#MidCoast Maine

[starstruklynna]

Homeward in the fog

[greenpestdefense]

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[violetsandshrikes]

Saving the Imperiled Saltmarsh Sparrow: Conservationists are racing to rescue a delightful coastal animal from rising seas

"This soft-voiced, promiscuous bird ekes out a living in tidal marshes. Even in the best circumstances, nesting on ground that floods every month at peak high tide is a risky affair. Add storm surges, water pollution, land development and global warming, and now the tiny saltmarsh sparrow is in big trouble."

"Along its breeding range, from midcoast Maine to Virginia, it faces shrinking habitat, says Wenley Ferguson of the Rhode Island-based nonprofit Save the Bay. Previously, slight sea level rises were offset by expansion of the saltmarshes; driven by climate change, recent sea level increases are inundating marshlands faster than they’re expanding. The saltmarsh sparrow population was just 50,000 a decade ago and has declined 9 percent annually. At this rate, experts say, the species will be extinct by 2050."

[the-proofreader]

Manifesting a reality where WWW comes to Maine. Not Portland. Maine. Like midcoast Maine.

Mostly because I'm selfish and I want to teach Ryan and Shane to make soap and if they are looking for stuff to do up here I can volunteer as tribute.

[sl-walker]

Trek prompt: Scotty vs. the kittens! Somehow they wound up in Engineering and no one is claiming responsibility.

How very dare you. (Responsibility is claimed, but there is a kitten involved.)

Anyway, this takes place in early 2256, so well after where the series is on AO3. A note for anyone else reading: AotW was plotted long, long before Discovery or Strange New Worlds came out, so it doesn't fit the new stuff. But it does fit the old stuff!

--

It figured that the first real challenge to his new posting as Chief Engineer of the Enterprise had absolutely nothing to do with engineering.

Scotty was only beginning to get used to his promotion and appointment; it was just a week old now, and he still occasionally had to huff a breath out that fell somewhere between wondering laughter and actual anxiety.

But despite the fact he felt a wee bit like someone had lobbed a brick at his head and he was reeling around dazed in the aftermath, he knew he at least looked mostly like he was handling the huge shift his life had undergone when Captain Pike had handed him his letters and the astronomical responsibility that came with them. And it helped that he could go home -- Earth-home -- every night and find refuge with his family and the slower, more gentle pace of life in Midcoast Maine; it was awkward, yet, learning how to leave work at work, but having a niece and nephew to dote on went a long way towards it.

Any which way, he thought he was doing a fair job of seeming to be properly put together, at least until one of his temporary techs meowed at him.

The tech froze, back to him; Scotty's head went over to the side slowly, as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to react to that. Except maybe to tell the lad that he was a fine mimic, anyway; he did sound just like a kitten.

He went to open his mouth to say something -- hoping the words would leap into existence when he didn't actually know what they would be -- when the tech turned around with a resigned look and slumping shoulders. "Uh-- I can explain, Chief, I swear, I just--"

"Collins, is that a cat?" There was an orange fluffball in the lad's collar, against his neck; either it was a cat, if a very small one, or he had the kind of growth that would have Xenobiology quarantining the whole lot of them.

Collins winced. "Sir, I know we're not supposed to bring animals aboard, but I thought-- we're in the Fleet Yards, so it's not like we're out in open space, and she was out in the rain and her mother wasn't anywhere, so I thought maybe I would bring her just long enough to wait for my lunch break and then call somebody about taking her in, I mean, I have my PADD set to scan for any lost pet advisories from Chicago, and--"

Scotty was waiting for the kid to faint; Collins didn't take a single breath as he dumped that whole bucket of words out. But when it became clear that poor Collins was just going to keep going, he spoke up, holding a hand up to hopefully stall any more, "Calm down. I'm not about to go bringin' ye up on charges over a kitten, Collins." Especially given his own record. "Just--" Well, just what? he asked himself. "D'ye have a plan for if she doesn't have anyone lookin' for her?"

Collins cleared his throat, looking thoroughly abashed. "--no, sir. My roommate would probably kill me if I brought her home. And my parents already have dogs, and my grandmother has birds-- and-- well, maybe there's some kind of organization--?"

Scotty somehow managed not to start rubbing the bridge of his nose; he wasn't sure whether he was more exasperated or more amused yet. "All right. All right, stop what ye're doin', and look into it. And we'll see if we can't solve this before the end o' the day, aye?"

"Oh." Collins breathed out in clear relief. "Yessir. Uh-- d'you wanna hold her maybe?" he asked, extricating the fuzz from his collar -- which gave a tiny protesting meow -- before holding her out.

"That-- would be a very bad idea," Scotty said, except by the time he had those words out of his mouth, he also had the kitten in hand. Oh no, he thought, shaking his head to himself as Collins ran to get his PADD.

"Well, now what?" he asked the fluffball.

The kitten made to climb up his shirt in answer.

--

"Chief--" Captain Pike's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed, and he leaned forward a little from where he was clearly behind his desk, expression openly baffled. "--where did you...?"

Scotty bit down a sigh, knowing full well he was blushing and unable to do a single damn thing about it. "One o' my techs found her on the way to work, Captain. I'm not quite sure how he got her past the transporter operator in Chicago, though. But I swear, she'll be off the ship by the end o' the dayshift."

The fact that the kitten was perched on his shoulder probably made for a surreal image. Pike certainly seemed amused by it, anyway. "I see. Well, I was going to ask if you had time to go over the phase three schedule, but-- clearly you have enough on your shoulders right now. I'll leave you to it."

There was the distinctive snap of a screen capture being taken, but by the time Scotty opened his mouth to protest about it and that really awful joke -- which would have been bold, aye, but necessary -- Pike had already cut the connection, though not before the first note of laughter sounded through the comm.

The kitten was purring up a storm in his ear, even as he rubbed over his face with a groan.

--

Thankfully, the little thing slept through most of the rest of the shift, curled up in a nest he made out of his civilian coat.

Unfortunately, they hadn't actually come up with any real plan for what to do with her.

And also unfortunately, he had to field eight different calls or notes from other senior staff members, which was especially difficult because he was still wrapping his brain around the fact he was one of them now.

And all of whom now had a picture of him playing cat-perch, no less.

"I can't just take her and put her back, Chief," Collins said, all but wringing his hands as he paced back and forth in front of Scotty's desk.

"No, that ye can't." And they were running out of both time and options.

Animal welfare laws and and strict control of the companion animal population meant that the need for rescue organizations was nearly non-existent; strays were almost completely unheard of, and on the incredibly rare occasion there was a stray that wasn't chipped and registered, it usually was rehomed quickly.

But-- no one was missing a kitten in Chicago, and no one was looking for her, and somehow she had come into existence despite all of the laws in place that would otherwise normally prevent such a thing.

Which meant that she needed somewhere to go.

"What do we do?" Collins asked, stopping his pacing -- thank everything, his pacing nearly had Scotty getting up to do the same -- and looking somehow both exhausted and pleading.

Well, it was an engineer's job to solve problems. Even, apparently, problems like these.

Scotty looked at the orange fluffball as she stretched, then yawned, then peered at them with eyes that hadn't even changed color from blue yet, and finally gave into that several-hours-old urge to rub at the bridge of his nose as he answered, "Well, ye're gonna go clean up her temporary litter box and get squared away, and I'm gonna call around and see about findin' her a home. At least until or unless someone in Chicago puts out a notice."

Collins practically melted to the floor in relief. "Thank you, sir," he said, and then he was out the door in a blur of gray boiler suit, probably so he could disappear before Scotty could change his mind.

--

"Corrigan here."

"So, I have this dilemma--" Scotty started, without any preamble, at least until the dilemma decided to meow, a little on the shrill side, no doubt hungry, especially now that the galley was shut down for the day and no more fish paste could be, uh-- repurposed into kitten food.

Corry's voice was both awed and rushed. "--oh my god, where did you get a cat? Is it a kitten. Tell me it's a kitten?"

Well, that didn't sound like a bad response. Scotty knew Cor had a couple cats when he was younger, but at least for the past fourteen years, the family hadn't had any pets. "Aye, it's a kitten. One o' my techs found her, felt bad for her and then brought her aboard. I know Allie and Aaron aren't old enough for pets, but d'ye think Mom and Dad--?" he asked, wincing despite the fact that it couldn't be seen.

"We'll figure something out, just bring her home. I'll stop and grab some stuff, and I'll have Mom and Dad meet us in Augusta, and we can take her back home and see, and oh man, it's been a long time since we've had cats, our last one was twenty-one when he died and then I shipped off to Basic and we just never really had a chance to have another one--"

"--right," Scotty said quietly, pretty much entirely to himself, sinking deeper into his chair in relief as his brother kept on chattering about the Corrigan cats of yore, with a headshake and a grin.

Problem solved, then.

Ten minutes -- and three stories about cat antics -- later, he picked up the kitten and held her against his chest as he headed out the door.

"Don't worry," he told her, "they're really good at takin' in strays."

(She may not have understood, but she had a home by the end of the night, one former stray brought there by another.)

[highridingbeach]

Check out this review of Rising Tide Co-Op on Google Maps

This is my workplace and I'm proud as hell of it. I'm the head dishwasher here of two years and I have that "inside scoop" here as I wash them all. Come see what I'm talking about in lovely Damariscotta, Midcoast Maine.

[riversidewings]

A Preview of "Homeward Stars"

In my forthcoming novel Homeward Stars, a 22nd century Unified Earth Space Navy starfighter pilot named Emily "Raven" Brennan returns to her hometown of Brunswick, Maine. She left under duress, fleeing an abusive parent and looking to find the safety in which to transition. Returning to her hometown by Navy orders after heroism in combat, she finds that perhaps this place, too, is worth fighting to reclaim.

Here's part of Chapter 3: "Remember Yourself."

Will Raven find the answers she seeks? And who's that strangely familiar mustachoied man in the blue greatcoat and kepi who seems to haunt Maine Street...?

Despite the ravages of the Incursion War having required extensive reconstruction halfway through the preceding century, Maine Street in Brunswick still retained much of its historic architecture from the late 1800s. Since Raven had seen it last, 13 years earlier, it had changed little. A few of the businesses were new, and others had remodeled, but on the whole, it unnerved Raven just how easily her muscle memory of familiar alleys, sidewalk contours, and landmarks seemed to reawaken.

The morning was brisk, with a gentle, drifting snowfall, and the foot traffic along Maine Street was lively. Despite her misgivings about being here at all, Raven found herself smiling wistfully. How long had it been since she’d last gotten to see an honest-to-gods snowfall, much less one in her hometown?

As she headed north to Pine Tree Cafe, she couldn’t help but scan the faces of passers-by. Would anyone recognize her, despite how much she’d changed? But although she didn’t spot anyone familiar, she did see quite a few Navy personnel, in patrol caps and black fleece jackets zipped over working uniforms, which Raven surmised was the uniform of the day for personnel on Joint Base Brunswick.

A senior enlisted sailor emerged from the cafe just as Raven walked up. He saluted.

“Commander.”

“G’morning, Senior Chief.” Raven returned the salute without breaking stride. Brunswick was a garrison town, and some of the rhythms to which she’d grown accustomed would thankfully continue. Then she doffed her cap and ducked inside. There was still time ahead of her needing to head over to Ariane’s office on the Pejepscot campus, and Raven was eager to have breakfast and gather a measure of courage. Thankfully, she found Pine Tree the furthest thing from crowded that morning.

“Good morning, Commander,” chirped the purple-haired synth working the counter. “What can I get ya?”

Raven set her travel mug on the counter. “Hey, uh, lemme get a double Americano in this, and a garlic bagel with onion cream cheese for here.”

“Comin’ right atcha!” the synth saluted, then set to ringing up the order. Raven paid, scooted to the pickup side of the counter, and contemplated the latest display of local art that adorned the walls while she waited. A new collective of local artists who met at the art studio on the Pejepscot campus had collaborated on etchings from across the Midcoast region.

The coast at Harpswell Center. The fir trees of Sebascodegan Island. The streetscapes of Bath, around the old wet-navy shipyard. Seabirds wheeling over Merrymeeting Bay. It was what most people thought of when they heard the word Maine. But despite the natural beauty clawed back from the devastation of war a century ago, despite long, proud history, she could not forget what had been done to her here and how she’d been so profoundly failed.

The purple-haired synth set down Raven’s travel mug with a thump that startled the wayward aviator. “There we go– double Americano, garlic bagel with onion cream cheese.”

“Oh um. Thanks.”

Dish in one hand, mug in the other, Raven deftly maneuvered around the tables and picked out a spot at the table that faced out onto the street. It took a moment for her to remember why that had been first, but then it came back in a rush.

Once, in what felt like a couple of lifetimes ago, she used to hang out here and watch the foot traffic down Maine Street.

Maybe some things here ain’t so bad, she thought to herself as she unslung her leather messenger bag, set down the dish, and settled onto the high barstool.

It wasn’t just not bad– hadn’t it been tradition, back then?

“Beg your pardon, ma’am, but might I join you?”

Mug in hand, Raven turned to find an older man, his whiskers white as the drifting snow beyond the windows, shrug off a deep blue greatcoat. He seemed familiar, though Raven wasn’t sure just how. But either way, in the moment, it was best to be neighborly.

“Hm? Ayuh, ayuh, go right ahead– plenty of room,” she gestured. “I’m not staying long anyway– duty calls.”

He, too, had what smelled to Raven like coffee, though his own mug looked even more worn than the aviator’s own, almost an antique in its simplicity.

The man looked strong. He looked haunted.

“Forgive my idle musing,” he remarked, as he perched atop the barstool a couple seats over from Raven, “But at first glance, you seem newly arrived like so many of your comrades. And yet there seems to be something of this place about you. A familiarity.”

Now Raven was sure that he was someone who remembered her from before. “That’s very astute,” she remarked, taking a bite out of her bagel and a slug of coffee.

“A local returned, then?” the old man grinned.

“Something like that. The Navy sent me pretty far away, but I guess I’m back, at least for the moment.” She gestured skyward. “I miss being out there already.”

“Like generations of seafarers born here,” the man nodded in understanding, swirling the piping black contents of his mess cup. “Aye, I knew there was something of this place about you, Commander.”

Raven was all the more intrigued. “This is going to sound weird, but do you…remember me? I feel like you might, if you’re getting all this.”

“I might at that,” he murmured. By the time Raven looked back at him, he was already wearing his greatcoat and a cap with a red Maltese cross on its flat crown. “But I feel the more pressing question is, do you remember yourself?”

The aviator set down her mug and was about to come back with a snappy retort. But by the time she turned back to meet his gaze, the man was gone.

“Archer Two-one,” the wayward aviator muttered, raising her mug as if in salute. “Tally, tally.”

[photogallerysstuff]

Maine Watercolor Artists

Original watercolor paintings by Maine artist Alicia. Most of my subjects feature coastal Maine landscapes, especially along the midcoast, Blue Hill, Deer Isle, and others. Many are available as giclee prints in a variety of sizes.

[starstruklynna]

Big boats, Round 2

[greenpestdefense]

Commercial Pest Control Auburn

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Solstice by Helene McGlauflin

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/solstice-by-helene-mcglauflin/

Solstice, Helene McGlauflin’s third collection of poetry is a sweet selection of poems written for and during the dark days before the winter solstice. Helene’s poems utilize imagery from the night sky, root cellars, fireflies, gestation in darkness, birth to remind readers to search for light, wait for light, hope for light, see light. Her poems are an accessible, welcome comfort in these times of uncertainty when every soul needs the reassurance of the beauty and faith found in poetry.

Helene McGlauflin, MEd., is a poet, writer and retired educator. Her numerous articles, stories and poems have appeared in books, small presses, magazines and professional journals. Solstice is Helene’s third collection of poetry, preceded by Tiny Sabbath (2010) and Teacher, I Honor You (2016) both published by Finishing Line Press. She is also the author of Calm and Alert: Yoga and Mindfulness Practices to Teach Self-regulation and Social Skills to Children (2018: PESI Publishing) her legacy from a long career as a school counselor and yoga teacher. Helene is a parent and grandparent and lives in Midcoast Maine with her husband Bruce. Contact Helene at mcglauflinh@gmail.com or visit calmandalert.com

PRAISE FOR Solstice by Helene McGlauflin

In her lovely poems, Helene McGlauflin reminds us of the mystery of darkness, that state in which the stars appear and bulbs lie, not dead, but dormant and waiting. These compelling poems reach out to their reader and offer fresh and surprising variations on the search for light in our dark hours. Nothing is excluded. There is “the honesty of sludge,” and a unique vision of the three wisemen relinquishing their pomp. In a poem addressed to the super moon, dated November 2016, the poet sees in the moon a “non-scorching reprimand” and asks, “How could we have mistaken darkness for light…?” The gift of at these poems is that they don’t. They search and discern, question and embrace, facing the darkness but moving steadily toward a sustaining light that is “luminous, waiting.”

–Betsy Sholl, As If a Song Could Save You.

In the Lateran relics collection, in Rome, there is a sealed tube. Within it, they say, is light from the star followed by the three kings – relics and miracles, always about faith … and light.

The poems in this collection sing light into darkness, but celebrate the darkness as well, singing out from that liminal space where things are always beginning, just before dawn, just before solstice, the time to “wait for sunrise, walk together into a future”

–Gary Lawless, How the Stones Came to Venice

Helene McGlauflin‘s Solstice takes us on a soulful journey into the yearnings of the human spirit to find light, hope, and peace in the midst of a changing and complex world, asking us to consider questions like “what is left after//virus rages/fire destroys/winds howl…hate spews”? Like in her poem “Root Cellar,” these poems quietly but confidently ask us to take stock of the spaces and things that restore us: “. . .as cold and despair lurk outside you, you/will never starve if you can descend, return to your store/sit in a corner among jars in the gloaming, trust the quiet,/the silent light as a promise from the root cellar”. And, like in her poem “A Single Star,” these poems insist on our ability to find “the quixotic promise visible at dusk . . .” and like “miners . . . find a beam as the mountain/crumbles underfoot and light abandons the shaft, then be cheered by/your capacity to save yourself and those around you from collapse.” These poems are very feminine in the way that they remind us that light and hope are products of a life lived simply, a life lived with the understanding that babies, community, and the natural world can indeed save us because “a single point of light in darkness matters.”

–Marita O’Neill, Evidence of Light

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry

[dixiedrudge]

A Confederate Cat Kills yankee Invader!

(Shtuff happens! – DD) Help Dixie Defeat Big-Tech Censorship! Spread the Word! Like, Share, Re-Post, and Subscribe! There’s a lot more to see at our main page, Dixie Drudge! (Emerging Civil War) – The last Confederate that Corp. Nahum H. Hall ever thought could kill him was an angry tabby, likely Sgt. Puss N. Boots, First Florida Feline Regiment. Hall, a resident of Rockland on the Midcoast, was…

[happieroutside]

Shifting to Spring Full Day Retreat

JOIN US FOR A FULL-DAY RETREAT IN MIDCOAST MAINE

Join us for a full day gathering where we’ll be active, mindful, and intentional. We’ll spend the day together at a gorgeous location in Midcoast Maine (location varies by season) and offer activities for rejuvenation, connection, and intention setting. You’ll have time to connect with both yourself and other folks while you’re with us. This is not a silent retreat.

HIKING

We will head to the hills for a walk in the Camden Hills State Park to get our blood moving, our limbs stretched out and exercised, and our spirits connected to nature. Be sure to bring footwear appropriate for the day!

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION

Two opportunities to practice mindful meditation will be offered. Beginners and experienced mindful folks are welcome to participate in these guided activities, and no prior experience is necessary. Some of the time will be spent sitting, and some will include mindful movement.

ARTS AND CRAFTS SESSION

Tapping into our creativity is a wonderful way to connect with our truest intentions. We’ll get our creative juices flowing with a couple of art and craft projects, themed to Intention.

GATHERING WITH OTHERS, AND PERSONAL TIME

We will have opportunities for personal reflection, for “me” time, as well as facilitated discussion and themed activities.

CHAIR MASSAGE (OPTIONAL, EXTRA CHARGE)

A local professional massage therapist will be onsite to give you a much-needed chair massage,! There is an extra cost involved, and we’ll give you a chance to sign up after registration.

MEALS INCLUDED

A morning snack, full lunch, and afternoon nibbles are all included. Let us know your food needs and we’ll make sure you’ve got delicious options available!

[wutbju]

Wilma Frances Leonard Nagorniuk, after a period of declining health, left this world unexpectedly on December 24, 2022 and is now “forever with the Lord, where disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, sorrow forgot, loves purest joys restored.”

Born in Camden, Maine, on September 25, 1945, Wilma was the daughter of Frank and Hallie Leonard. She graduated from Glen Cove Christian Academy in 1963 and received her Bachelor of Arts degree from Bob Jones University in 1967. She began teaching in Wheaton, Illinois and continued her career as a special education teacher for more than forty years at Emerson Connors elementary school in Bar Harbor, Maine and later in the Lake Region Schools in Bridgton, Maine.

Wilma was a consummate professional who loved and advocated for each of her students. One of several formal accolades summed up her career as follows: “You handled your duties with measurable professionalism and marked enthusiasm. You are a great asset to this district.”

After the death of her husband, Peter Dimitri Nagorniuk, Wilma retired from teaching and moved back to Midcoast Maine to be close to family. For the past several years she resided at the Methodist Conference Home in Rockland where she shared her warm heart, one-of-a-kind laugh, and added many names to her long list of friends.

Wilma was an outstanding athlete who excelled in team sports, horsemanship, and aquatics. In fact, her first teaching opportunity was as a Red Cross Water Safety Instructor. She was also an avid reader.

Both as a teacher and as a resident of a senior living complex, she was always sensitive to the needs of others and in her quiet way sought to help wherever she could. This trait emanated from her faith in Christ and the example of her parents.

Wilma was predeceased by her son, Scott Phelps, her husband, Peter Nagorniuk, and her parents, Frank and Hallie Leonard. She is survived by her brother, Bill Leonard of Thomaston; stepsons, Mark Nagorniuk and his wife Kim of Old Lyme, Connecticut, Derek Nagorniuk of Portland; daughter-in-law, Margie Phelps of Southwest Harbor; five grandchildren, Megan, Jonathan, Sarah, and Andrew Phelps, and Taylar Medeiros; several nieces, nephews, cousins, and a wide circle of friends.

A graveside memorial service will be held at 2:00 p.m. on June 30, 2023 at Oak Hill Cemetery in Camden, Maine.

In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to The Camper Scholarship Fund, Fair Haven Camps, 81 West Fairhaven Lane, Brooks, Maine 04921

[marjaystuff]

Flying Solo by Linda Holmes

This book was listed as a great romantic read in a couple of places, so I took a chance and bought a hard copy.  It was more of a love story of life with family, friends, and with chances itself.  How do you choose to live a life that is full and rewarding?

Aunt Dot was a character in life. She adored her family, but never chose to marry.  She died leaving her house full to the brim with all her memories and items.  Her niece, Laurie has offered to help clean it out and with some help from friends, she is making progress.  Then she found the duck; that looked like a decoy.  The duck was only one of the mementos, but one that resonated with Laurie and seemed to be hidden away. Meanwhile, her old boyfriend Nick continues to help, but makes a case for them starting all over again. 

The mystery around the duck and the number of twists and turns within the story line made the book interesting, even though I really felt the story was more character driven than plot driven.  In some ways, I could feel the conflict within Laurie and Nick both about them and about themselves.

The setting in the midcoast of Maine is always a draw for me.  I did recognize some of the “changed names” like Calcasette and the real names like Damariscotta. I didn’t find the book as wonderful as I expected.  I didn’t think that Flying Solo was the romance I was looking for, but was a thoughtful look at family and hope.  The need for honesty and thoughtfulness of the characters helped find solutions, that and a “caper”. Linda Holmes' thoughtful portrayal of a character in transition made the story feel real.