I am living on the edge these days.  Without a care in the world for the past 25 years, I have run amuck unaware of the impending danger, unaware of a deadly killer that could in fact cause my untimely death. Hold on to your hats folks, grab your hand sanitizer, and start inflating your bubbles, because you cannot escape, there is no cure for ….Popcorn Lung.  Yes, really! Popcorn Lung the horrific condition caused from eating too much popcorn.  Little did you know all those times at the movies, as you ate this American snack, you might have been breathing in the flaky coating of the kernels into your lungs! 

 Believe it or not a friend of mine recently received an article outlining the signs and symptoms of Popcorn Lung in earnest.   I started to think about this, that we as Americans have somehow moved from Black Lung to Popcorn Lung, from the mines to the movies. Also, I have learned recently that you can cut fingernails too short therefore leading to severe infection and ultimately death (maybe I exaggerate here) but the point is that how are we to live when even just cutting our nails or eating popcorn will kill us or maim us forever?  

I started thinking about this hypersensitivity to germs and dirt on a recent excursion to the Patten Lumbermen’s Museum in Patten, Maine.  Northern Maine began its logging history in the early 1800’s.  Men made their ways up rivers in to vast forests, built a camp and basically lived to cut timber which they then drove down the rivers to lakes and eventually mills. 

These loggers and river drivers, well, I wonder if they worried about popcorn lung or cuticle infections.  I imagine they didn’t.  I imagine they dealt with greater risks, less amenities and were far too tired to consider the minute bruises and bangs which come with living.  I imagine they sighed with relief to see just a hangnail or blackened thumb. 

 I imagine they ate with relish and probably pretty fast.  Long working days, cold nights, raging rivers, sharp saws, and close quarters these worries leave no room for popcorn lung or manicures. These worries leave little room for anything but the day to day, minute to minute, attention to living, perhaps the most important attention of all. 

 

This attention to living is at the very heart of the New England Outdoor Center’s mission.  It easy to fall victim to the ills of the world; violence, terror, disease, the aggressive pace at which our culture ticks along with the constant bombardment of information, grasping at our every thought. Here is where New England seeks to assuage the onslaught, dilute the worry and provide a much needed break.   Our trips, facility and programs encourage you to let go of the minute cares and broaden your sense of space, time and significance.  And yes, we even encourage you to eat popcorn.

I found it this year, the farewell season.  Fumbling toward spring I happened upon it. The moment…the moment where we turn our face from winter. Hunched and pinched, we turn, we straighten.  We notice light, growth and in the past, I have run to spring. Spring with her open, crocus filled arms teaming with new life.  Here, we drag ourselves across the winter finish line, ready to sink deep into rich, moist soil.   But not this year, this year I stumbled… How greedy I had been to run from winter, to run away from all that she took in her cold, bitter days.  My stretch for the finish line left little space for remorse; after all, I had made it.  Mesmerized by spring, I did not see those that I passed by, those that perhaps would not make the finish, not in great strides, not limping or hobbling, those that this year, we would leave behind.

Enter a young moose I had known and even shared a rather intimate winter moment with which involved an outhouse at South Branch Campground in Baxter State Park.  This moose had made South Branch his winter home, nibbling on available twigs, shoots and branches.  He made convenient use of our human trails, snowmobile and snowshoe alike.  And he tolerated the visitors sticking around for camera calls, and yes, even, allowing us to use the outhouse without too much harassment.  I spent two days at South Branch this year having skied in from Mattagamon Gate in the north end of the park.  Each day the moose and I would find time together, by chance, by providence who knows?  I reveled in watching him and felt the possibility of his wild, unpredictable nature.  Time spent with this moose was well spent, quiet, observant time, time to rest in sunshine and snow. Really, I wanted to Mother him he was so little, but he nibbled away, moseyed around and looked quite content.  He was the true king of the campground castle.  So we said our goodbyes and I envisioned his summer escapades with campers even laughing at the mischief he’d make.

I do not need to tell you the end of the story.  The ending that surprised me and wounded me, stopped me dead in my spring tracks, when my husband came home from work one day with news of a little death.  I am sure this moose was only one of many who made an exchange this winter, who traded up, traded in…left. Only one of many, who I forgot or ignored on my way to Spring…until I found myself stumbling over the tale of a little moose found dead in South Branch campground.  My moment in the farewell season calls me to acknowledge all who we lost this past winter.  And I wonder if it takes far greater strength to acknowledge then ignore.  I shed a tear for that little moose and all the others, but I feel ready to resume my path to spring, only this time I think I will mosey and make sure to look around. Make sure to farewell those that came so close to spring.

The Farewell Season is not a pretty season.  It is not an acknowledgement of all that is to come, but an awareness of what we leave behind. It is the subtle time when Hades sorrowfully loosens his grip on Persephone and she reaches for her mother, Demeter. This is where we farewell Hades’ toll: the weak, the ill, the old, the young. Here, we say goodbye with one hand and, like Persephone, turn to welcome with the other.

There are lists everywhere in our house.  Grocery lists, honey-do lists, the lists go on…  And this is where my husband and I found ourselves on New Year’s day, creating another list.  Not an exciting list, not a bucket list or list of our favorite things, as usual, this list consisted of chores and mundane must do’s.  All the “shoulds” lined up in a neat row waiting to be anointed with a holy “you are a good person” check mark.  So, I am sure you can imagine my relief when Matt Polstein called me to go ice fishing with his family. 

A fisherperson I am not.  I have to admit that while my husband fishes in the summer I usually sit on the bank and knit.  In essence, we are both being productive and doing what we love all under the sun and outside of four walls.  And so my experience with fishing, as I am sure you have gathered, is rather limited…bread baking,  sweater making, blog writing..I’m your girl but fishing not so much.  But I do believe in fun.  I believe in the inspiration of an open fire on the ice, hotdogs and “mom’s” peanut butter balls passed around on mittens.  I believe in the waiting, the cold, the wearing of wool and the magnificence of ice moving, creaking and booming beneath my feet. 

I know that checkmarks are important but somehow they lose their luster out there on the ice, out there peering into black water filled holes and wondering what lurks beneath.  Check marks, cell phones, e-mails, facebook…I know that I will not find them on the end of my line. 

I do know that I will find happy dogs, playful children, forts, and animal tracks.  I know that I will find the time to stand next to seven year old Sam and patiently wait for a flag, maybe not even talking.  I know that this is good, clean, fun and it feels like something I used to do.  For a moment, I am kid again in that slow languid infinity of childhood where an afternoon feels like an eternity and you don’t cold in the winter. 

Checkmarks are important. Lists have their place. I understand, as an adult, that “shoulds” preclude  “wants” . Sometimes doing the “shoulds” get you the “wants” but, dangerously often, when we dwell in the “shoulds”  we put off the ‘wants” and really where does that get you?  Usually fed up!  My New Year’s resolution is to balance my attention to what I should do and reflect more on what I want to do…in light of that I did not make a resolution list.  At the New England Outdoor whether you are ice fishing, snowmobiling  rafting, relaxing, we believe in the “wants”.   Let us take care of the “shoulds” for a while, come enjoy the north country. 

I hauled out my down parka this morning and like every morning, every single morning, I asked the dogs “you wanna go for a walk?”  They, of course, raced for the door and like a herd of cows hurdling through a narrow gate exited into the arctic air.  Dogs, I own three: A Great Pyreenes named Fern (110lbs), an Anatolian Shepherd named Coe (109lbs) and a Border Collie named Bella (48lbs). 

                                                                           

My past history with these yahoos is punctuated by ridiculous adventures and general funny business.  I thought for this holiday season I would share with you some of the funny business.  The NEOC certainly understands dogs and welcomes them.   We understand the absolute sheer joy they can add to your life as well as the absolute sheer hell which can result from owning them.  At Twin Pines we try to accommodate for these canine adventures.  Our staff loves dogs, owns dogs and is compassionate to dog owners.  Services we provide for dogs include dogsitting for those guests which might need to be away a full day, a comfy dog bed and food bowls.  Come visit us and bring your dog.  Twin Pines is the perfect playground for your four pawed, furry friend.  And just for fun, a little holiday story to warm the canine cockles of your heart.  This is a little longer than a blog, per se, but I just don’t think a few quippy paragraphs would have done it justice and so a short story.  “Christmas Traditions Go Awry: A Fruitcake Fiasco”  

*While this is based on actual events, the author did take some poetic liberties especially around the descriptions of her now husband and his precious fruitcake.  Thanks Rob for allowing me to share this with the world…it needed to be! 

 It arrived on time, well preserved in packaging, foil packaging and saran wrap with love from Grandma.  It arrived every year from Florida, a traditional pilgrimage of raisins, dates, candied red and green cherries, dried pineapple and figs all brandied and molded into a ring. Grandma’s fruitcake always came before Christmas and maintained itself for months into the New Year, so I was told. Like the Messiah we took it in,swaddled it in cheesecloth and laid it in a tin.  After being unpacked and squirreled away for Rob’s traditional New Year’s camp out, we lost ourselves in the hustle of Christmas tidings.  Cards needed to be sent, travel arrangements made, last minute gifts organized, and our own baked goods to ship.  It was Rob’s and my first Christmas as an engaged couple, living together.  He wooed with me flint and steel fires, romantic wilderness canoe trips and impressive facial hair.  I offered home baked goods, knitted garments and an undivided interest in the master canoe list.  I agreed to marry him and relocate, literally to his neck of the woods, an unorganized territory in Northern Maine, T3 Indian Purchase. Myself and my three dogs that is: Fern the Great Pyrenees, Coe the Anatolian Shepherd, and Bella the Border Collie.  At that time there were MY dogs but soon to become OUR dogs. Rob insisted. 

 

All the “mys” turned to “ours” except, of course, the fruitcake; Rob maintained this treat for himself.  I didn’t mind.   As a couple we found no stress in the fruitcake department and he, the dogs and I launched into Christmas fairly stable, making the dutiful rounds to family and friends, forfeiting peace for a Christmas circus.  The fruit cake rested, quietly waiting for the New Year. 

 Rob makes it a point to camp outside every New Year, sometimes in a tent, sometimes not.  My experience with this tradition usually involves several claustrophobic attacks as I became wrapped up in my hat, scarf and baffle blanket.  Rob tucks a blanket across the top of the sleeping bags to fill in any gaps where heat might escape.  He professes a hearty meal of Grandma’s fruitcake is all you need to sustain the energy necessary to survive the absolutely bone chilling northern Maine temperatures.  The fruitcake is a vital component of this adventure and has been for nigh on twenty years.  But traditions are subject to change and reinvention, after all New Year’s is about letting go of the old and welcoming in the new, right?  This year in particular, 2009, was the gateway to a whole host of change. And so Rob packed for New Year’s.  He packed all his food and set it high on top of the shelf in the pantry. 

 

 I heard the snuffling first, kind of a cross between crinkling and snorting, and my keen canine sense told me to look in the pantry.  Look in the pantry it said. The adrenaline rushed to my brain causing swift light headed anxiety.  My body knew that sound. In the past, it had alerted me to many dog incidents, typically those that involved administering hydrogen peroxide down their throat to induce vomiting.  What could it be? Chocolate, bread, cookies… they were all stowed safely on high shelves in tins.  What could it be?  While these thoughts ran through my brain, I heard the rustling get louder and more intense.  I think whatever made the noise sensed that I knew, that I was coming to spoil the prize, ruin the feast.  The couch to the pantry is only a few paces but how long had this been going on?  I looked around trying to locate the culprit.  Bella stood at attention aware of my elevating anxiousness. Fern lay placidly by the woodstove. COE! 

 

 It registered.  I could just see the curly brown tail upon entering the pantry.  The rest of his body angled downward into a big canvas bag, no head just a tail and a body.  I sensed that this was going to be bad.  He was not eating compost or spilled dog food.  He was not licking a lost butter wrapper or empty zip lock.  No, he had found Rob’s New Year’s camp out food pack. 

 Oh my God! Not Rob’s New Year’s camp out food pack.  I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the carnage.  I knew that this was my fault, for I had moved it down off the shelf in a cleaning spree. I knew what was in that bag.  I knew what Coe had found beneath the layers of foil and plastic wrap.  I knew a twenty year Tice tradition had been broken with a few eager gulps.  I held his collar and looked at the canvas tote.  Of all the treasures it held: pretzels, cookies, chocolate, Coe chose the most valuable, the most coveted… the irreplaceable. 

 

Rob entered the pantry curious about the commotion.  We stood silent.  Coe sat down.  In front of us, maimed and mangled, laid the fruitcake.   It glistened around the gnaw marks; it cried out to Rob.   Stuck to Coe’s paws..candied cherries in red and green.  Rob took it all in, silent.  He slumped against the shelving and whispered “My fruitcake.”  I held Coe still by the collar, speechless.  What could I say?  It could not be saved.  The force of Coe’s last desperate moments had smooshed it into a mass. How could we discern the uncontaminated parts? 

Hopeful and not the least bid bothered by a little dog saliva, I boldly suggested Rob pick it up and try to salvage what lay left in the foil.   ”Honey take it to the counter”  I spoke with authority.  He said again “My fruitcake, Sarah.”  I could feel the laughter circulating in my chest. It hurt, but to laugh now, in this crisis moment, meant relationship suicide.  He gently reached down, and picked up the soggy mass.  It couldn’t be described any other way.  He gathered the foil and the saran wrap holding it together, treating it like a severed limb awaiting reattachment.  Gingerly Rob held the cake to his chest preserving as much as he could. I think he still believed that a morsel could be saved, could be resurrected from the rubble for his annual New Year’s camp out. 

 We peered over it in better light.  I grabbed a knife looking for unmarred or intact bits.  Rob stayed my hand.  He turned and walked away, hope gone. Nothing was said, no laughing, no “Ha! Ha! Isn’t that funny”. I took care of the remains.  I think for a brief moment a burial was considered, but in the end it went to the compost, red & green cherries twinkling amongst the frozen mass of coffee grounds and egg shells.  

 That year Rob and I made our first fruitcake together, a tradition we have carried in to this year.  And, yes they are stashed way up high out of canine reach. We hope!  Although sometimes painful, change is a necessary factor whether we like it or not.  It has many allies to do its bidding.  I think Coe had a greater calling that infamous day.  I think if he could articulate that event verbally, he would say he became possessed, that he was not under his own power but some strong compulsion led him into the pantry and handed him the fruitcake.  I do not think he carries much remorse for his misdeed.  Actually, I am sure he thoroughly enjoyed it and if given the chance would partake again. Regardless of fruitcakes or camp outs, old traditions or new traditions, a merry season of light and hope is sure to come every year as we make a point to cherish family, friends…dare I say dogs, and all the good which can from the subtle nudge of change sometimes known as Coe. 

Peace to you during this holiday season.  May you be light in your heart, merry with your friend and remember to stash all food item at least eight feet above the clutches of any four legged scavangers.   Happy Holidays, The New England Outdoor Center

 

 

 

 

I am not good with machinery.  Things like weed whackers, snow blowers, and tractors highlight my total ineptitude for the mechanical.  I have no passion for engines, ignitions, or transmissions, and in fact, regardless of my two college degrees can’t really describe concisely how all of those work.  When it comes to operating machinery, again, while I can drive a car this does not always translate to equipment.  I mean I know the bunny is fast, the turtle is slow, but really what does 4 wheel high mean and what exactly is a PTO? According to my husband, it is a power take off.   (I had to ask).   I am learning a lot these days, however, about excavators.  Well, really not operating the excavator, but what it means to excavate.  What it means to… inch by inch uproot, extract, fill, don’t forget drain, a landscape in to a ski trail.

My childhood memories of ski trails involved the fields behind my house, snowmobile tracks ,and like all children who attempt steep hills on old New England farms, a run in or two with barbwire.  I wore a snowsuit and probably cotton socks.  I remember my feet being cold and falling down a lot.  But since then I have progressed to new levels of sophistication.  Yes, wool socks are a must, and I even have automatic bindings…no more three pins for me!  While, I have invested in new skis and ski pants, I don’t wear a spandex suit or feign to be any good at skiing.  I do however, love well designed and groomed cross country ski trails.  Enter the excavator.

Matthew Polstein is the owner of the New England Outdoor Center and operator of the excavator.  My time with him on the ski trails is always informative. There are rocks we stop to see, holes in the ground we investigate, trees to find; the entire 10 kilometers holds a story.  He talks about water bars, and drainage, slope and stumps, most notably he talks about his excavator.  Ai! The excavator, I can’t describe it except that it is yellow and black.  Horsepower, torque, PTO these things elude me here.  But I do realize that the way I feel about my spinning wheel is the way Matthew Polstein feels about his excavator.

We all have our medium: the most effective way we communicate with the world through creative expression.  Matt Polstein uses his excavator.  Like any artist, he is sculpting something new upon which to admire, enjoy and reflect.  I am anxious to put on my skis and swoosh along this new story laid out by a man and his machine. You are invited too, to ski this masterpiece of excavation. The new trails at Twin Pines will be groomed for both skate and classic skiing. You will find an experience for all levels and abilities as well as stunning views of the surrounding area.  And if you see Matt and you want to talk to him and your dressed warm…just ask him about his excavator.

I set my knitting aside to write this post.  The reluctance with which I tucked the project away is familiar.  While I work during the day for the New England Outdoor Center, I moonlight as a fiber, dare I say, artist.  Basically, I like to knit and spin with natural fibers.   I am sure you are wondering what spinning and knitting have to do with the NEOC.  Many people think just Grandmas knit … you know in rocking chairs, on plastic covered couches smelling of moth balls, and we are, after all, an outdoor adventure resort located in the Maine North woods with a penchant for rafting, snowmobiling, hunting and fishing.  So how do these two go together, outdoor adventure and fiber arts?  As exemplified by our first knitting retreat ,outdoor adventure and fiber arts can find common ground.

Common ground is in fact where it all begins, literally. This region of the State is steeped in fiber history from River Drivers to Rangers .  If you think about it, the Maine North woods is about fiber…wood fiber.   Wood fiber makes its way into many industries, for us here in Maine the paper industry, but wood fiber  is also rendered to make rayon and Tencel ©which we find in clothing.  Perhaps, loggers and I have more in common than meets the eye.  Timber cruising, shepherding sheep, growing cotton, seeking out milkweed is about environmental awareness and ingenuity.  It is about venturing into the fields, forests and swamps, collecting and cataloging.  It is understanding the life cycles of sheep, silkworms, camels and musk oxen.  When we work with fiber it requires us to at least acknowledge the source.  Where did it come from?  What are the qualities?  How can this be used to create?  Through these experiences, questions and adventures most importantly we find community, and so the knitting retreat.  

Fifteen knitters arrived on Friday, October 29^th at Twin Pine Camps.  We gathered together for a meal and to share our current projects, yarns and adventurous arrivals.   As part of the retreat each knitter received a Katahdin Toque pattern designed by local shop owner Beth Sulander of Millinocket Fiber, Quilt and Craft.  Toque is the common word for a knitted hat used throughout Canada. Her design included a rick rack stitch headband and slip stitch color work techniques.  As we collected our kits and explored the pattern it became apparent that a rich knowledge of all things fiber permeated the room. I will say there were Grandmas there but not one of them smelled of mothballs. 

Our outdoor adventure at the NEOC actually began on the steppes, prairies and deserts of Eastern Europe and the Levant.  Fleece for the yarn with which we made our hats comes from sheep in Armenia, Palestine, Israel, Russia, and Romania.  It is imported by Peace Fleece of Porter, Maine processed, spun and dyed in beautiful, heathery colors with names like Volgassippi Blue, Kamchatka Seamoss and Sheplova Mushroom.   Our choice to use Peace Fleece was three fold.  First, the yarn is lovely to work with for a variety of garments either for rugged outerwear or next to the skin.  Second, they are a local to Maine, and third ,they have a mission dedicated to community.   As we knitted and told stories we became part of a bigger story, a global story of community and language, of peace and fiber.  

We speak a similar language as the Armenian knitters, and  Palestinian spinners.    Words are not enough for the language of fiber. We speak a unique language.  It is in the the way we cast the stitch, throw the yarn or hold the needles…this language which isn’t spoken.   Through the knitting and purling of stitches we tie ourselves to place and people near and faraway, old and young, present and past.  Through this knitting and purling of stitches our retreat turned in to an outdoor adventure not about mothballs, plastic covered couches and grandmas but about women with fiber and a story to tell. 

I am sure you can sense the anticipation with which I tie up this post…no pun intended.  I am anxious to return to my knitting, anxious to connect with the outdoors, community and adventure.  At the New England Outdoor Center you can find all three of these components in the activities we offer.  Our diverse programs seek to enrich the experience of our guests in new and innovative ways.  The programs and packages we have designed are thoughtful, place-based and geared to celebrate the traditions of the Maine North woods.  There is place at the New England Outdoor Center for all adventurous spirits whether you are adventuring with snowmobiling, skiing or knitting.  Come adventure with us. 

There are many things in life which are short and sweet…éclairs, corgis, tootsie rolls and cheese steaks come to mind. I love short and sweet which is why the theme for this blog installment is “short and sweet”! I have to admit with school back in session I have lost my adventuring campadres and the transition to fall is hectic. We gather in the garden, attend last minute cookouts, and stack wood with fervor. Soon people will fall back to the fall routine, the light will fade and the first fires will be lit. Enter winter.

It is with great anticipation that I await winter. Even as I done short sleeves for these warm fall days I imagine wool hats, mittens and the cozy chair by the woodstove. I am among the select few who proclaim their winter loyalty and wish it to be longer! “Noooooooo!” you say. I can hear it echoing off my snowplow! I realize that this season is not everyone’s favorite. So to ease the transition from summer to winter we have found a way to sweeten the season.

The NEOC is offering a series of short and sweet packages: two nights at our Twin Pines Camps with a host of activities to entertain, educate and enjoy. Our weekends offer a variety of themes from knitting, to homesteading to a primitive skills workshop. As part of our commitment to life-long learning we designed our packages around skills which our guests can take home and apply in their own lives. I have included a list below with pictures to inspire. We hope it inspires you to come join us for a new experience and welcome in the new season.

Calling the Moon October 22-24: Join us at Twin Pine Camps for a weekend filled with activities to celebrate the dark. This package will be filled with festive crafts, storytelling and of course tricks and treats.

Knitting Retreat October 29-31: In an effort to promote healthy lifestyles and the art of knitting, New England Outdoor Center is excited to offer it first ever knitting retreat. We welcome knitters of all abilities to join us as we explore one Maine’s wild treasures, Baxter State Park.

Homesteaders Weekend November 5- 7: Hark back to the days of old with a visit to the New England Outdoor Center’s Twin Pine Camps. This weekend getaway will introduce you to some skills to take home and try in your daily life.

Family Primitive Skills November 12-14: In some instances living in the remote areas of Maine requires a quick hand and sharp wit. Come hone your outdoor skills during this weekend devoted to families in the outdoors.

Harvest Home November 19-20: This weekend celebrates the spirit of camaraderie and outdoor work. Bring the family, friends or just yourself to share in the rewards of a job well done. We welcome all abilities and skills and are happy to send you home with some new ones.

Deck the Halls Decorating Weekend December 3- 5 & 17-20: The New England Outdoor Center has designed this weekend to inspire the holiday spirit. Merrymaking and decorating will take place in the morning leaving you the afternoon to enjoy good food, good company and a beautiful winter landscape in the shadow of Katahdin.

Night Tree December 10-12: At the New England Outdoor Center we recognize the significance of our wild and furry friends. In honor of the season of giving we will be preparing a series of night trees to treat our local wildlife. Take time during this holiday to experience the true spirit of celebration by surrounding yourself with family, friends and a beautiful landscape.

Recently, my fiancée and I decided to replace the windows in our house. Our conversation tossed around terms like R-value, double paned, efficiency, wood, and vinyl. I learned a lot about windows which is important in this day and age as we spend so much time behind them. During this sojourn into home repair I got to thinking about windows and glass in particular. I thought about how much time I spent behind it.

Glass appears in history around 3500 BC. We used to make decorative beads. Eventually around 100 A.D. glass made its way into architecture. At this point a fundamental discovery enabled builders to utilize glass in way that is familiar today; they learned how to make glass transparent. Associated with luxury, glass windows were not practical for all levels of economy. Historically, people used all sorts of items to cover windows or may be had no windows at all. Common dwellings were smoky, poorly lit and poorly ventilated. I am sure the outside offered a reprieve from this suffocating environment and people gravitated to the outdoors as much as weather might permit. I am not sure this is true today.

Currently, in the US we have glass windows and we are behind them a majority of the time. In the car, in the office, at home, in school, we are behind glass. It is comfortable in there with the A/C or heater, the TV and computer. You can’t touch things that are behind glass as I am sure you learned as a child. It protects things, people and animals from the outside elements. And as a Mainer I am thankful for that! But I also recognize the need to open the window, remove the glass and be outside.

Outside is where it all happens: the rain, the snow, the wind, the sun, animals, birds, oceans, mountains, the list goes on and on. It is all out there, on the other side of the glass. In my experience we learn best and we feel best, when we have stepped away from the glass boundaries. Glass creates a false sense of awareness and promotes a passive state. It facilitates only our sense of sight, no smell, no touch and sometimes no sound. What kind of experience is that? In past discussions with friends they have mentioned to me their thoughts on zoos and aquariums, you know, all those poor animals in cages and tanks…I find that an interesting observation. I feel that way too sometimes when I see a sky scraper or a school.

If you are looking for an opportunity to break out of your daily routine behind glass, then check out this seasons fall packages at the New England Outdoor Center. We offer the best of both worlds. Our four season cabins are tucked on the shores of Millinocket Lake. Choose from traditional and cozy or “eco-friendly” and modern. All include glass and the comforts of home. To compliment your stay we have designed a number of packages this season to promote living and adventuring in the outdoors. There are opportunities to learn new skills such as knitting, bread making and shelter building. There are also opportunities for families including crafts, story times and hikes. Looking to relax, well we can accommodate that too on our beautiful point overlooking Katahdin. This fall we invite you to come spend some time on the other side of the glass.

Any Mainer knows that tanning is a lofty endeavor. However, futile as it maybe, I found myself this morning trying to attain that sun kissed glow on a logging road in northern Maine. It seemed the perfect plan. I need to prepare for my upcoming nuptial. The dress is strapless and I am the queen of the farmer’s tan. I also needed to walk my dogs, so two birds with one stone, right? Wrong! In my attempt to be efficient, all I returned with was a number of deer fly welts in places they should not have been and pasty white shoulders. I mean really, who wears a tube top in the north woods? I could go on about the practicality of short sleeves, but what I really want to talk about is my marriage. Wedding dresses, white shoulders, tan lines, these things don’t really matter in the long run as I embark on an entirely new chapter in my life: my new family.

As humans we want to connect to something more than the self: family, kin, kindred, clansmen, tribesmen. We have aligned ourselves to the moon, sky and stars, tides and seasons, animals and trees. It is apparent we want to belong and connect to a past, a traceable lineage with roots in countries, cultures and traditions: a family tree. I think to find that family tree and trace its roots we are going to have to go outdoors. It is where the trees live.

Take for example the Boxborough Minutemen. I had the pleasure of escorting them on a wilderness canoe trip down the West Branch of the Penobscot to 1st Debsconeag Lake. These three Dads have decided that to spend time with their sons they need to go outside. This trip in particular included other young men from their community who may not have otherwise been able to have such an experience. In speaking with one of the fathers, the goal is to set up challenges so they do not go looking for other challenges, challenges like drugs and alcohol. And in these challenges meet them together and share the failure or accomplishment, together, as a family.

This trip involved many challenges. The boys portaged around Debsconeag Falls, carrying their canoes and belongings. They ran a small section of white water and faced a head wind. They needed to stay and work together to navigate the boats on their own. They hiked to ice caves, and finally landed on Omaha Beach in the Debsconeag Deadwater. These are things families do. They carry the load, navigate the rough waters and stay together as they make their way to the beach for a much needed rest. In this expedition the boys hopefully learned they can rely on the wisdom of their fathers and rest easy on the branches of their family tree knowing they do not have far to fall. Their next adventures would take them to the top of Katahdin, and down the white water of the Penobscot. Who knows what they will do in the future? We do know; however, being outside is the perfect opportunity to seal a connection, camaraderie or relationship with each other. It is a place to create stories  and tell our own without the daily distractions of work and home. Being outside says this is where you belong like no other place.

As a family you might want to put your feet on the ground, set some roots or remember them. And I mean ground, dirt, soil, earth…not tarmac, cement or linoleum. Sink your roots in deep. Find a family, your own or the one around you. Leaves, branches, fur, feathers, deer flies… it is all there for you. Jump on the family tree. The NEOC believes in families. If you look you will find many of our programs are geared towards family in the outdoors. We offer a place to remember your roots, plant your feet firmly on the ground and grow.

I do not like wearing shorts.  I spend most of the summer fluctuating between pants, mid length skirts and long dresses, demurely wiping the sweat away that tends to gather on my brow.  My experience with modern day media, models and the like, has created a comical loathing of my legs.   I never use words like lithe or willowy to describe the physical features I possess.  Typically, words like husky, rugged or robust tend to emerge when I think about my legs.  No matter what I do run, ski, lift weights, my calves do not get smaller, and I become frightened of moving from the edge of husky to stout and bandy-legged.  And so, even more then shorts I hate bathing suits.  Anytime I have to buy an article of clothing with the label “this material will stretch” makes me uncomfortable and want to live on bran for the rest of my life.  These issues are of course not about health.  I am healthy as a…should we say an ox?  Yikes!  The point is I am healthy. I do all the things I want to do and more ,have all my teeth and a million other blessings in my life.  But regarding my legs, they are not in my mind for public consumption.  I have happily developed a summer strategy that works for my timid countenance regarding my legs ,and it involves appearing in places where I do not have to wear shorts or anything shorter!   What does this have to do with rafting you might ask?

 As an employee for the New England Outdoor Center my worst nightmare came true. They asked me to go white water rafting.  It makes sense, they operate a white water rafting company, and they hired me to help with the customer programming.   Of course, the key feature of rafting is it takes place on the water and generally in warmer months.  When people find themselves on the water, in the sun, in 80 degree weather, well…they probably where a bathing suits or shorts.  Are you beginning to see the downward spiral in to a white water nightmare?  There is always the option of donning a rented wet suit which is even more scary as the “material will stretch”, and to top off the public humiliation you jump into a boat with a bunch of strangers. Not only do you jump into a boat with total strangers, you also get escorted into rapids.  Rapids named Bonecruncher and The Exterminator…rapids that contain recirculating holes of water, i.e. The Keeper. Frankly, it scared me. 

There are tons of variables a worrier like me conjures up when it comes to white water.  I felt vulnerable, exposed (the shorts), and out of control.  What did I know about white water rafting?  I mean, I had a vague idea of the route but really did not know what to expect. I pondered intently why people do this.  Why do people go white water rafting?  So, I went.  I bucked up, put on shorts and joined a group rafting the lower Penobscot River.

 It did not take long to figure out why people go down the river in rafts. The Penobscot is beautiful and the highlight of the day. The rapids are an awesome strike of river reality chased by an exhilarating rush of adrenaline. We saw moose, eagle, and Katahdin. We were in the Maine North Woods.   As we floated through the calm currents, it became apparent to me why my experience met none of my preconceived notions.  The New England Outdoor Center made it easy to feel safe.  I became aware of their careful attention to customer attitudes and abilities.  In conversation, I realized the thoughtful navigation of the river to maximize the thrills and the comfort for varying customer expectations. I appreciated the sensitivity to people’s skills or lack thereof and how serious the company was about their deliverance of a quality trip.

 I am sure for some, it is a rafting trip, entertaining, enjoyable, and exhilarating.  I am sure for others, it is more than that.  It is an opportunity to step out of the familiar and in to all that is terrible, like shorts.  The New England Outdoor Center treads lightly in this terrible territory, bringing people out the other side safe, sound and smiling.  I learned that having been there myself.  Thank you to New England Outdoor Center river guides and staff.  And thank you to my rugged, robust, husky legs…you did me proud.