words and hopes for the driver of the Hummer.

Heather is not the only person who has had a good laugh at my expense. When you are driving down roads, with your mind off in Lala land, you don’t expect to see this giant animal, who tends to appear out of nowhere. When I see them from a distance, I’m excited. When we are in a moving vehicle and we come upon a 800 pound (or more), unpredictable animal, yes, I tend to panic. Years ago, when the girls were in elementary school they had a game in Bingham. We took the shortest route, which happened to be Route 16. Jesse was driving and our friend, Nicci was in the backseat of our truck. Through the snow-covered woods, I caught out of the corner of my eye, two…not one…but TWO large bulls running through the trees towards the road. Panic kicked in, as I wasn’t driving and had zero control, and I didn’t know if they were going to run out in front of us. Nicci is in the backseat in hysterics, I’m hyperventilating in the front seat and Jesse, who is driving is telling me that the moose weren’t going to run out in front of us. How the hell does he know that? Did the moose put on his turn signal? Once Nicci caught her breath from laughing so hard, she manages to get out, “I know you are scared of hitting a moose, but just seeing one??” and then starts laughing all over again. I think of this evening whenever I go get groceries and I can still hear Nicci from the backseat.

A few years later, Jesse would have his own encounter, and it wasn’t his last. It was early fall and we had spent the night at camp. We ran a small general store at the time and getting away to camp was a gift, especially after working a ninety hour week. Sunday was “Donut Day” and my day to sleep in. Sunday’s, I went in late morning and worked until closing. That particular morning, the weather was beautiful, and he decided to drive the four-wheeler down to the store. The twenty minute ride in a vehicle was an hour ride by trail. Jesse had gotten about half way through the trails and turned to head up a hill on an adjacent trail. As soon as he started up, a large bull stepped out of the overgrown saplings just yards ahead, turning in Jesse’s direction. The moose stood in the middle of the trail daring Jesse to approach, slowliy lowering his head that held a giant rack of antlers. Jesse slowly backed up the wheeler, sat and waited for the mooses next move. It became a waiting came for a few minutes, as the large beast challenged him to approach. Eventually, Mr. Moose did move off the trail. But the question was, how far? Jesse gunned up the hill and prayed the moose wasn’t playing a trick on him. Thankfully, he had moved on his merry old way.

This past fall, Jesse had another encounter on his way to work. This time with a cow moose. As he made his way down the dirt roads, he came around a corner. There on the side of the road stood a cow, who had just left the bog. The cow, with her ears pinned back, started walking towards Jesse in his work van. He then threw it in reverse (see…I’m not the only one). The cow then turned around and started moving in the same direction Jesse was heading in, he slowly went forward as well, that’s when she decided to turn back around and charge him. Jesse decided enough was enough and she had yet physically attacked the van. He turned around and came home for another cup of coffee, before heading off to work. We’re pretty sure Ms. Moose had a baby in the near vicinity. On separate occasions we had seen a mom and baby in the bog across from us, another morning they strolled down the road in the fog. I tried getting a picture, but my tired eyes couldn’t focus my lens to save me. A week or so later, our friends had a young moose looking in their window. I came up on it on a narrow short-cut we take. I never saw mom, but I wasn’t taking a chance. She had a temper. I backed up the hill and turned around, taking the long way around.

My favorite place to see moose, is right from our own yard. Over the past twenty years we have had them on our front lawn, saunter by our windows as they pass through the fields and leisurely checking out the scenery as they walk down the road. I’ve witnessed their curiosity, while working in my flower gardens on sunny summer mornings. Standing a good distance, watching me, just as I watch them. Periodically, I’ll look up, wave and carry on with my weed pulling. Most of the time I catch a butt as it crosses the road after leaving the bog or vice versa. Once I catch a glimpse though, my day is pretty much done with and nothing gets accomplished. I spend the remainer of the day waiting for the moose to emerge from wherever it may be.

I have been lucky to have the number of sightings and encounters that I have had, these were just a handful. Many people born and raised in Maine have never seen a moose, besides in photos or on television. There are those who come to Maine from all over. They go to all the right locations and still never get to see a moose. How unfortunate for them, to not witness one of the most amazing and majestic animals.

As you can see, and once again, another season has passed (two actually) and I’m far behind, not only in writing, but other things. Spring is a blur and summer never showed up until late September/ early October, gracing us for an entire week and part of that week we were in Florida …..where it literally rained. Because we didn’t have enough of that this summer here in Maine.

At 3am. this morning, I could see the fog encasing the fields, but overhead, the sky was just as clear. Every star shown, and the waning crescent moon hadn’t even come over the horizon yet. I thought how neat it is to see both the moon and sun rise, hours apart. I stood there for a few minutes, taking in the cool morning air, observing the constellations. I told myself that today was going to be better. I was convincing myself that today WAS going to be better.

When the sun finally came up, I knew it would be.

August 16th, the day before our daughters 24th birthday, our 12-year-old Saint Bernard/ Newfoundland, Willa, was playing with Scout, our almost 4-month-old basset hound. When Scout first joined our family, Willas’ initial thought was most definitely, “What the hell, Mum?” I could see it on her face. Within a short period, she fell in love with this long eared pesky creature. One evening during their regular playing session, Willa’s breathing became very labored. But to her, it didn’t matter, she was going to continue playing with her little puppy. Her breathing worsened within minutes. The smile across her face was breaking my heart. I knew it was time.

Over the last year, I put some things on hold. I didn’t go far from home in case anything happened to Willa. I didn’t want that responsibility left on Jesse’s shoulders, or anyone else’s for that matter. Granted, she was OUR dog, but she was mine. She was my big ole neurotic head case, who ate everything and anything. She was my hot mess who couldn’t be anywhere beside home or camp, or she’d work herself up to bloat. She was my dog, who was unpredictable and saucy at times. The dang dog would even try to challenge me. Try, key word. She never succeeded. She was also the one by my side daily and the one I conversed with as we puttered around the house and yard. Jesse mentioned to me one day about how I talk to myself. I told him I didn’t, I was talking to Willa. She always had an ear listening. Over the last few years, I kept an eye on her physical well-being, as she was prone to having bouts of falling down. Her aging 140lb body sometimes tired and took a minute (or two) to get up and go. Mentally, she was still there, attitude and all. I thought for sure that it would be her legs and rearend that gave up on her, but in the end, it was her heart. I tell myself it’s because she loved us so much…as we did her.

That same evening, I called the Emergency Clinic. They were closed due to a scheduling snaffu. Well, of course they are. What the ever lovin’ F**! Our only other options were to drive 3.5 hours south (one way) or wait until morning. Being an LVT, I knew I could keep her calm and comfortable overnight, and I would call our regular vet first thing in the morning. I reluctantly crawled into bed. I knew what the morning would bring. For the last time, Willa climbed into her oversized orthopedic bed and propped her head up in my face as she did every night. she let out her typical big sigh, groaned, and closed her eyes. I cried myself to sleep, only to wake up the next morning, still crying, looking like Quasimodo . As soon as the office opened, I called. They told us to head right in. When we arrived, the vet that Willa had as an itty-bitty puppy and the first few years of her life entered the room. We had come full circle.

The drive home, we were numb. We pulled in the yard. There was no black and white polka dotted face looking out at us. We opened the front door of the house. There was no giant body greeting us on the opposite side. The house was empty, despite having 3 cats along with Scout and our 12-year-old chihuahua. Living in 400 square feet, that 140lb girl took up a lot of floor space, usually directly under your feet. Her absence was noticeable.

During this time, we were in the midst of projects around the house. Projects that kept me busy and my mind elsewhere over the following weeks. I started work at 6am and busted my ass during the day. At night, when I hit the pillow, I was out. The next day, the same routine. This went on for a few weeks and then when the house was done, we took a well overdue trip to see our daughter and grandson in Florida.

When we arrived back home, we had a few extra things that needed to be done, gas lines run, heater installed, firewood taken care of and trying to get the house back together and organized after being dismembered for a period of time.

Then everything was done. Mostly.

This past week I’ve been in a pissy mood. I’m exhausted. I have nothing to say. Everything is annoying me. My body hurts and I just want to sleep. Close the world out.

This morning I saw a picture of Willa. I lost an entire hour.

I’ve kept myself so preoccupied that I wasn’t allowing myself to grieve. I haven’t allowed myself to start going through the motions. Today that dam opened up.

When we first lost Willa, I had conversations with a handful of people. One close friend, who I hadn’t seen for a spell came to the house and said he was sorry to hear about Willa. I Thanked him and told him I didn’t want to talk about it. Simple as that. Even though I know this individual loved that giant dog and would have listened, He said he understood.

Everybody handles loss differently, in their own time and in their own way. So here I am….writing.

For 12 years, Willa was my constant every day. She wasn’t always just by my side, I would literally wake up with her 140lb body sprawled on top of me in bed with her nose on my chest. She was the one who didn’t leave me when the girls grew up and carried on with their lives, and when I struggled with an empty nest. She certainly kept life colorful with her antics and neurotic moments. To me, she was the most beautiful polka dotted puppy in the world. I miss the way she would softly look at me or the hard stare she’d give me as we had a staring contest. I always won. I miss her velvety ears and muzzle. I loved how she smiled. I loved how she loved the cats. I love how she danced in place, stomping her paws with her ears perked. I even miss how she would drink, eat, drink some more, only to come share her findings in my lap, as her slobber covered me. I miss chatting with/ at her on the porch over morning coffee and watching her bask in the sunbeam. I miss snuggling her as she would wrap her paws around my head. I loved how happy she was when we moved to camp and knew she was safe and free. I loved how she loved winter and snow. I loved how, starting at 4 pm, every hour on the hour, she looked out the window waiting for Jesse. I loved that she was Ours. That she was mine. That I was hers. I love that she has a part of my heart now and forever.

Once again, I have fallen behind writing. Apparently, it has been so long that they have changed the format of the website and I am finding myself struggling. Oh well, I’ll figure it out along the way, maybe. We are now starting the last week of July. It’s ridiculous how time passes and the next thing you know another season is in full swing, you blink and that month is over. Spring took a wee bit to warm up and come around. The garden was slow growing due to the ground temps being low and after waiting weeks on end for cucumbers to sprout, I ended up with 15 plants, because I thought they were bad seeds and reseeded. They all came up at the same time. The lettuce took its sweet time growing as well, leaving me to think that I’d have to replant that too. And then the weather changed. For much of the country. Ninty degrees and HUMID. Which the vegetables and flowerbeds love! Me. Not so much. There is a reason I don’t live in the Southern states, this time of year especially.

Last week, I had posted outside pictures on my personal FB page, before and after, of the Schoolhouse. The older photos had come up on my Facebook “Memories” from 8 years ago (when it was still camp). I couldn’t believe how naked our beloved home looked, even after doing a lot of work and basic upkeep, and then seeing all the changes we have made over the past few years, as we’ve made this small place our full-time home. The addition of the farmers porch, the foundation plantings and the butterfly garden gave the old house some extra color and life.

A few of my friends had asked if I had pictures of the inside. I thought I had shared some in an earlier blog. After going through nearly 2 years of blogs I noticed I had only a few and most were of the galley kitchen. So here we are, writing a blog. As a lover of old house and buildings, I GET IT! I have urges to go knocking on doors and asking complete strangers for a tour of their personal space. Just recently, I drove by a gigantic Victorian. If I had driven any slower, I would have been at a full stop. It needed a bit of TLC, but I knew that house had a story to tell and I wanted to hear it. I wonder if people would be willing to let me in????

I love showing our beloved Schoolhouse to people and sharing the history that stands amid these walls and among our family. To see the expression on peoples faces when they first step in is priceless to me, and how their eyes almost immediately go straight to the 12 foot tin ceilings and back down the tin walls. You can see they are taking a step back in time, nearly 200 years back. The large windows on the west side also draw a lot of attention, as well as the blackboards, that hold names of every individual who has ever stepped foot onto the original, oiled hardwood floors.

Back when the Schoolhouse was camp, it had three partition walls that separated the living area from the sleeping area. The sleeping area had three full size beds and very narrow paths between each bed. A small closet had been constructed at some point in time near the bathroom doors and we had no use for it, as storage places usually meant really good hiding spots for mice. Same as the bureaus that were here. We cleaned out all the drawers, threw out chewed up debris, and stopped storing things in drawers and cupboards. We toted our belongings back and forth, as the mice were here more than we were. We were essentially just visiting their home.

One of the first things we did, as we were preparing to move in, was tear down two of the partition walls to make room for our furniture. Which honestly wasn’t a whole lot. We kept one of our living room sets, our dining room set, kept a few dressers that had multifunctional use and traded out our king bed for our queen that we had in one of the spare bedrooms. We did a tremendous amount of down sizing. And 2 years later, I’m still ridding of things we thought we would need. We are basically minimalists at this point, living in 400sqft. Storage space is minimal and nobody actually needs half the crap that they have. If it has no sentimental value or use, it’s gone.

The best part about living a minimal life style, it took me an entire 20 minutes this morning to clean the house. I have better things to do with my time at home, then clean. Nice days, I’m outside as the sun comes up. Rainy days I can putter at my leisure. I know some would say not to worry about cleaning, but I have to have order and when you have five animals in a small space, it can get hairy and dirty pretty dang fast. SO I will continue with my 20 minute cleaning sprees.

As you can see, 400 sqft is not a lot of room. For us though, it works quite well. I was asked recently how I liked living here. When I said I loved it, their response, “I need my comforts, I couldn’t do it”. We have everything we need close at hand and have plenty of comforts. We finally began the first step of our water catchment barrels, so I no longer have to go a mile down the road for water to shower, to do dishes or wash the dogs. We changed satellite services and now have amazingly fast service. All we need now is take-out delivery. 🤣

It has been awhile since I’ve written a blog. I had to backtrack to see when I posted and what I even wrote about. My last blog was the end of February, which now seems forever ago. Here we are, now mid May, with green trees, grass and flower beds filling in.

We finished off winter with a few indoor projects, survived mud season due to the new driveway we installed last year and successfully made it to another, long awaited, spring. With the warmer weather, and after being cooped up for nearly four months, I’m ready to spend my days outside. Yard clean up was done fairly early, unwinterizing the house was a welcoming chore, as well as reorganizing and swapping out seasonal items. I even took a chance and planted my garden seeds, as we had abnormally high temperatures last week and just had a full moon. I figured that by the time they sprout, the tiny fragile plants, should be okay.

With the month of May, comes the return of our Friday night fires, with the peepers in the background, along with the Whip-poorwill, who we hope stays at a fair distance and all the other wild critters who avoid the windy cold Arctic air, on The Hill, during the winter months. Our outhouses have been put to rest, with peat moss and lyme, for the next six months and the porta potty has arrived for the summer.

This May, my husband, Jesse, had a milestone birthday. I wanted to celebrate him, he, by all means, deserves it. Seeing as our house is very small, I knew it would have to be held outside. I checked the forecast in the Almanac a month prior, then the extended. Two weeks out it said 70’s and possible shower in the morning. Doable. The week of, the forecast, for the day of the party, changed to mid 90’s and sunny. Hmmm. Still doable, just hoping for a breeze as we are in the beginning of “blackfly” season. I have noticed the hotter the air temp, the less breeze we have, even up on The Hill where it seems to never stop,

After running around all morning Friday, we planned on having our Friday night fire and setting up the large 10×20 canopy, that has housed numerous gatherings, since my father purchased it over 24 years ago. I was familiar with which poles went where and the quickest easiest setup, you just needed extra hands to lift the large canvas topped canopy, to add in the remaining legs. We had it put together and up in no time.

Saturday morning, Jesse and I are both up before the sun. Nothing out of the ordinary. He went his way, to do his running, and I stayed home to finish up last minute things before people started showing up at 2pm. The beginning of the morning started off clear blue skies and calm. As the morning progressed, a breeze had picked up. As I’m cooking food I look out the front window and the tent is tipping more so in one direction. I turn off the stove, run out, and fix the guidewires to the canopy, and double check that the feet of the tent themselves are all staked down. They are. All good. Back inside I go. A little while later, I look out the window again and the wind had completely shifted from the opposite direction. Again. Stove off, out the door, change the guidewires. I did this, at least, two to three more times as I was prepping food.

A little after noon, Jesse returned home, as I was wrapping up my to-do list and finishing odds and ends. We set up the tables under the canopy and got the rest of the outside done. I grabbed the toys from the shed for the grandkids, set up their little play tent and we were done. I decided that since we had about an hour before anyone was due to show up, I’d utilize the time to take a breather and meditate. When I went back outside, I noticed that the breeze had subsided. It was now HOT. 93 degrees hot and NO breeze. Oh well, it’s better than rain and we had the canopy for shade.

Just as expected, people started arriving at 2. There was roughly nine of us standing around and inside the canopy, chatting, when out of the corner of my eye I caught the the foot of the canopy……NEXT to my head, going STRAIGHT up! I reached up to grab it but missed, even though at that moment it was all in slow motion. My brain was trying to process what was happening. There was NO breeeze, NO wind, NO gust. Nothing. Within seconds the canopy does two…not one…but two 360s, 20 feet in the air, before it slams into the side of the house and turns into a wild bundle of poles and canvas. Even after being decimated, the canopy continued to thrash around, hitting Jesse twice in the head, before it finally hit the ground. Everything happened so quickly, apparently my mother who was sitting, grabbed a leg as it started to move and got yanked out of her chair. Items that got sucked up into the air, continued to swirl about, with no intentions of coming down. I ran to grab a heavy duty trash barrel before it hit a car and in front of me was a mini tornado of gravel from our driveway, just dancing away. That moment and whatever the hell it was, was the craziest thing I have yet to see up here on The Hill. I thought for sure I was going to be sick. How the windows to the house didn’t get smashed, when the canopy slammed against the house repeatedly? How nothing inside, with ALL of the windows open, didn’t move? I don’t know. Unexplainable. It’s The Kingsbury Triangle.

We were fortunate to get the mess cleaned up before more people arrived. I was just very thankful it happened when it did, and not when all 75 people were here or when all the food was put out. No one got hurt. For that I’m grateful. Needless to say, it took awhile for me to settle my brain after that.

The remainder of the party when well. Our family and friends, some people we hadn’t seen in 20 years, came to celebrate with us. As the afternoon went on, I was keeping an eye on the sky. Dark clouds started rolling over the hill, but the majority of the storms split and went west and east of us. Then there were times it would be sprinkling and not a cloud overhead. It was a crazy day for weather. Eventually our luck ran out, and the sky opened up and Mother Nature roared and gave us a light show, one that lasted the entire night. Those who didn’t leave and tried to stay dry on the porch, gave up and joined the party. I was already soaked. We continued to sit around the fire, in the rain, with lightening striking all around and thunder bouncing off the hills. If you can’t beat it, join it.

Someone had mentioned to me that I should write this birthday party down, not knowing that I write. I can guarantee, I will never forget that moment. Ever.

More memories made in Kingsbury.

Here we are, the end of February. One of the two months I struggle with, physically and mentally, then again, the two go hand in hand with ones well-being. Knowing that March will soon be here, we are at the halfway point. There is a light at the end of the dark dismal tunnel. I will eventually feel green grass beneath my feet and once again have sun-kissed skin. I chuckle to myself when people say the days are getting longer. No. It’s not possible. The days aren’t getting longer; there are still only 24 hours in a day. Just as the groundhog seeing his shadow or not, let’s us know how many weeks are left until spring. Regardless of the outcome, the date on the calendar doesn’t change. Pessimist? No, it’s reality. Right now, the weather is wonky. Sub zero one day, then 50° and raining the next. Some things got to give. In due time, the sun will shine for longer periods, the ground will begin to thaw, the ice and snow will melt, and slowly, our surroundings will begin to awaken after a long winters nap.

If I could hibernate, like a bear in the winter, I most certainly would. Get it done with, get it over with. Unfortunately, as a human being, I’m not given such a luxurious sounding option. The best I can do is curl up with my beloved weighted blanket and binge watch Netflix. Then the guilt sets in. I should be doing something. Something productive; cleaning, organizing, moving wood…..anything, besides being idle.

In a world and society of go, go, go, we forget that winter is a time for rest and renewal. Simple acts that we deny ourselves of. It’s the perfect time to do those little things that we find relaxing and nourishing to the mind and soul. We all need some good old Self-Care!! Myself, I love to read, knit, work on smaller projects (because they feel like huge accomplishments) and, of course PHOTOGRAPHY and WRITING!

A month or so ago, I couldn’t do anything. Not even get out of my own way. My mind was everywhere, I was fidgety and restless. I had no motivation. The best I could do was pace or sit, with my brain in a fog. I needed something. Some well over due self-care. I was scrolling through Facebook and this business page that I follow was offering a soothing-energy massage. Without hesitation, I messaged the woman and made an appointment. It was the most amazing experience I had ever had. In the past I have had massages, typically deep tissue, because I work my body to the brink of disaster and I hold everything in my shoulders. This massage was completely different and like nothing I had ever felt, nor, literally seen.

After driving an hour and a half, I arrived at my appointment. Kathy, the owner, sat with me at a table , got some of my background, and asked what was going on physically and mentally. After chatting for a bit, I undressed, laid on the table, face up, and covered myself with the softest warmest blanket. The massage started off with Kathy vigorously but at the same time gently, massaging my head. As she worked down my body, her hands lightened, to a soothing rub. Once both sides, front and back, were done, she had me lay face up again. This is when my life was transformed. The next part of my massage, which was over 90 minutes in all, was Reiki. Energy work at its finest.

So now I have to back up. Over the winter, my one salvation has been my new found love. Robbie. Full name “Zips Rockin’ Robin”. A beautiful 21 year old registered paint, who is also part quarter horse. I was introduced to her and her owner, Joanne, back in October. For the past four months, I have been driving over an hour, one way, numerous times a week, just to spend time with Robbie (I also use that time to visit with my parents and run errands). I help feed Robbie and the other horses in the morning and clean their stalls as well as tend to Robbie’s needs. I was able to ride her a couple of times in the fall, but once we removed their shoes for the winter, riding was over until spring. I am fine with that. I’m content just pulling her from her stall, brushing her, combing out her mane and tail, checking her body head to toe, for any changes or sores. I talk and sing to her, I lay my head on her neck and inhale her wonderful horse smell. When Jesse had Covid in December, I didn’t see Robbie and Joanne for 3 weeks. The day finally came and I was at the barn first thing. As I stepped foot in the barn she heard my voice and stuck her face, and her huge brown eyes, up against the stall door. I pulled her out and tied her off and we started our normal routine. To my surprise, she wrapped her neck around my head and shoulder and just stood there for a few moments. It was my first hug from a horse. My horse.

Just like any other living, breathing creature, (myself included) Robbie has quirks. She was born at the barn and sold at the age of two. Years, and I mean years later, she returned to Joanne with some issues. Picture a 1200 pound animal throwing a tantrum. It’s kind of a terrifying visual. She is what you call “barn sour” or “herd bound”. She loves her horse family and doesn’t do well with separation. She also dislikes being in her stall for long periods of time. Trust comes with time. However, the respect needs be instantaneous, with an animal that size. She is learning. As am I. I’m thankful to Joanne, for trusting me with Robbie and allowing me to be her person and for our after chores coffee chatter.

I looked into how you go about breaking a heard bound horse and one of the suggestions was using Reiki, along with ground work. As a licensed vet tech, I’ve read a lot about using reiki and other holistic mediums on animals for emotional problems, such as anxiety. It’s worth a shot right?

Now, fast forward to my massage experience. Before my massage, I was a hot mess. I wasn’t able to write. I had no desire to chase sunsets or watch the sun rise with my camera. My books sat untouched for weeks. I was just ….BLAHH and MOODY. Three days after my session, I wrote a blog, and ALL of my cameras were back to work. I felt like myself again. Kathy had aligned and cleared my chakras, and all I can say it was COLORFUL! Just like my sunrises! Before I left Kathy’s studio that day, she told me that I would learn reiki.

A month later, this past weekend, I obtained my Level 1 certification in Reiki. It is thought that reiki is learned to assist and to help heal others, which it is, but it begins with healing yourself first. Which I feel everyone and anyone could benefit from. If you yourself are not healed and your energy is askew, you have nothing left to offer, not even to yourself. It’s also not a one and done deal, it is a matter of taking time every single day for your own self-care; self healing reiki, meditation and daily affirmations, whether it be only 5 minutes or up to an hour. I do my daily routine early in the morning, and it makes a difference in my day.

I suffer from anxiety. I never knew it until I was an adult, but looking back into my childhood, I can see it now. I remember laying in bed at night and seeing a wall covered in clocks. All different types of analog clocks. Cuckoo clocks, large faced clocks, small antique clocks, all with spinning hands. The more I watched, the faster they spun. I couldn’t even tell time at this point in my life; I was that young. In my adolescence the anxiety was more internal, having stomach aches and feeling exhausted and then as an adult I would allow it to fester, pushing it on the back burner, until I felt like I was having a stroke, which would turn into a full blown panic attack. As my daughters got older, I worried non stop about everything. I joked I was a professional worry wart, worst-case scenario brain. When I asked Kathy, my mentor, about reiki and anxiety, she said, “Anxiety is fear based. The opposite of fear is Faith”. I have found that when I start having intrusive thoughts, taping my thumb and middle finger together and repeating “Faith” brings me back to the moment.

I have FAITH that using reiki on Robbie will help her and her anxiety, as horses are very intuitive. Until better weather approaches and the ice melts away, we can continue building our bond and trust in one another. For now, as I eagerly await my certification in Level 2, which makes me a practitioner in March, I’ll keep working on myself and sharing some of my good energy with Robbie. Honestly, I don’t know who is helping who. But I have a feeling, with a new mindset, this next month is going to fly by, and good things are coming, for both of us.❤

There’s something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.

Winston Churchill

In December, when I wrote my last blog post, I was looking forward to the end of another chaotic and weird year in hopes of a fresh beginning for 2022. I felt like I was ahead of the Holiday craziness with my shopping pretty much done and prepared for our Family Christmas brunch with our daughters and grandchildren, the Sunday before Christmas, as some have other places to go. I was all set. Ready. Just a few things left to grab.

  What we didn’t know, nor were we prepared for, my husband would test positive for Covid, one week before Christmas. Needless to say, our Christmas with our girls and grandchildren didn’t happen. The days following, Jesse started feeling terrible. Sleeping, day in and day out. I sequestered him to the bedroom area of the house and I stayed on my side of the pine partition, taking up space on the couch. It’s really not an easy task to isolate from someone you need to tend to, much less isolate from each other in 400sqft. Christmas Eve, Jesse retested negative. I however, still had to quarantine, for another 10 days. Christmas morning came. The day dragged on. In the evening, our oldest daughter delivered dinner that she and my sister-in-law made. Bed time couldn’t come fast enough. I just wanted the day done and over. The following day, all the decorations were packed up and put away. I wanted this year behind us.

During our quarantine I had plenty opportunity to get some overdue reading in. I finished three of the four books I had started and was also given the chance to dig a bit deeper into Jesse’s family history.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has been into geneology. I think back to our summer road trip vacations growing up and there were always cemetary stops here and there. I never knew why she was looking for stones, until I became the Sexton, for Harmony, years later. Headstones were more detailed back in the early days. Not only would the stone have the birthdate and death date, but also, quite often, explained who belonged to who; “wife of”, “husband of” and so on. And since family’s rarely moved too far from one another, if at all, there would be large family plots with generations, side by side. My mother would also spend endless hours at the State Archives doing some digging. I may have been 7 years old or so, so I kept myself entertained by doing my own “research” and “studying” with my notebook and pencil. With all the research my mother had done, she knew our family background before computers were a thing. Binders and binders…full.

For Christmas this year, my mother did Jesse’s family tree. We knew that my mother-in-law was born here and that Jesse’s grandfather, Arlie, grew up here and attended the school that we now live in. What neither one of us knew he was that he was also born here, in Kingsbury. So with the family tree my mother did, a few old maps that were given to me by a friend and doing some more digging I found out just how far his roots go.

There is very little information about Kingsbury online. What I am able to find is repetative information and minimal. The little bit I have found is that the land had been bought by a Judge from Gardiner, Maine, Sanford Kingsbury, in 1833, hence the plantations name and that he moved here in 1834 (apparently in a very elaborate house for the time period, that was eventually burnt). Kingsbury was incorporated as a town in 1836. One piece of information that I kept seeing was that two brothers, last name Hilton, settled in Kingsbury in 1834. This is where I was led to believe that Jesse’s family had moved here later on. I was very much mistaken and pleasantly surprised.

In 1797, Daniel Campbell, was born in Bowdingham, Maine. At the age of 20, he moved to Wellington, Maine with his wife, Ruth Huff. They then moved to Kingsbury, date unknown, but their son, Rufus Campbell, was born in Kingsbury May 17, 1831. Rufus lived in the Campbell house at the end of what is now Preble Lane. Daniel Campbell is Jesse’s 4x great grandfather. Bizarrely enough, Rufus, Jesse’s 3x great grandfather was on the town council, as Jesse was for 11 years in Harmony.  Rufus married twice. Lydia Sherburne was his first wife and they together had a daughter, Mary in 1870.  Mary, I do believe, was once a teacher in The Schoolhouse. I’m only saying this because Jesse’s bosses wife told us her Aunt Mary Campbell was a teacher here. Unbeknownst to us until recently, they are related.

Then there is his other 3x great grandfather, Nathaniel Curtis. Nathaniel was born in Dexter, Maine in 1833. I’m not positive on the timeline of when he moved to Kingsbury, but I do know he owned the property that The Schoolhouse sits on and lived in a house at the end of the tote road that runs along our property. He died there Christmas Day in 1896.  The foundations of the home and barn are still visable today amongst the blueberry fields.

As I sit in our house writing, I look across the snowy blueberry fields to the wood line. Quiet and desolate now. Knowing at one time there were houses across from us, children living just down below, probably romping through the fields to get to school. Horses and wagons once carried people and families two miles down the road to the little village that no longer exists. Barely a trace left of anything old and original to the town that once had nearly 250 people. It amazes me.  I’m eager to do a bit more digging and now knowing what I’m looking for, it will make things a bit easier, as I do have access to some historical information.

No wonder we feel so AT HOME here! Roots run deep❤

Even though we live in a place and live a lifestyle where it seems time stands still, it most certainly does not. Life has been so busy and the days has flown right past us, seeing as my last Blog was written the beginning of September and now here we are, fifteen days before Christmas. It’s also hard to believe, that as of last month, we’ve been living here for 2 years and I have been writing and sharing Off-Grid Soul for a year!! I’m hoping to get back to regular write ups this coming year!

I have written in my mind a thousand stories as I go about my days. There’s always some dialogue going on up there. Just getting the chance, a single moment, to sit and write, has seemed impossible the past few months. I actually had to look back in my photos to recall the past three months. Perhaps I have a mild case of amnesia. I’m not really sure. Possible abduction? It also seemed my days of being home, were far and few. Within the last couple of weeks, things have started to slow down a bit. Just a bit. This morning, I saw Jesse off to work, drank my coffee, started a fire and had my housework done by 8am. Now I sit here, pondering my thoughts, as Willa sits at my feet gnawing at her bone, and the snow falls on the other side of the wavy lead glass windows. These are the days I look forward to.

Back in October I started grabbing skeins of yarn to start knitting again. I have yet to pick up my needles. I’m not even sure I remember how to knit at this point, it’s been what seems like forever. I have started reading 4 different books. I like options. Today I will probably try to finish one of them, so I can return it. I had all these projects that I planned on doing for the Holidays, not an ounce of time. I did, however, get one day in, with some girlfriends, to make an evergreen kissing ball. When the wind blows, watch out. That suckers huge! Life has just been busy.

September was unusually warm and our gardens thrived. The flowers loved the humidity and the vegetable garden just kept producing, until I harvested everything near the end of the month. The sunflower heads were all cut and delivered to my neighbors chickens. They had a feast. The remainder of our firewood was delivered and most of it was stacked in the wood shed, until there was only an aisle to move about. Trying to figure out what to do with the excess, I ended up building a large stand for the covered porch with left over lumber.

Then it was October. The most amazing and beautiful month in Maine. The colors of the trees started to really pop and the humidity finally went away. Nights were much cooler and the day air seemed fresher. Most of my morning were spent running around with my camera in hand, capturing the scenery and the morning light. Afternoons were for painting and odd jobs that had been put on the back burner during the summer months. Then, mid October arrived, the winterizing began, knowing that soon enough, the bitter wind will be biting at my face once again. The vibrant colors across the fields, will turn to reds and browns seemingly over night. The wildlife will begin to retreat deeper into the woods for shelter. The morning birds, that once sang as the sun rose, will have all moved on, leaving the morning air empty. My flip-flops will be replaced with Muck boots and my cutoff shorts and tank tops stored away. All of the above did and has happened. Except, I left my summer clothes in Florida last month. They will have zero purpose here in Maine for a spell.

As we prepared for our third winter, the house was once again banked and the plexiglass storm windows were hung. This year when I banked the house, with the plastic, I also used insulation board. We have had some seriously windy days here on the hill and I haven’t heard the linoleum in the kitchen flutter once, as the wind sometimes comes through the walls and from underneath the house. The kitchen feels much warmer now and the cats aren’t looking so perplexed, as they do when the floor moves. We also covered the remaining windows with plexiglass that we talked about for 2 years and never got to. No more floating curtains!

Jesse installed, yet again…another stove. Our third one. Just a simple woodstove with a glass front. Much more practical. I miss having an old wood cookstove, it’s nostalgic, but not the paranoia that came with it. The firebox is just far too small to keep a good hot burn, without creating creosote. Those are my personal findings and feelings. After the chimney fire last October, I may have started a handful of fires the rest of the season. With all new pipes, a clean chimney and all the wood we had left from last year, plus what we got this year, we will stay nice and toasty, as well as safe. Plus, the glass front gives off a nice ambiance, especially on those snowy days.

When November rolled around, and the days became shorter and darker, I decided that the holiday lights needed to come out. Online I had found some solar holiday lights, for outside on the porch and the window boxes. I opted to go that route. I didn’t want to have to deal with annoying extension cords that ran to the generator. The lights we use inside, for holiday decorations, are regular lights we plug in while the generator is running in the evening.

At the old house and even the past 2 years, I would go all out decorating for the holidays. I guess all this simple living has me even more simplified, but still festive. A few green swags with white lights, as well as our tree, adorned with red bulbs and ribbon. A few Santa’s here and there, along with the Gnomes and my antique watering can full of silk poinsettias. Living in 400 square feet, space is very limited. Excess stuff just feels like clutter and chaos to me. All I know is when all these things come down after the holidays, this house will feel really spacious. For a minute. 😉

I’m hoping that as we move into the next year, I can pencil in some more time for writing and dabbling in my photography. I wish you all Happiness, Positivity, Good Health and Love in the coming year!

Happy Holiday Everyone!!

I’ve had a fondness for old houses and buildings for as long as I can remember. The architecture, style and bits of character speak to me. Each house has a different shape, roof line and it’s own personality. I know that inside those walls there are interesting stories about people, families and history, to be told. Our little “Gem” on The Hill is no different. Out of all the the spaces I have entered, the Schoolhouse is by far our favorite.

I’ll never forget the first time Jesse brought me to The Old Schoolhouse, aka Camp, in the late 90’s. The two mile drive into camp was on a narrow dirt road canopied by large ancient oaks and maples. Grass grew in between two, barely visable, tire treads. As we crested the hill, the sky opened up and wide open blueberry fields surrounded this old flaking, yellow and brown, building. On the overgrown front lawn a large rock fire pit peaked out from the thick grass. At the front door a wooden ramp had been installed, years prior, so Jesse’s grandmother, Effie, could still visit the place she loved and called her second home.

The front door to the house was an old wooden door that had cracks, numerous patch jobs and was kept “secure” by a small paddle lock. The door casing was broken and splintered from break-ins years past. Upon entrance to the small porch there’s an interior door, with the curtain drawn. I remember the smell of the Schoolhouse, as we opened that second door, and how heavy the air felt in the dark one room. The old metal shades had been drawn, barely allowing in any light. The stagnant air held hints of old wood and musty papers. I remember the scratching in my throat from all the dust that had accumulated as the Schoolhouse sat unoccupied for years, holding all these intriguing treasures of years gone by.

After many over nights and years of leaving things as is, we decided that it needed a bit of tidying. The mice had taken over every nook, cranny, drawer and box. Some things were salvagable, while others…not so much. We cleaned out, organized, scrubbed and borrowed my parents generator to give the house a thorough vaccuming.

2005. The year the Schoolhouse Came Alive.

It’s amazing what a fresh coat of exterior paint can do to a place. The Schoolhouse beamed, as we did. From dull yellow and brown to a vibrant Autumn Apple red puncuated with crisp white to accentuate the trim. This would just be the beginning .

Over the next 16 years we did what we could, as running two households can be expensive and takes a lot of time. Every 5 years we repainted the exterior, fixed more glass, continued cleaning out and little by little painted the inside. Along with regular upkeep and maintenance, we made a few improvements but still kept the original character that camp always had.

It wasn’t until we moved to the Schoolhouse, which we initially thought would be temporary, that we started making more changes. Some structural work was done as we needed foundation sills replaced and a few cosmetic changes, first and foremost a new front door and changing out the 1950’s paneled partition. It was replaced with pine shiplap.

Some changes were harder to make than others, but with 400sq feet, 2 adults, 2 dogs and 4 cats and what we had left of belongings, we had no choice. We had to suit our needs. The best decision we ever made, which we had talked about over the years, was putting on an addition. We felt the east side of the Schoolhouse was missing something. Being our biggest project, it has definitely been our best and now our favorite part of the house.

The Farmers Porch. Every house should have one.

We started the porch October 2020. Our good friend David plained out the lumber and our “Son-in-Laws” Parker and Ronnie started building. As the project progressed over the next few weekends, our neighbors Mark and Greg became involved. I was quite particular on how I wanted the porch built and what I wanted. My vision was so that it looked as though it had been original to the Schoolhouse. With 6×6 rough sawn timbers, Parker did just that. As cold weather approached a temporary rolled asphalt roof was laid. We had discussed putting a new roof on the house the following spring/ summer, as it had been over 25 years for the main part. The March wind storm gave us no choice. Three quarters of the shingles on the west facing roof were blown into the fields. Some were found a 1/8 of a mile away. Sounds insane…I know. But true. We needed a new roof.

Spring and summer arrived. The naked lumber of the porch was painted white. Pieces of scrap lumber, that I hoarded, were used to enclose the base of the porch to keep out any critters and I framed in the sides and added clapboards to match the rest of the house. Just recently, the shiny black metal roof was added. Jesse’s cousins Tyler and Tim came up and built the cricket to redirect snow and ice off the porch over the steps and finished the porch roof . Our favorite room was done. Which is really good timing. Our porch at the old house took 9 years😉

We spend a lot of time on the porch. Morning coffee, as we watch the sunrise. An evening beer as we sit, listening to all the surrounding sounds, discussing the day. Enjoying the shade in the summer or dodging the wind on a cold winters day. Over looking the fields watching the wildlife. It’s another room in my favorite place. Outside.

Before the porch, we really had no comfortable place to relax outside. Sitting at the fire place was fine, but that felt awkward when there was no fire burning. If it was raining, we had to go inside. Now we have our favorite room that looks as though it’s been part of our beautiful gem for nearly 200 years. Apparently, Willa and our tree frog friends enjoy it as well.