Tag Archives: farm

Antiquing… and lunatic asylum fencing.

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My vinyl collection is calling for a few more vintage whisky/beer crates so I twisted the husband’s arm and we spent a day antiquing. (You know that’s a lie. He was probably warming up the car while I was still in the shower)

On the way we had lunch at a little farm to table cafe housed in what used to be the Home for the Feeble Minded. It was uninspiring, so no photos. But the grounds at what is now Pinelands Farm are impressive.

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As is their endless mile of fencing.

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Our first stop was a store in a barn. And a beautiful barn it was.

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On the grounds of the owner’s home, it was a lovely place to shop.

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I like our man cave, but found myself knee deep in vintage barn envy at this two hundred year old gem.

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Two full floors of treasure but no wooden crates.

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I was tempted to come home with the Special Scintillator…

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If for no other reason than the name. But the husband vetoed that purchase.

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Onward…

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A missed opportunity.

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We recently discovered a branch of my husband’s family owned a farm in a nearby town back in the day. A long lost relative even showed us a picture.

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Interested in the history, I did some research to try to find its exact location.

Due to my superior sleuthing, I found it.

Problem is, I was 70 odd years too late.

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In the town’s historical society, I found this picture of it burning to the ground in 1951.

Shame, that. It looked like a lovely place.

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The great goat escape and other random nonsense.

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Most of the time the Facebook ‘memory’ feature annoys me, but last week it flashed back to this day 8 years ago and I had to laugh.

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Because 8 years ago that day our farming neighbor’s goats broke free and headed straight to our house. Have you ever tried to herd goats? As our neighbor will tell you…

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It’s not a one man job. We chased them around our property for quite a while and got nowhere, but with reinforcements we eventually managed to shoo them back home.

In other news, I saw this and had to share.

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Now that’s what I call mother’s revenge.

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Scrabble. Even with letters like that I reigned supreme and won the game.

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We have a dying shrub and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. We planted it 18 years ago and have never had an issue.

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Then I looked underneath it one day and saw the giant woodchuck burrow. Mystery solved.

😡

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I do.

I really do…

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Of gutters and baby woodchucks.

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Last weekend I was reading on the barn porch, enjoying the view of the neighbor’s farm…

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And of our other neighbor walking by….

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When suddenly my view changed.

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Because the husband decided it was time ( after I bugged him for 7… Yes, 7 years. ) to put up a gutter.

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I’ll spare you the four hour nightmare of angles, cutting, bracketing, ladder placement and yes a good bit of cursing as well…

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And get right to the cute stuff.

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A baby woodchuck.

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Make that two baby woodchucks. It’s summer and the little scampers are peaking out from under the barn. Totally adorable. And much more fun to watch than this…

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Especially since the gutter leaked like Hell the first time it rained.

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Eat. Pie. Love.

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The other day we drove almost 2 hours to look at a used pool table. It was a piece of junk and we had to drive almost 2 hours back. Funny how that works. So when I saw a sign that said Pies! Pies! Pies! I knew we had to stop.

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At an adorable little store on a lovely 40 acre farm.

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Yes, a mother and her 15 year old home schooled daughter run the entire farm by themselves. Please note all work is done by horse and ox. Maine women are nothing if not capable.

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The store was filled with the fruits of their labor. Jams, jellies, relishes, honey, pies, wool, dried flowers, wreaths, maple syrup, soap… and yes. Everything was made by their own hands.

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And this wasn’t some run down ramshackle operation. It was lovely, well kept and clean.

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When my husband opened the upright freezer and saw it was packed with pot pies, quiches, turkey soup, mushroom ravioli, pesto, and minestrone he asked the girl when they found time to sleep.

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Jam came home with us. As did some soap, some soup and of course…..

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Pie.

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Which instead of a traditional crust had a marvelously buttery and flaky rolled pastry foundation.

Pie.

It’s what’s for dinner.

And maybe breakfast.

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I love my town.

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Let’s check in with my little country town’s Facebook page shall we….

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Mainers. We’re a practical people… and this does make a certain kind of sense.

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I’ve heard of the Traveling Wilburys…. but the Traveling Pigeons? Wonder if the white one is lead guitar.

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Alright, so some of us are woefully out of touch.

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Sadly this was from our farming neighbor across the road. He’s had an honor system bucket for over a year now with no trouble, but I suppose it was bound to happen sometime.

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The wonderful part is after posting that snarky news flash, the town felt so badly they rallied around his vegetable stand and he made more money that day than what was stolen. Small towns rock!

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The latest square for the celebration quilt from our local ladies.

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And finally, when you need to raise money in our town?

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You auction pork.

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Can I get an awww?

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Our farming neighbors across the street are awesome people. Honest, hard working, nature loving, alternative lifestyle vegetarians who raise their kids the old fashioned way… no tv, no cell phones, just plenty of love and imagination. As witnessed by this letter and treasure map they mailed to the two little boys who live down the road.

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Now how fun is that?

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Sign me up.

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If we’re ever able to travel freely again? This might have to make my bucket list of go to now or die.

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What! I can sip the nectar of the Gods with one of their most glaring screw ups?

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I totally need to go.

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My most ardent hope is that they have a wombat. You know those guys let loose after a beer or two.

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I’m not sure standing in a pool with otters in a crate technically qualifies as swimming with an otter… but there may be wombats so I’ll over look the misleading description.

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There we go. The main attraction…. Chardonnay with sloths. These creatures move so slowly in the wild mold actually has time to grow on their fur.

If that’s not the very definition of my spirit animal, I don’t know what is.

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When you have a little too much fun with vegetables.

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A woman from my town posted this the other day after visiting our neighbor’s farm stand across the street.

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And I had to laugh.

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Because it was totally something I would do.

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Hell, we brought an anatomically correct eggplant to our local pub last year.

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Needless to say it was a big hit.

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And oddly enough, is still talked about fondly.

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Snow globe dining.

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Maine people have always known how to work around the weather. And though this winter has been mild compared to previous years, Covid restrictions have required businesses to use their imaginations like never before.

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Pineland Farms started life as a state run institution for the “idiotic and feeble minded” in 1907. Many horror stories floated out of those buildings, some from my cousin who worked there with mentally handicapped children in the late 70’s. It was closed in 1996 due to scandal and rumors of unsatisfactory care and has since undergone an amazing transformation.

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Nature trails, event weddings, a farm cooperative and store. They sell the beef they raise and the produce they grow. They make wonderful cheese and have a tasty little restaurant.

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But now?

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They have life sized snow globes as well.

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What’s not to love?

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