Growin' Up in Maine

Trip to the Big City of Bangor

2009-01-03T20:01:00.003-05:00

As kids growing up in Derby, Maine, and just an hour drive from Bangor, taking a rare trip to the big city of Bangor was unusally exciting. There were no statues in my small town, so getting to see the giant statue of Paul Bunyon shown here was a thrill. Other attractions like the community pool with diving board remind me of Jethro from Beverly Hillbillies calling 'em cement ponds.

I remember the first McDonald's hamburger joint on the outskirts of Bangor when it first opened in the 1960's, and the delight of 25 cent burgers with fries and great chocolate shakes. 45 years later those 75 cent meals are partly to blame for that extra 75 pounds I weigh now. The golden arches and X number of millions of hamburgers served were unique and iconic. Who would have known those Ronald McDonald toys would fetch a small fortune on eBay nowadays?

Looking back, and having traveled the world to view even more exotic sites from Europe, Africa, and Asia, the simple pleasures of living in a small town and spending summers like Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer still own my heart and memory. The Maine slogan "Vacationland" giving way to "The Way Life Should Be" seems even more appropriate.

Tin Roof Toboggan on Derby Hill

2008-12-31T16:50:00.007-05:00

Winter in Maine in the 1950's brings back fond memories sledding down Derby Hill. My friends and I were creative youngsters when it came to homemade sled vehicles for enjoying the snow. The illustration shown is a corrugated tin roof toboggan salvaged from an ancient outbuilding roof somewhere in town. The front was pulled up and shaped to a curve and though short would easily hold a single passenger or two daredevils.

On the downside of Derby Hill going into the village there were homes on the right and a huge field on the left with a gradual incline about 200 yards long. Across the road and behind the homes sled trails were made along a 50 foot wide stretch of open space between the homes and dense woods, and featured a steep incline for a fast ride once the trail was packed down.

The huge field was different at 150 feet wide and just as long. It was wide open without any major obstacles like trees or rocks, so the only dangerous spot was a 6 foot drop into the ditch along the road. Backing up a bit, I did say we were creative inventing rides like the tin roof toboggan? I didn't say the idea was brilliant. Ouch! If you can imagine speeding downhill on soft snow riding a sharp and rusty sheet of tin, the inevitable wreck had consequences. A crash meant stitches and a tetanus shot or bandages at the least. In retrospect I think the thrill was worth it.

Another beauty tranformed into a toboggan was a 1949 Henry J car hood. Now that baby was safe and could hold half a dozen fools, or more. Imagine the inverted car hood with a high pointed front to plow through the snow and sides to hang onto and hold us in place. Kids in the rear risked being knocked off the back, yet otherwise it was a luxury ride and wrecks were rare. Years later I rode a store bought wooden toboggan. It provided exceptional handling and an okay ride, but the thrill just wasn't the same as that Henry J hood or the rusty tin roof toboggan.

TAGS: Maine stories snow sled toboggan

Truth About Spring Brook Deadwater

2008-11-21T12:47:00.003-05:00

Guest contributor: Blanche Degerstrom (Mom)
Recorded in 2000 on analog microcassette then converted to digital audio.

Introduction: In a previous fishing story of Growin' Up in Maine Dad reveals the name of the highly guarded secret fishing hole known as Spring Brook Deadwater where insiders fish for Maine brook trout. In this audio snippet Mom reveals the truth about this secret place where people catch some of the best native Maine trout.

This is one in a series of guest stories by my late Dad, Ted Degerstrom Sr, and some others like this episode that will feature Mom, Blanche Degerstrom.

Listen now (press right button below) and hear this old recording entitled Truth About Spring Brook Deadwater, or read along with the transcript (Time: 00:18 min:sec):

Truth About Spring Brook Deadwater, by Blanche Degerstrom - Mom (transcript)

Mom: Spring Brook Deadwater.
Self: Is that the name of a fish market?
Dad (and Mom): Heh heh.
Mom: No.
Dad: Yeah.
Mom: It's the name that ev.. that fishermen give when somebody asks them "Where did you get them?", and you don't want to tell them you say "Spring Brook Deadwater".
All: (laughing)
Mom: It's not on the map. (the end)

Closing comment from Jim: This was recorded around a campfire at Jo Mary Lake campground near Millinocket, Maine, and you may hear the fire crackling in the background during the telling of this story. More audio from these old clips will be featured in future storytelling.

TAGS: Maine stories fishing brook trout

Fishing Secret of Spring Brook Deadwater

2008-10-16T11:27:00.003-04:00

Guest contributor: Ted Degerstrom Sr (1920-2000)
Recorded in 2000 on analog microcassette then converted to digital audio.

Introduction: In this fishing story of Growin' Up in Maine Dad reveals the name of the highly guarded secret fishing hole known as Spring Brook Deadwater where insiders fish for Maine brook trout. Maine fishermen remain tight lipped about the location of this secret place to catch some of the best native Maine trout.

This is one in a series of guest stories by my late Dad, Ted Degerstrom Sr, and some others will feature Mom, Blanche Degerstrom. While Dad describes the "what" about Spring Brook Deadwater, please wait before wasting time looking for it because Mom will reveal the secret of "where" in the next episode.

Listen now (press right button below) and hear this old recording entitled Fishing Secret of Spring Brook Deadwater, or read along with the transcript (Time: 01:49 min:sec):

Fishing Secret of Spring Brook Deadwater, by Ted Degerstrom Sr (transcript)

Did I ever show you that ahhh Spring Brook Deadwater? It's off the road coming in here... off from Bear Brook... not off from Bear Brook. No. No fish there either. I'm talking about Spring Brook Deadwater.

No. I'm talking about a spring in about ahhh an area a little bit bigger than this carpet right here... and just white sand, and that water ice cold. That water boiling right up out of that white sand and just as clear as a crystal.

I've often said "Oh, my God if a guy ever had that Spring Brook Deadwater near a city or any place... Wow! Gee!" Hell, that ain't too far from here. I mean if you went down to the end of the road. I'll bet ya it's still there, too. Yuh. Spring Brook Deadwater.

I went fishing up there and stayed overnight... with... ahh... remember Everett Black?... remember Cold Turd? You don't remember him? They lived up on top of Derby Hill. Geez whiz. I'll never forget the time riding home and we had them nice trout.

This ahh... old Doctor Bundy... Dr Bundy: "Hi Degerstrom, did you get any trout?"... said "Yuh", and Cold Turd said "Show him", so I opened up the bag. Nothing any more beautiful in the world. He says "Ohhhh, you couldn't give me a half a dozen of them could ya?"

I says "No, I couldn't". Hah! Heh! After going... going through all that... heh! Secret place. Nice trout. Spring Brook Deadwater. (the end)

Closing comment from Jim: This was recorded around a campfire at Jo Mary Lake campground near Millinocket, Maine, and you may hear the fire crackling in the background during the telling of this story. While Dad remained coy and elusive about giving directions to Spring Brook Deadwater, Mom spills the beans in the next episode. Stay tuned... you just might find out the given name of "Cold Turd", too.

TAGS: Maine stories fishing brook trout

Maine Hurricanes Carol and Edna in 1954

2008-09-29T04:30:00.002-04:00

With the glancing blow to Maine by hurricane Kyle in the last 24 hours, I am reminded of the double hit from Maine hurricanes Carol and Edna in September 1954. At 5 years old, the most significant memory of those two storms passing through was witnessing one of 3 oak trees snapped like a twig in Derby, Maine.

The 3 oak trees mentioned stood in a row about 20 feet apart on the lawn of the Clarks who lived around the corner on Church Street in the first house on the right from my home on Railroad Street. Each tree was close to 3 feet thick, and it is hard to imagine the force needed to snap one in half. It happened to one in 1954, and now there are only two.

The sight of the stump and that flattened oak tree seems like yesterday. A direct hit with landfall from any hurricane in Maine is rare, and the last one was 17 years ago. Hurricanes Carol and Edna in 1954 were remarkable with each striking in tandem within 10 days. Kyle in September 2008 dumped plenty of rain without much physical damage, but the destruction just in Maine from those 1954 hurricanes exceeded $25 million.

TAGS: Maine stories hurricanes

Mayflower Genealogy Growin Up in Maine

2008-09-23T10:53:00.002-04:00

A big thanks to Mom who visited this week and brought Mayflower genealogy evidence for yours truly, the author of Growin' Up in Maine. This history and genealogy details my ancestry on the maternal side back to William Brewster, a prominent passenger on the Mayflower arriving in America near Plymouth, Massachusetts in November 1620. Winter was spent aboard ship with the official landing the following spring.

The family oral history of relatives aboard the Mayflower was finally documented in writing by my mother's sister in June 2005, and then given to me 1,191 days later. That's a tad slow, despite our very large family, considering the Mayflower voyage took just 66 days. I am a 14th generation descendant of William Brewster, best known as a religious separatist who fled England to Amsterdam in 1608 and later escaped to America with 102 passengers and the crew of the Mayflower leaving Plymouth England in September 1620.

Here is my Mayflower genealogy leading up to Growin' Up in Maine.

William Brewster (c.1566-1644) b. Yorkshire, England - d. Plymouth MA
Patience Brewster m. Thomas Prence
Hannah Prence m. Nathaniel Mayo
Thomas Mayo m. Barbara Knowles
Thomas Mayo m. Elizabeth Higgins
Mercy Mayo m. Elkanah Young
Bathsheba Young m. Levi Higgins
Elkanah Higgins m. Azuba Knowles*
Nathaniel Higgins m. Remember Seward Blaisdell
Judson Higgins m. Avis White
Carrie Higgins m. Romanzo Parkman
Earl Parkman m. Elizabeth Thompson
Blanche Parkman m. Theodore Degerstrom
Jim Degerstrom

*The genealogical records show the Massachusetts birthplace and marriage of Bathsheba Young-Higgins and husband Levi Higgins who were married on February 19, 1767. Their daughter, Elkanah, was born in Bar Harbor, Maine, on August 16, 1769, and thus became the first official Mainer from our line of Mayflower descendants. Rules are rules. Her parents were "from away".

Looking at the timing of the marriage and birth you can't help but wonder how many other Bar Harbor honeymooners fall in love with Maine, and never go home.

Further online research of William Brewster descendants to document any 15th generation people besides Roger Degerstrom, my son, includes a surprise discovery of Sarah Palin, Governor of Alaska. That old adage often heard by Americans stating "my ancestors came over on the Mayflower" is certainly true for the author of Maine stories at Growin' Up in Maine.

TAGS: Maine stories Mayflower genealogy

What Every Teen Dreams About

2008-09-16T23:19:00.004-04:00

As a teenager Growin' Up in Maine, and like most, there was one thing I dreamed about. You could successfully argue there are a lot more dreams for any adolescent; and fantasies excluded, I'm talking about a driver's license. The scanned graphic shown is a 2008 discovery of my 1966 Maine State Temporary Operator's License found this month during long overdue spring cleaning as mentioned in another story.

The license expiration date is shown as Nov 3, 1966, so as I recall this was to allow a person 6 months time to get the permanent one. The learner's permit was likely a year earlier after completing Driver's Ed at Milo High School, and I strongly recommend parents have their teens take a driving course.

My wife and I have each driven over 40 years without an accident, not counting my minor incident navigating my sister's '58 Chevy into a swamp on Ricker Road, or spinning donuts with my brother's '65 Mustang into a snowbank on Derby Hill during a blizzard. Full confessions may follow, but not today.

Instead, I want to focus on that driving class and the joys of sitting in the backseat while a novice driver finds out why the teens are the awkward years. Being from a small town with mostly two-lane highways and no stop lights, we hit the big city and tried out one-way streets in Old Town. Later we braved traffic lights and divided highways in Bangor.

Thank God for the extra brake pedal on the teacher's side of that car! He was a bit slow on the Brownville Road as one classmate nailed a dog she sent spinning to doggie heaven. All in all the excitement was good material imprinted on the brain for a lifetime of safe driving. Hope I haven't jinxed it.

Finally, as an afterthought I blurred the signature and birthdate in the illustration to obscure details. I'm not looking to attract birthday greetings or anyone after a new identity.

TAGS: Maine stories drivers ed drivers license

Growin Up in Maine Audio Discovery

2008-09-08T11:48:00.004-04:00

For readers wondering about how the Maine stories presented as Growin' Up in Maine began, the idea was conceived long before the launch of this blog in 2007. This past weekend I was doing spring cleaning and tossed two truckloads of stuff which lacked any good reason for keeping. Spring cleaning in September you ask? Ayuh, being an expert in procrastination this was spring cleaning scheduled 5 years ago.

Amongst the treasures worth keepin' was a Growin' Up in Maine audio discovery as illustrated in the graphic shown. The two audio cassette albums entitled "Volume 1 - Down Back" and "Volume 2 - Hometown Mainiacs" (and then both subtitled "Dry Humor by Jim Degerstrom") are from a Growin' Up in Maine series I recorded in 1995, and since forgotten until now. The albums took place in California where I bought studio recording time, high quality cassette production services, and then insert printing and shrink wrap. The inserts announced 6 in the series though the last 4 never did get recorded, and those stories eventually became this blog.

The dusty box had a handful of volume 2 with about twice as many volume 1, and all in the original shrink wrap. The idea at the time was I sent copies to relatives Down East to offer to shopkeepers, and maybe have them on consignment for tourists to buy. Any dreams of being the next Bert and I disintegrated as those relatives balked at pitching the tapes and now 100's lie in dusty attics or landfills.

This discovery with 12 stories on each volume was interesting as I compared story titles to the currently published blog stories. For now 16 of the 24 stories have been presented here, so 8 from those cassette albums are yet to be told. Unlike the blog, perhaps the downfall of the albums was I named names without apologies, and the demise may have prevented legal consequences for lack of a "no resemblance to persons living or dead" disclaimer.

TAGS: Maine stories audio recording

Childhood Animated Stickman Artwork

2008-08-25T11:17:00.004-04:00

Growin' up in Maine in the early 1950's was a time long before computer video games, so as a youngster childhood animated stickman artwork was cheap and fun entertainment on rainy days. The animated stickman illustration shown here is an example similar to my earliest creations.

Back in 1955, and standing on the lot of the current single story Derby Community Center, was a very old two-story wooden building. At the back of the building I recall an iron fire escape up to the second floor which was rare for our small town, and an outside staircase just around the corner. The building was near the Bangor and Aroostook Railroad yard in Derby, Maine, with the Derby playground in between.

By age 5 or 6 my interest in drawing pictures, especially cartoons, was in its earliest development, and a shortage of funds for buying paper was the only drawback. Upstairs in that old wooden two-story building was a large office with a friendly old geezer running the place. It may have been part of the B&A.

They had an endless supply of odd sized paper including rolls, small pads, and various size sheets in different colors. How could you explain to kids today the joy of stopping by that office and being given 1-2 pads, or an entire roll about the width of calculator paper? That and a pen or pencil were all I needed to stay busy for hours.

Drawing a sequence of stick figures on consecutive sheets of a small pad allowed creating animations like the one shown. Flipping quickly through the pages created the illusion of movement, and I can't help but wonder if something that simple still interests youngsters today.

TAGS: Maine childhood games stories

Small Town Maine Backyard Basketball

2008-08-15T15:07:00.001-04:00

As a teenager from the small town of Derby, Maine, backyard basketball was another favorite passtime. A high school friend who lived on Ferry Road was tall and lanky just like me, yet his talent for the long shot was legendary. At times when there weren't enough youngsters to have 4 on 4 teams or larger, 1 on 1 skill contests were the next best thing.

Our version of the game horse involved matching shots with added difficulty levels like behind the back or shooting for a basket from under a raised leg. Shots made had to be matched, and the loser was the first to miss 5. Each miss picked up a letter to keep track of the score by spelling h-o-r-s-e, and you'd lose on the letter "e". Match a challenge shot, and you invented the next one.

This lanky rascal would attempt shots equal to the length of the NBA full court. He would lift off one leg for propulsion and was probably 50% accurate on making these outrageous shots. At times the same feat would be done with his back to the basketball net. Another was made standing on the other side of his house, over the roof without seeing the basketball hoop, and "swish" right in! Too bad NBA scouts didn't come to Derby more often. As I recall it was actually never.

TAGS: Maine stories playing games

Dairy Farm Haystack in Bangor Maine

2008-08-11T14:37:00.000-04:00

Late summer Growin' Up in Maine often meant an invitation to spend a few weeks on my uncle's dairy farm off Stillwater Avenue near Bangor. People work hard and eat well on a dairy farm. In the mid-1950's I was too young to be of much help with the real work, yet dipping a hand in a bucket of boiling water before cleaning an udder in preparation for milking cannot be forgotten.

At age 8 or 9 the hands are especially sensitive, but eating well meant helping with the chores, so I did it. Being from a family of 10, I looked forward to each hearty breakfast and supper with that unlimited supply of fresh milk.

One summer an older brother came along for the visit, and between the morning and evening milking times we found lots to do around the barn and farm. There were plenty of places to explore for hide-n-seek, and I displayed my ignorance of country living in one instance. My brother chose a tall haystack for a hiding place and remained unseen deep in the hay and was the last to be found. A loser pointed to his location, and I volunteered to help him out by digging with a hay rake as pictured.

I am not sure who was more ignorant as I announced my idea. My brother mumbled agreement as I began slowly scraping the hay away, and then became impatient plunging the rake into the haystack to speed up the process. That shot broke skin and drew blood on his forehead, so the game and my volunteer work were over. It's a good thing for thick skulls to offset a lack of childhood common sense.

TAGS: Maine stories dairy farm

Dangers of Gathering Acorns

2008-08-07T14:11:00.001-04:00

Two huge oak trees stand in front of where I grew up on Railroad Street in Derby, Maine, and late summer was a fun time for gathering acorns. Each of those two trees were about 3 feet in diameter and more than 30 feet tall. Lower limbs were trimmed so climbing was out of the question.

One summer day around 1955 a few friends, one of my 4 brothers, and I were tossing rocks into the top of the trees to knock down acorns, and learned a tough lesson about the dangers of gathering acorns. Our ammunition was rocks about the size of a child's fist, or half that of an adult, and my older brother made a memorable toss. Ricochets bouncing off a tree limb often had us ducking for cover, but that one shot was smooth sailing until the landing.

He missed branches as his missle went flying through the top of the tree on a high arc and landed moments later with a loud crash taking out the back window of a neighbor's car across the street. Back then there was no safety plate car windows, so the impact shattered the window in 1000 pieces (estimate only) which all fell onto the back seat of the car in tiny pieces.

We skedaddled, but the noise of the crashing window aroused the owner. Being broad daylight in a small town, escaping such mischief was rare. Solving the crime was a matter of 1 or 2 of us turning in the culprit.

TAGS: Maine stories summer fun

Thunder Hole in Bar Harbor Maine

2008-07-28T06:10:00.000-04:00

Trips to the coast of Maine were rare as a youngster Growin' Up in Maine. Living inland near the center of the state, the wonders of the rocky coast were more than I imagined, and a treat for young eyes. The photo shown is Thunder Hole in Acadia National Park near Bar Harbor. At the time of my visit, my Aunt announced our destination, and the thought of tourists stopping to look at a hole in a rock as waves came in seemed fairly boring.

Wow was I wrong! My childhood in the 1950's and 60's was a life like Huckleberry Finn with swimming, fishing, and rafting on the Sebec River in a spot we called Down Back, and an occasional perch or trout fishing trip on lakes, ponds, or brooks. Before visiting the natural wonder of Thunder Hole on that trip back in 1958, we spent a day on the beach, and over the course of a few hours the tides came in and out changing the landscape in amazing ways. You just didn't get that effect at the old swimming hole Down Back.

Anyway, when the timing is right the incoming tide rushes into Thunder Hole, that eroded hole in a rock that's more like a cave, and the force of water filling the cave explodes back like the roar of thunder. That and the witch's leg on Buck's grave are lesser known Maine attractions I now recommend to people from away.

TAGS: Maine stories Bar Harbor Thunder Hole

Ole Time Fishing in Maine

2008-07-23T06:01:00.000-04:00

Shown here is Mom and Dad with a string of fish, and the ad in the background is there for a reason. While trout fishing provided some of my best memories Growin' Up in Maine, you risk the inevitable uninvited guests, mosquitoes and blackflies. Though never witnessed personally, old timers mention small children carried off by Maine mosquitoes. From experience, blackflies swarm. Some are specialists that distract you by landing in your eyes, nose, and ears while others take a chunk out of your hide.

People often vacation in Maine with the dream of resting comfortably on the edge of a pristine babbling brook while casting a spinner bait in hope of catching Maine brook trout. As a youngster growing up in Derby, ole time fishing in Maine back in the 1960's was a deep woods adventure where you usually got wet, muddy, or both in the process. I'm not talking farm raised trout dumped in brooks to stock the easy-to-get-to spots, but the smart native trout born and bred in the real wilderness.

Whether fishing or hiking in Maine, you will encounter attacks by mosquitoes and blackflies. If you are outdoors, they will be there, and usually in large numbers. Be prepared with bug repellent and you can enjoy the natural beauty of Maine without the bugs. Our remedy for the mosquitoes and blackflies is Ole Time Woodsman mosquito repellent, and once you try it I believe you will agree the fragrance is indescribable.

They made it then. They make it now. Try Ole Time Woodsman. It was invented in the 1800's and has been standard Mainer fishing gear ever since. For grins I checked online, and small sizes are priced for less than $10. Just don't exceed the recommended dose. For me, I believe short term use may have warded off bugs for years, and could explain my lack of second dates as a teenager. Shoulda asked 'em to go fishing.

TAGS: Maine stories fishing blackflies

Late Night Childhood Moon Gazing

2008-07-18T05:53:00.000-04:00

There are things about Maine that you may not appreciate being born and living there all your life. As I recall summers back in the 1950's, and late night childhood moon gazing, adventures as an adult come to mind. Sometimes you need to step away from something to fully realize just how precious some things are.

I think a scowling woman with her hands on her hips while tapping her toe is really precious. If they didn't care you wouldn't get punched in the shoulder, they'd spin around and stomp off, and in the end you'd miss that icy stare and "the look".

Now, let's get back to being a kid. When I was young, summertime nights as youngsters in Maine were filled with simple pleasures like evenings crawling around in goldenrod fields, playing hide 'n' seek, or simply lying on your back and looking up at the moon and stars. At age 9 back in 1958 I could not imagine Neil Armstrong walking on the moon a decade later. It was enough then to just stare and wonder if the moon was really made out of cheese.

What did I learn later as an adult that gives me an appreciation for those summer nights and the great outdoors in Maine? There are no poisonous snakes or other vicious critters to worry about when crawling around or frolicking about in the little world of that small rural town. Note: (to self) I may write about mosquitoes and blackflies in another story. I guess there are exceptions.

TAGS: Maine stories summer

Camping Out Overnight Down Back

2008-07-12T06:00:00.001-04:00

Days spent at the old swimming hole Down Back in Derby, Maine, often went from morning to dusk for my childhood friends and me as youngsters. As night approached one summer day back around 1959, a few of the guys suggested spending the night camping out overnight in the grassy opening overlooking swimming hole rock. Make a quick trip home less than a 1/2 mile through the woods and we could gather what we needed.

This was a new idea, and sounded like a great adventure. Down Back was always our daytime playground. Sleeping bags and tents were for the backyard or family vacations. We decided to leave the fishing gear for some early morning fishing the next day, yet a volunteer was needed to watch over while others went home for the camping gear.

I volunteered! Later in life I understood why you never volunteer for anything, especially in the Army. Within 30 minutes it was pitch dark except for the campfire, and I was alone in the woods left to wonder if the great adventure was really a practical joke. If you have never spent much time outdoors, trust me. The daytime sounds are very different from those at night. When you're 10 years old, sounds at night and alone become even more exaggerated when its at night, alone, and in the middle of the woods!

To make a long story short, the friends did eventually arrive loaded up with gear for spending the night. I greeted them from 50 feet away and out of range from the light coming from the dwindling campfire, yet this ending is no tall tale. I could have spit on 'em from my vantage point as I was clinging to the top of a pine tree 50 feet straight up near the edge of the clearing.

TAGS: Maine stories camping

Last Childhood Memory in Derby Maine

2008-07-09T01:59:00.003-04:00

This photo of my parents home is the view I saw during my very last childhood memory in Derby, Maine, as I left to join the army in the 1960's. Mom stood on the lawn after heartfelt goodbyes, and I headed off towards a field between two neighbor homes to join a buddy for a ride to Bangor, and induction. The war in Viet Nam had become very real after a classmate's recent closed casket funeral, and my choice was to serve now to have that obligation behind me.

At the edge of the field I stopped, turned, and retraced my steps across 50 feet of lawn back towards my Mother who had not moved. As I view that photo taken from where I was standing as I turned, I recall that moment 40 years ago with a flood of memories from Growin' Up in Maine. The upper window to the left above the back shed was the one I climbed out after the blizzard of 1961. The snow was over the shed so I just stepped off the roof onto solid snow.

The chimney above the porch was famous for snatching rubber balls as my brothers and I tossed them over the house. A bad throw was easy to retrieve by climbing onto the shed roof, across the porch roof, and up the steep pitch to the chimney. The second chimney on the taller part of the house was off limits for climbing or retrieving toys. Slip there and the 15 foot drop could be fatal.

The large oak trees towering over the house in the background were actually on Railroad Street as seen from this view, and in front of our home and our grandparents next door. Those trees were loaded with acorns in the summertime which we used for slingshot ammunition, and each fall brought a blanket of colorful leaves a foot deep for hours of childhood fun.

That last childhood memory 40 years ago, and the reason I returned to Mom standing on the lawn that day, was the sudden realization of a truth that I had to share as I drew near. "I just realized... that boy you know will not be back. This is my last moment as a child, and while I will always be your son, sadly that boy you knew will be gone.", and with one last hug he was.

TAGS: Maine stories home

Gas Prices and Tooling Main Street

2008-06-18T22:18:00.003-04:00

Teenagers tooling Main Street in Milo back in the 1960's spent evenings driving from the state store parking lot between the two bridges on lower Main to the IGA parking lot uptown 2000 feet away. Parking and leaning out the car window to talk was a common form of socializing for 5-10 minute spurts, and then back to the other end to see what's new, or who else showed up. On weekends and in the summertime the activity went on day and night.

The constant parade was not missed by the owner of the hardware store on Main Street, who was quick to share his country wisdom on a wide variety of topics. One Saturday I walked up to Milo from Derby and was in the hardware store, which was empty except for me, and he went into a rant about gasoline. Back then a business owner was more likely to spend 30 minutes on a one dollar sale, and between customers this guy could go on for hours expounding stubborn opinions on how to fix the world. Being a polite and attentive listener I was the perfect audience for a good yarn, and was treated to some good 'uns.

Milo was and is a small town, so traffic on Main Street was quadrupled by the tooling teenagers, and taking notice the store owner started in on gas prices and the foolishness of the parents. The price wasn't a real issue because at 25 cents a gallon, fixin' the world included more important issues. He was disturbed by the waste. "Why can't they just park and talk in one place?", he'd asked.

Anyway, during the course of his tirade his son passed each way several times as we talked. I was about to comment about his son just as he ended his story with "If I had that kinda money to waste I'd get outta this sonsabitchin' cold country!" I doubt he'd ever make poster boy for Maine tourism, yet I fondly recall that closing comment with quiet amusement more than 40 years later.

TAGS: Maine stories Milo Main Street

Twenty Years in Derby Then and Now

2008-06-01T13:00:00.002-04:00

With the celebration of our 20th wedding anniversary this month, I decided to show readers an enlarged view of the photo of my wife and I Down Back on the Sebec River in Derby, Maine. The before (20 years ago) and after (very recent) with the river in the background uses a little digital photo edit trickery to show the same background in both views.

As mentioned at least once on this blog, some of my graphics are illustrations with photo edits for special effects, and some are actually several or more photographs combined to get just the right effect. Perhaps I should have a contest for finding the illustration that combines the most separate pieces of photographs. The photo of the raft wars took 3: the river, war paint, and me.

Maybe the first winning entry to arrive by email, if more than one correctly guess, could get $100 in credit towards custom artwork from my commercial site, or 2-3 of the Ten Decades of Stories CDs featuring audio stories by Larry Hall as announced in a previous post. Comment or email me with your ideas, and maybe I'll make a formal announcement. Each post has an illustration, so there's less than 100 to find the winning one.

TAGS: Maine stories Derby Maine anniversary

First USA Daylight Klan Parade in Milo

2008-05-31T17:00:00.005-04:00

The first USA daylight parade of the Ku Klux Klan was held on September 3, 1923 in Milo, Maine. I describe my hometown of Derby, Maine, population 300 as a suburb of Milo, population 2500, and I remember my Grandmother showing me the postcard shown here around 1955. The Ku Klux Klan parade took place in the same year as the centennial celebration of the incorporation of Milo 100 years earlier in 1823.

Today I interviewed a witness to that parade! Previously I introduced a guest contributor to stories of Growin' Up in Maine featuring Larry Hall, and we recorded his story about ringing the bell one night at the Derby Grammar School. He went there in the 1920's and I attended the same school in the 1950's. I mentioned in that episode that Larry, who is 91, and I may collaborate on an album "Ten Decades of Stories", and I am pleased to announce production has begun!

Larry Hall, born in 1916, was 7 years old when he stood on Main Street in Milo and watched that first USA daylight parade of the Ku Klux Klan. Together we are recording his childhood memories a few at a time until we have 10 or 20 for the CD. He picks the topics, and in today's recording session he completely surprised me by announcing his telling of that historic event. Details of the various participants included a large brass band, horse drawn fire engines, merchants with banners, a group of kids trailing at the end, and much much more. How exciting!

On a special historical note about the infamy of that parade, the citizens of Milo eventually discovered the true purpose of the Klan, and in less than 2 years they were driven out of Milo. They were told before the parade started to uncover their hoods, and then the grand marshall on horseback was confronted and threatened, so the event took place without restrictions. As shown in the photograph, they were wearing the hoods. Thus occurred the first indication of their violence, hatred, and true purpose. Two years later they were no longer welcome in the entire state.

Readers interested in purchasing a copy of the Ten Decades of Stories CD will be provided details once it's completed later this year. Email me now to reserve a copy, or several, and knowing how many will help us calculate a quantity for the first production run. My involvement is strictly voluntary, so sales minus cost of production go directly to my newfound 91 year old friend.

TAGS: Maine stories Milo Ku Klux Klan

Some Things Coming Back in Style

2008-05-23T21:09:00.004-04:00

Here’s my photo in Derby, Maine, around 1951, and taken in front of the ubiquitous wood pile common in most rural areas at the time. Actually that's kindling wood. The big stuff was already in the shed. Flat top crew cuts and white bucks may never be taken seriously again, yet in Maine some things are coming back in style.

Tour Maine today and the woodpiles are back. Blame the cost of fuel as more and more people are resorting to old fashioned pot belly wood stoves for heat. The efficiency and odor of burning cedar is nostalgic. Given time, the hoola-hoops, catseye marbles, and lawn jarts may not be far behind.

How many youngsters regret using their Mantle rookie cards for sound effects in the spokes on their bicycle? A dozen of those would pay for a college education nowadays, or a couple trips to the Allagash.

TAGS: Maine stories nostalgia

Maine Lobster DownEast Style

2008-05-17T21:31:00.003-04:00

The coast of Maine is called DownEast, and was 50 miles from my hometown growing up in Derby, Maine back in the 1950's. Trips to the ocean were rare, and when it came to a Maine lobster DownEast style it meant steamed with clams and corn on the cob in seaweed in an open fire on the beach. I'm not sure they do that nowadays, but it was great as a youngster on that one trip around 1957 with my aunt, uncle, and cousin.

Pictured here in the photograph is my wife at a dockside outdoor picnic area at a Maine lobster pound a few years later. Make that MANY years later. The sign with "Welcome to Maine - The way life should be" was not the slogan for Maine at the time, so I inserted it for illustration purposes only. If a sign like that is missing and under investigation, we don't have it.

TAGS: Maine stories lobster

Happy Mothers Day 2008 to All Moms

2008-05-11T03:26:00.002-04:00

We wouldn't be here without you, Moms! While writing the last story about digging out of a Maine blizzard, I wished I could find the tunnel photo of my Mother at the entrance to our porch. Wish granted. The photo here was found and scanned moments ago and shows my Mom in the snow tunnel needed to enter the main entrance of our home in Derby, Maine, after a blizzard in the mid-1960's. The inset is a recent photo of her.

As with most Moms, mine is special. She visits this blog often, and recently commented "Oh, my God!" after reading a few of my childhood adventures that were unknown to her at the time, and then continued with "Thank God for watching over my children when I wasn't around!"

Imagine waking at 5:00am to go potato picking in the freezing cold in Maine. I forget how many consecutive days just the two of us endured that back busting work, but it was probably a week. The reason was spare cash to buy me a trumpet, and I was probably too young to have contributed much real work. As kids, the sacrifices (and ingenuity) of moments like that sometimes take years to strike a nerve. Thanks, again, Mom.

TAGS: Maine stories Mothers Day

Shoveling Snow After a Maine Blizzard

2008-05-06T19:37:00.004-04:00

With summer just weeks away, this photo of shoveling snow after a Maine blizzard in the mid-1960's serves as a reminder of the joys of Spring. After a 12 inch snowfall, clearing the driveway to go to work was usually unnecessary. You just drove off. When the storm drops 3-6 feet of snow in 24 hours a different strategy is needed.

As shown in this photo of my home where I grew up in Derby, Maine, having snow drifts piled up against the porch to the roof meant digging a tunnel to use the main entrance. That, however, came later. First priority was (finding and) digging out the car parked in the yard.

To begin, I grabbed a broom and shovel and made an exit out an upstairs bedroom window, and stepped off the porch roof. At this point no part of the car was showing in the blanket of snow. The broom was flipped as I used the handle to poke in the snow listening for a thump. Within a half hour of thump/no thump the holes formed an outline of the car, and it was time for the shovel.

After two hours digging down just outside the outline of broomstick holes, the results show the car in a canyon of snow. A few years later Dad installed a sliding door in the back shed, purchased a snowblower, and then cranked her up before driving out the door after each storm. I don't blame him. His labor force of 5 boys were grown and moved out by then.

TAGS: Maine stories blizzard snow storm

Behind Home Plate at Fenway Park

2008-05-04T18:46:00.005-04:00

From Derby, Maine to Fenway Park in Boston may as well have been a million miles away as a youngster from Derby back in 1959. The photo shown here that I snapped is like a dream sequence, and was taken years later as I sat 5 rows back behind home plate at Fenway Park. In the 1950's watching a game on a black and white television was the closest I could ever imagine to actually being there. The original photo was in color, yet like many photos and illustrations used for Growin' Up in Maine, I prefer aging pix by presenting them in black and white.

Out of 8 children including 3 younger than me, I was the last to step on soil outside the state of Maine. At one point I was the only child in our family who had never been to Canada, too, and that first trip was as an adult. By age 18 the only foreign visit was one school band trip to Keene, New Hampshire for a high school football game. We were invited to represent the home team. Just the opposite of Milo High School, they had a football team and no band.

The Fenway trip years later with my wife to watch the Boston Red Sox in person was better than I could imagine. The party atmosphere and unique aroma of the outdoor food vendors around Fenway Park was a treat never experienced watching at home.

Inside, and sitting that close to the edge of the field, you could see 5 o'clock shadow on some batters in the on deck circle. The game was not a sellout, so it wasn't broadcast. Later at Cheers, and to our complete surprise, the game was being tape delay broadcast in the bar. From the outfield camera we could clearly see ourselves behind home plate on every pitch!

After yelling "There we are!" about ten times and catching a few annoying glances, we settled back and quietly enjoyed the game a second time. Our fellow patrons obviously knew we were from away, just not a million miles away from Derby, Maine and 1959.

TAGS: Maine stories Derby Red Sox Fenway Park