WHEN WINTER COMES...

During these wintry days of Arctic blasts and below freezing temperatures, I think of the winter I spent in Aroostook County, Maine where the average temps frequently reached 20 and 30 below zero. It was a long and bitter winter that began in late October and ended in late May. We lived in the second story of an old farmhouse in Limestone, Maine, a town in the heart of potato-producing country not far from Madawaska. As I'm of Acadian descent and lived near enough to Madawaska to enjoy the Acadian Festival held every year in June, I've always regretted that we missed this festival because we beat a hasty retreat in May, eager to leave the "winter of our discontent."

A lifelong southerner, I braved the first month of the severe Maine winter in clothing fit for a Louisiana frost with bare legs, wearing a lightweight coat, socks and loafers. I slipped on the ice twice before buying my first and last pair of fur-lined, heavy-soled shoes, and I learned to go outdoors with enough body coverings to ward off frostbite, even investing in earmuffs. For those readers who enjoy trivia, the earmuffs were first designed by a Maine resident named Chester Greenwood, a fifteen-year old boy from Farmington, Maine. Greenwood patented the earmuffs in 1876 and they earned him a comfortable living for the rest of his life. Farmington still honors Greenwood and celebrates his "invention" at an annual festival.

Although we lived close enough to glimpse the aurora borealis, or northern lights, which are caused by electrical charges in the atmosphere of the far north, we never saw this phenomenon that occurs beyond the Arctic Circle and sometimes travels south to northern Maine. We did claim the distinction of being able to celebrate the sunrise before any other state because the sun rises first in this most northeasternly tip of the U.S.

Part of the Appalachian Trail actually lies in Maine, a trail that winds for 2,000 miles through fourteen states, beginning near Mount Katahdin in northern Maine and ending at Springer Mountain in Georgia. Because of steep climbs and wild woods, the Maine climb of the Appalachian Trails is reputed to be one of the most challenging trails for seasoned hikers. Hikers and naturalists love Maine's natural beauty. At one time, John D. Rockefeller, fearing that development threatened to destroy this natural beauty, purchased 11,000 acres of land and helped create Acadia National Park in Maine, laying out fifty-seven miles of roads to be used only for horse-drawn vehicles. Today, cars are still forbidden to travel those roads.

It's a human tendency to romanticize places that we've visited or where we've lived that are located quite a distance from our roots, but I find it difficult to romanticize that severe winter I lived in the northernmost part of Maine. We heated the living room with an aging oil stove, kept the kitchen warm by lighting the oven and opening its door, and almost suffered frostbite in the bedroom and bath, which had no heaters. We survived with an electric blanket, a small portable radio, a 45 rpm record player, two decks of cards, books from the local library, and a set of Tchaikovsky's symphonies. Our fare consisted mostly of pinto beans and the potatoes raised in sandy soil on local farms that produced enough plentiful crops to place them sixth in potato production in the U.S. I was nineteen years old, and despite the monotonous fare and the frosty days I spent outdoors sledding and shepherding the neighborhood children, I returned to Louisiana glowing with good health and an appreciation for warmer climes.

 

I might add that Maine has a formidable list of Who's Who poets and authors, including Sarah Orne Jewett, Stephen King, Henry Longfellow, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edward Arlington Robinson, and others.

Several years ago, I published a novel entitled The Maine Event, based in Aroostook County, Maine where I lived, and although I don't know the identity of my readers, I still sell a few copies of this book monthly and often wonder if these readers are located in the Pine Tree State—perhaps live in the cold north woods near Limestone, Maine.

OLD TIME RADIO

This morning is a retro morning. When I emerged for breakfast at 7 a.m., just as the coffee finished perking, the power went out. No rainstorms were deluging us; no high winds gusted outside; no fuse boxes had blown. True, the morning gray clouds still blocked the sun, but there was no visible reason for a black-out. It was cold cereal time at my breakfast table.

A few years ago when we had a major power outage, I bought a round, battery-operated object that looks like a flying saucer for just such emergencies and amused myself for an entire morning with broadcasts about Franklin County, Tennessee. The little round object could have been from outer space, the way it crackled and spit out voices, but the excited announcer kept us updated about the progress of work being done to restore power on The Mountain.

In between broadcasts, we used the iPhone to get bulletins from “Classifieds” here at Sewanee. “Classifieds” is a service that advertises, yes, but it also sends electronic messages about everything from lost dogs and cats and house rentals to reports about lurking coyotes in the area. Also, when power goes out, people report the areas that have lost power. No need to call Duck Electric Company, our local service, “Classifieds," does its best to keep us apprised of emergency situations.

However, this morning, the broadcast that kept us updated was one issuing from the flying saucer radio station, which received telephone calls from as far away as Knoxville regarding the outage. “You must have forgotten to pay your electric bill,” the announcer quipped to one caller, and the caller responded, “I don’t have no generator like you,” click…Exactly an hour after the outage occurred, a cheerful voice from Duck Electric called in to say that he was sorry for the inconvenience but a fox squirrel had gotten into the works in Decherd and caused the black-out, and we'd receive power within a few minutes. The radio announcer had predicted that the outage was due to either a squirrel or a deer thrashing about.

Only on the Mountain, I said to myself. But thank God for radio. I always love to hear NPR broadcasts while traveling in a car and have access to nostalgic radio programs from satellite radio that take me back to the 40’s when radio was at its zenith. My grandfather Paul would be happy if I stayed tuned in to my flying saucer broadcasts all day as he was a dedicated radio listener who had his own radio station in Franklinton, Louisiana, which I mentioned in a previous blog. Lightning struck his equipment room and set it afire back in the 30’s during the Golden Age of Radio, but he kept his enthusiasm for radio broadcasts until he died in 1947, listening to “Amos /N Andy,” “The Fred Allen Show,” and other comedians who flourished during this period of radio history.

During the early 40’s, my parents bought a huge Bendix radio and placed it in the living room of our home in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It was not only the handsomest piece of furniture in the living room, it was the most-used piece of equipment that they owned. I remember going home for lunch and listening to “Orene Mews With the News” at noon during my grade school years and tuning in to “Let’s Pretend” on Saturdays. During the hot summer days when we were allowed to take a break and come indoors, we often played "Monotony" (Monopoly), then our neighborhood gang would gather around the radio (we had the biggest cabinet radio on the block) and listen to the daytime soaps.  The show that caused me to bury my head in my mother’s lap was “Inner Sanctum,” a program featuring a loud squeaking door that often brought forth a gasp from my mother, but we continued to listen and further fed our fears with “The Shadow.” Music varied from the Texaco broadcasts of the Metropolitan Opera to the still-running “Grand Ole Opry Show,” and we kept up with the progress of the Allies during WWII through broadcasters like Edward R. Murrow, while soldiers in Europe listened to morale boosting programs such as “Command Performance.”

During the early 50’s, radio saved the day for many military personnel stationed at a SAC base in Limestone, Maine on the Canadian border, and we were among those associated with the Army who went to bed at nightfall, turned on an electric blanket and the “Tennessee Ernie Ford Show” simultaneously to survive the cold wintry nights in Aroostook County.

As I said when I began this blog, it’s a retro morning. I’ve placed the flying saucer in a conspicuous place atop a bookcase and have vowed to do more than dust it off every week. I hope it doesn’t decide to spiral off into the universe, because we never know when another squirrel is going to get in the works and cause us to pause for a rural electric intermission on The Mountain at Sewanee.