I posted some photos of the pumpkins from the annual festival in Damariscotta recently… and among them was Wilbur.
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With Charlotte, the beloved spider from the classic children’s story above his head.
I dropped some literary trivia that the story was written in Maine, about two hours up the coast from our home and thought I’d share some more history.
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It really is a sweet origin story.
If you can get past the fact he had hundreds of baby spiders in his bedroom… by choice.
😳
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In the late 1940s, author and essayist E.B. White was performing routine farm chores in his barn in Brooklin, Maine, when he began observing an orb-weaver spider residing near the doorway. Night after night, he watched her repair her web and capture prey with quiet, mechanical devotion. In October, as her life neared its natural end, she spun a silk egg sac containing hundreds of eggs before disappearing.
Before leaving Maine for New York City that winter, White carefully removed the egg sac using a razor blade, placed it in a candy box with air holes, and set it on his bedroom bureau.
Weeks later, hundreds of microscopic spiderlings emerged, spinning delicate silk lines across his hairbrush and scissors. Moving by the devotion of a creature constructing a future she would never live to see, White resolved to write a story about friendship, mortality, and survival.
Determined to ground the narrative in factual accuracy, White studied the works of arachnologist Willis J. Gertsch and John Henry Comstock’s The Spider Book. Discovering the spider in his barn was Araneus cavaticus, he named his protagonist Charlotte A. Cavatica.
Published in 1952, Charlotte’s Web tells the story of Wilbur, a runt pig saved from slaughter by Charlotte, a barn spider who weaves praised words into her web, including SOME PIG, TERRIFIC, and RADIANT.
Exhausting her remaining strength at the county fair, Charlotte lays her egg sac, bids Wilbur farewell, and passes away alone at the fairgrounds after securing his future.
When editors urged White to alter the ending to spare young readers, he adamantly refused. He insisted that the emotional weight and integrity of the story depended on Charlotte’s mortality, giving children an honest reflection on grief, devotion, and friendship.
Decades later, when White recorded the unabridged audiobook, it took him seventeen takes to read Charlotte’s final scene without his voice breaking.
Passing away in October 1985 at age eighty-six, E.B. White left behind a literary masterwork that taught generations of children that love and care poured out for others endure long after we are gone.
Ours certainly doesn’t earn his keep, but we love him all the same.
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Yes, Maine is famous for something other than lobsters and Stephen King. It’s a bright red hot dog with a thick skin that snaps when you bite it. Can’t say I’m a fan, but natives love them.
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Finding out they’re going to be dyed with these insects?
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Makes me twice as glad I don’t eat them.
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In the 70’s?
That sounds about right.
And speaking of the 70’s…
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Lord, I hated that rope.
Don’t think I ever made it all the way to the top.
And as for the mat, I think we bounced easier back in those days.
Every October the town of Damariscotta Maine has a pumpkin festival.
Every year we say we’re going to attend. and every year we don’t. But my Facebook feed is always flooded with other people’s photos, so I’m going to share some.
The whole town gets in on the fun and local businesses along Main Street display some pretty fantastic gourds.
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Some are sweet.
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Some are funny.
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Some are downright weird.
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This is Wilbur, with Charlotte on her web right above him. Did you know that famous book was written in Maine? On a farm right up the coast.
Some pig indeed.
❤️
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This artichoke was fabulous.
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And the overall creativity factor?
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Off the charts.
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There was a really good assortment this year.
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But my favorite?
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The giant pumpkin crab in front of King Eider’s Pub, which happens to be our go to spot in town.
They held a naming contest.. and I heartily approve of the winner.
Lenny Crabitz.
🤣
King Eider’s is famous for their sense of humor and exterior signs.
Lobsters are greenish brown when alive and scurrying around on the bottom of the ocean. Though every once in a while a fisherman will haul up a genetic mutation cotton candy blue, a yellow or an orange.
Those are rare, 1 in 10 million to 1 in 30 million.
But the other day?
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Now that’s rare.
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And wonderfully bizarre.
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People have been bitching about high gas prices for months, but in Maine…. where most houses have oil furnaces? We’re going to start bitching about heating oil now. Last year it was $3.42 a gallon…. today? It’s almost $6.
Our house uses roughly 200 gallons a month in the dead of winter … December through the end of March… and that’s set to a median temperature of 69 degrees, not the 73 my always cold husband would prefer. At today’s price of $5.96?
That’s $1,192.
A month.
Can we afford it? Yes. But it still hurts. And how about all the Mainers who can’t?
Something’s got to give.
Heat shouldn’t be a luxury.
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The hummingbirds are gone and these silly sparrows have taken over the feeders I need to bring in. Sorry guys, you’re too big.
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Since no one has ever said my weekly useless news posts “highlight crucial nuances”? I’m guessing the bots have started commenting.
But as I was standing on the back deck taking pictures, I noticed something to the left.
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In front of the woodshed.
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We have a few morning skunks nibbling under the bird feeders now and then and they often scurry into the shed if they spot me.
But this one wasn’t scurrying.
😰
I’m going to issue a warning now.
This poor little guy was dead, and since we love our backyard visitors like family … and I’ve never been close enough to touch a skunk…. I did that morning. I also took pictures, which might be disturbing.
So again, here’s my warning.
Dead animal photos to follow.
Please leave now if you find it distressing.
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Skunks don’t live very long in the wild. On average only two to four years. And since we didn’t see any signs of injury, we’re guessing it was just this sweet little fellow’s time.
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He looked very peaceful. As if he simply laid down and went to sleep.
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I like to think the beautiful sunrise helped him on his way.
I’m going to share a local story that made me cry.
But in a good way, as it has a beautiful ending.
Mainers have been following updates on this tale for the past few weeks and the entire timeline below is quoted from Sullivan Sanctuary.
Let me know if you’re crying at the end too.
😉
Hi… my name has been Pie, and Charlie, and Phoenix. But today, I want to tell you my whole story — the way I lived it.
When I was a tiny kitten, a little girl named Abby picked me up and held me close. She was seven, and she smelled like crayons and summertime. She named me Pie, and I loved the way she said it — soft and warm, like a hug. I grew up with her. I slept on her pillow every night. I followed her everywhere. I was her best friend, and she was mine.
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One day, when Abby was eighteen, she took me to Petco in xxxxxx to be groomed. We lived in xxxxxx, so the drive felt familiar. But when we got there… something scared me. A noise, a smell, a moment too big. I panicked. I ran. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to leave her. But my paws carried me into the woods behind the parking lot, and suddenly I couldn’t find her anymore.
I heard her calling for me. I heard her crying. I tried to go back, but I was too scared and too lost.
For days, Abby and her family searched. They walked the woods. They called my name. They made flyers and hung them everywhere. I saw one once — my own face staring back at me — but I didn’t know how to get home.
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July turned into August. Abby had to leave for college. I didn’t know that, but I felt her sadness in the air. I felt the world change.
And I kept walking.
For two long months, I wandered through Maine’s woods. I slept under trees. I hid from storms. I was hungry, scared, tired, and lonely. But I kept going, because something inside me whispered that love might still be out there.
One late September day, I came upon a house in xxxxx . I was so tired. My paws hurt. My belly hurt. My heart hurt. A young boy walked into the yard — gentle, quiet, kind. His name was Joey.
He knelt down slowly. I walked to him. And for the first time in months… I felt safe.
Joey called me Charlie. It wasn’t the name I grew up with, but it felt like love. And I could tell Joey needed me. So I stayed.
For five beautiful years, I was Joey’s cat. I greeted him after school. I slept beside him. I played with his siblings. I watched him grow up. I loved him, too — because my heart has always had room for more.
Meanwhile, Abby was growing up far away. She went to college. She fell in love. She built her life. But when her father passed away suddenly three years ago, she started searching for me again. She checked shelters. She checked social media. She held onto a tiny hope that I might still be alive.
I didn’t know she was looking for me. But I never stopped loving her.
In January 2026, my body started to feel strange. I was losing weight. I was having accidents. I didn’t understand what was happening. Joey’s mom took me to the vet, and they said I was an older diabetic cat. Joey gave me insulin every day. He tried so hard to help me.
But in September, Joey’s family went on a weekend trip. Someone was coming to feed me and give me my medicine, but I fell asleep in the sun and missed my dose. The next day, I felt dizzy and confused. My legs didn’t work right. I wandered away — not far, but far enough that I couldn’t get back.
I saw a kind lady. I walked up to her because I didn’t feel good and I didn’t know what else to do. She gave me food and water and called for help.
That’s when Sullivan Sanctuary found me.
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Peyton and Lindsay scooped me up gently, whispering soft things. They brought me to Casey, who made me a warm bed and called me Phoenix, because I looked like a cat trying to rise again. They rushed me to the emergency vet because they knew I was in trouble.
They tried to find my family — and they did. Joey’s mom was so worried. They loved me so much. But when they learned how sick I was, they made the brave, heartbreaking choice to let the Sanctuary take over so I could survive.
They saved my life.
And then… something unbelievable happened.
A woman saw my picture online. She stared at my freckles. She sent photos. She asked questions. And suddenly everyone realized:
I wasn’t just Charlie. I wasn’t just Phoenix. I was Pie. Abby’s Pie. Her childhood best friend.
After five years, she found me.
When Abby walked into the room at the vet, I didn’t understand at first. I sniffed the air. I listened to her voice. And then… something inside me lit up like it had been waiting all this time.
I knew her. I remembered her. My girl.
I leaned into her hands and felt home again.
Abby and her husband followed Casey back to the Sanctuary, where Lindsay met them. Everyone cried and laughed and connected the dots of my long, winding journey. They told me I was going home.
On Sunday, I’ll go back to Abby — back to the place where I first learned what love was. I’ll see Owen, my old kitty friend. Abby will give me my medicine. And the Sanctuary will visit me. And Joey… Joey can visit too. Because I love him, and he loved me, and Abby said he will always be welcome.
I had three names. I had three families. And I loved them all.
I survived woods, winters, illness, and time. I found love over and over again. And I never stopped trying to find my way home.
My name is Pie–Charlie–Phoenix. And this… this is my story.
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Just looking at the final picture chokes me up.
Love.
It really does conquer all.
❤️
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
