In My Easter Bonnet . . . Colorful Easter Carnage

Ok so it’s not really carnage.  Nor am I wearing a bonnet.  What defines a “bonnet” anyway?  It’s Spring!  Easter is Sunday.  I love this time of year!

Granted, it isn’t warm out, but it’s mild and there’s no snow and I made it through another Maine winter and hardly had to wear my long johns but still complained about the cold and waited patiently for this day or days like these.  Maybe not so patiently. 

Beyond finally basking in the light at the end of the tunnel, I love this time of year for so many reasons.  The crocuses are up in the yard.  The robins bob around my front lawn.  The daffodils are poking up bright green through the desolate garden beds.  Flowers will bloom!  The sun will shine!  All will be right in the world! 

And with Easter at our doorstep, the very best of it all . . . PEEPS. 

Ok, I have to admit I love peeps.  I tried chocolate bunny peeps (are they still a peep without a beak?) and almost melted into a puddle. 

I should probably get help.

This morning I worked out for two hours.  See how I try to justify my complusion?

This afternoon I ate two (so far) blue peeps.  With their little brown dot eyes . . . I couldn’t resist!

The Cadbury eggs have been around for a while, too.  I have to proudly say I have been able to stay away from them, even the caramel filled one.  And caramel is my favorite gooey sweet substance on earth.  You could put caramel on a tire and I’d eat it.  Well I guess that doesn’t hold true since --- ta da! --- I haven’t eaten a Cadbury egg.  I have had many opportunities.  I buy them for my daughter, who loves them and therefore I use it as a bribery tool to get my way.  I wish I could record an evil cackle after that.  I don’t bribe (much) I reward, but I tell her in advance what her reward will be . . .

When I was a kid, my sister and I would wake up so early on Easter morning and slither downstairs where my mom would have placed two identical (they had to be or we’d kill each other) baskets of Easter goodness. 

Growing up Catholic and therefore being forced to participate in the Lenten ritual of sacrifice I would usually have given up candy or some other innocuous item, since back then I really had no true vices from which to abstain.  I was a kid.  What do you know about sacrifice when you’re eight?

So after forty days with no candy that heaping basket was looking mighty fine.  My sister and I would sit on the floor with the baskets.  Mom and Dad would be awakened by our chatter and would haul out the camera as we dove in.  

Jelly beans by the thousands.

A pastel rainbow of wrapped chocolate things.

The aforementioned PEEPS!  (this must be where my habit developed.  So much for an innocent holy life without vices).

And always . . the star attraction . . . a huge chocolate bunny.  (Sorry but for some reason I don't have a chocolate bunny photo)  Colored candy eyes, sometimes a smart little bowtie . .  usually hollow but I didn’t know the difference.  I’d go for the ears; my sister, the feet. 

Somehow we’d survive the sugar overload in time to put on our Easter dresses that were purchased special every year for this occasion.  Sometimes scratchy.  Sometimes rough.  The Easter parade of matchy jumpers and patented leather shiny shoes still haunts me. 

Obviously this holiday has scarred me.

But now, I cope by buying my daughter the Cadbury eggs and picking up a couple of racks of Peeps, then hiding Easter eggs around the just bloomed crocuses and daffodils.

Enjoy my spring flowers and Easter candy visual overload.  I did it just for you. 

The dewey magnolia . . .

Next up:  Garden Season!!!

and it begins . . .

Maple Syrup Sunday in Maine

If you read my last post, you know that I’ve been exploring my Franco American heritage. In my contacts with the Franco American Center on the campus of the University of Maine in Orono, I was lucky enough to meet Lisa Michaud. Lisa extended an invitation to visit Dragonfly Farm & Winery in Stetson with her group. On Sunday, March 20th, a small group of us were welcomed warmly by the Nadeau family and given a tour and tastings of the operation.



 Bangor is a relatively large city in this part of the state. My home is just over the bridge, in Brewer, and maintains the feeling of a populous area. As we drove out of Bangor, into Kenduskeag, then Corinth, and finally into Stetson, the land and homes transformed into fields and farms. The day felt like spring, with blue sky and sunshine. It was nice to be getting out of town.

I’m not sure what I expected when I thought of a “farm”. I didn’t really expect livestock or rows of corn, but I was surprised to see two beautiful modern homes flanking the curved driveway. A small sign by the road told us we were in the right place. Between the homes and the road, blue tubing stretched from tree to tree, intertwining, meeting, and all the while, collecting sap from the maples. Co-owner Todd Nadeau, offered tastings of the sap out of one of the buckets hanging on the tree. It was only slightly sweet, unexpectedly refreshing.


Next Todd showed us the vineyard. It was obvious that this is a passionate endeavor. He and his wife Treena started this vineyard seven years ago with 275 vines. It has now grown to 600 vines, many different varieties and a distinctive fruit wine selection.


 For us, though, that day was about all things maple. Todd led us down to the edge of the woods, to the “cabane a sucre” or sugar shack, the home of the maple syrup production on the farm. Todd’s parents, Rita and John Nadeau, are from Jackman, Maine. As Rita explained, many of her friends and family made maple syrup when she was growing up. As retirement neared, the Nadeau’s decided to make the move. They built the “cabane” with wood from the land, and recently purchased a large evaporator to increase production of maple products.

 Pails hung from most of the trees, already tapped and running. John Nadeau let the kids in the group install a tap and hang the bucket with the cover on the tree. It didn’t take long for the clear liquid to start dripping from the tap.

Steam billowed out of the cupola vents on the roof of the Cabane. Inside, the evaporator was bubbling and frothing, filling the room with warmth. Rocking chairs and a woodstove gave the space such a homey feeling that it was difficult not to sit and relax. Rita was taking out the plates and napkins and serving up a slice of Maple Sugar Pie to each of us. It was delicious, sweet and creamy. I remembered my grandmother making sugar pie when I was young. Rita said it was a traditional recipe. On the stove nearby, she had pots bubbling the evaporated sap, boiling it down to syrup. Periodically she would pour some into a container where she would compare the color to a set of samples. She explained that syrup is lighter in color early in the season, and deepens as the weather warms.

After the pie, we went back out with John to collect sap from the buckets that hung on trees around the cabin. He used a tractor with an industrial sized plastic barrel strapped to the front. The kids took the buckets off the trees and poured the liquid into the barrel. John let the little ones ride with him from tree to tree.

When we made our way back to the cabin, Rita instructed us to fill a child’s sled with snow. With our hands, we packed in the crystallized snow and brought the sled back. After some stirring and testing, it was finally ready. After handing everyone some popsicle sticks, they poured some hot thick syrup onto the pressed snow. We swirled the warm gooey maple onto the sticks and enjoyed the maple taffy.

My daughter and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves visiting the Dragonfly Farm and wish to extend our thanks to the Nadeau family and the Franco American Center for giving us an experience that we had never had. Many of my ancestors had their “cabane a sucre” and supplemented their farming in the off season with maple syrup production. It was a nice reminder of simpler times.

This past weekend was Maple Sunday here in Maine. That’s when many maple farms open their doors and allow the public in to see how maple syrup is made. Dragonfly Farm and Winery is a participating farm. For more information, visit their website. Here is a link to Dragonfly Farm and Winery in Stetson, Maine. http://www.mainewinegrower.com/


Here is the link to the Franco American Center in Orono. Great resource for history and support. http://www.francoamericanarchives.org/

Snow is a four letter word

Snow map? Did he actually say we need to take look at the SNOW MAP? It’s April 27th and the weatherman on TV is giving out the details of the snow fall that is expecting throughout the state today and tomorrow.




Snow is a four letter word.



I’m wearing two pairs of socks today and it’s just not right. My long johns aren’t so deep in drawer that they can’t be retrieved if needed.  The sad part is that they might be needed. 



Cold is another four letter word.



Okay, okay. I’m good at letter counts. What I’m not good at is dealing with winter weather, especially when it’s happening well into spring. I was photographing tulips last night, people! As I get older, it seems that my tolerance for the cold is diminishing.

I’m not a skier, snowboarder, snow shoe enthusiast, snow mobiler, or one of those crazies who “just likes the cold”. I have no desire to venture out when the temperature is lower than 40 degrees. I don’t like the “brisk” winter air or the “crisp” fall days. As far as I’m concerned, autumn’s foliage is a sign of the impending doom of winter. The holidays get me through until January, but after that, bring on the spring. I’m ready for crocuses, daffodils, green grass and birds chirping. A white Christmas is all fine and dandy but enough is enough. Snow should be gone by January 1st. People comment on how it’s “so beautiful”. A bucolic snow covered meadow with the requisite red barn New England postcard scene? Ugh. The glistening, crystal clear icicles decorating a winter berry covered tree limb. Daggers of death, just waiting to leap off and impale you from behind, leaving you crumpled and frozen on the path, not to be found until the late spring thaw. Winter photographs do nothing except chill me. Being a photographer, I have a habit of envisioning myself in the shoes of the person holding the camera. That’s why I so love the photos I took of a deserted beach in Mexico. Not because they are visually stunning, photo contest winning scenes, but because MY TOES WERE IN THE SAND when the photo was taken. I was HOT when it happened. Winter scenes might thrill others, but if I have to see them, I’d rather it be in a magazine, instead of being right outside the door.



One of the only things that redeems winter weather is a good snow day – you know, schools closed, work cancelled, an excuse to stay in my pj’s and read or play games with my husband and daughter. Another is winter cooking: stews, chili, casseroles, pot roast, macaroni and cheese, lasagna, fresh baked rolls, apple crisp. I could go on and on about the food, but then it leads me to the offset: the sedentary lifestyle I lead in the winter. The couch and the warm crocheted blanket, a hot cup of something, the inability to budge from there, except to partake in the aforementioned culinary endeavors creates a recipe for the pudgy shape I seem to develop each winter. Snow days and winter cooking. That’s it. Winter pleasures stop there.



Deep breath. The grass is really green. Trees and flowers are budding and blooming. Spring truly has a grasp. This is just a little reminder of where we are and that we are not in control. Life in Maine can be pretty darn nice. The summers here are awesome. Near perfect for the short time they exist. There is a joke about the weather in Maine. It goes something like how there’s nine months of winter and three months of damn poor sledding (or sleddin’ if you’re going to say it right). Then there’s the classic “if you don’t like the weather in Maine (or New Hampshire or Vermont or just about anywhere) wait a minute, it’ll change.” Well, I don’t think it’s that volatile, but many a stunning summer day has been ruined by rain. And the summers are stunning. Really. Low humidity, maybe five days hot enough to run the air conditioner. Heck, we don’t even put one in the window any more. A few days that make you think “wow, it’s hot.” Not a complaint of mine, actually, more like a cause to turn my direction to that of the beach or lake.

Summer is close enough for me to envision it. May is just next week and it’s my favorite month. I love the long days, light until well after supper. I love the crazy colorful flowers that decorate even the most humble of homes. The bird’s songs are so insistent this time of year. Everything so urgently arriving. The threatened appearance of a little snow today is cause for appreciation, I suppose. Would I feel the same intensity about the flowers and green grass if they were in my life year round? Would I really find myself lingering to take it in before I head into the office? I dream of a year without snow, a year of traveling to stay out of the cold, but would I really want to live without winter for the rest of my life? I hate to say it, but I doubt it.