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The time of year Mainers go absolutely bat shit crazy over a tiny unfurled fern frond.
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The season is short and anxiously awaited. Foraging sites are secret and passed down from one generation to another.
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Cleaning methods are also hotly debated.
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Personally? I can’t stand the slimy little things… I don’t care how you cook them, they taste like swamp. But that’s okay, it just means there are more for you.
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This is the time of year my heart goes out to these graceful wild creatures.
Because in Maine?
It’s fly season.
And there’s nothing flies like more than a juicy deer.
The poor things are covered in them.
Day and night, night and day.
All over their bodies.
They twitch, they scratch, they shake like a Parkinson’s patient to no avail.
I can’t even imagine how horrible this must be.
I go berserk if one nasty fly finds me when I’m mowing the lawn…. I’d be stark raving mad if I had to contend with this many!
River's world..... 