Aroostook County Memories

The sky, in Aroostook County, is a sharp, clear blue with large fluffy white clouds floating lazily across it and the slight breeze is so fresh and clean that the first thing one notices is that it doesn’t have any smell at all. The air sweeps across the close-cropped pastures and down through the acres upon acres of potato fields with barely a ruffling of the leaves. With the advent of autumn, the wild grasses have turned a deep gold and their stocks contrast deeply with the lush greenness of the potato plants.

The soft droning of bees is all that one can hear as they gather nectar from the multitude of flowers, which grow in wild profusion in the over-grown pastures as far as the eye can see. The patches of bright orange, red and gold Indian paintbrushes sway to and fro in the gentle breeze like the heads of sleepy children.

Down below what we Stevens’ kids called “Sutherland’s Hill” there is the shimmer of silver as the late afternoon sun is reflected off the slowly moving Aroostook River as it winds its way past Masardis, Garfield, Ashland and Sheridan on its lazy way through the county. If one ventures closer to the river, you can clearly see the ripple of the water, as the numerous fish rise to the surface to feed off the hoards of insects that are floating on it. The slap of a beaver’s tail on the water sounds like a cannon’s boom in the silent, fall air.

Across the river on the Garfield side, the stands of Pine, Spruce, Hemlock, Beech and Maple stand straight and tall like sentries in the army of the forest. In the lush coolness, there is ample evidence of the abundance of wild animals and one can readily see that rabbits, bear, moose, deer, raccoons, muskrats, mink and otter still occupy this vast area. The intermingling calls of bluejays, crows, ravens and woodpeckers echo in the quiet stillness of the fall day.

Off in the distance, you can also hear another sound, the sound of man and his chainsaw as its steel teeth rip through the white meat of the virgin timber. The snarl and smoke of the monster skidder permeates the air as the huge machine struggles to pull the slaughtered logs up out of a deep ravine and load them onto the steel bodies of the waiting logging trucks.

If you raise your head a bit and look off in the distance, your eyes will naturally be drawn to the southern horizon. There is an oft-repeated expression “On a clear day, you can see forever,” and from where our house stood on a high knoll on the Goding Road, we couldn’t exactly see forever but on a clear day we could see the majesty of Mt. Katahdin about seventy-five miles to the south.

When winter comes once again to Aroostook County the harsh realities of living confined, for the most part, in doors for the next six or seven months, is almost too much to bare. Another winter of bone-chilling cold, wet socks and mittens and long, woolen underwear are the realities of living in the county. Wet wool, Kerosene and the crackle of the wood burning stove are all too familiar smells and sounds to a true Mainer. This time of year is always a season of hardship, suffering and most of all great patience for those who live in the county.

Even with all this hardship, living in the two million five hundred thousand plus acres, Aroostook County is a place of great beauty too. On nights when the temperature hovers around zero, the Aurora Borealis, with its shimmering bands of rainbow colors, dances its way across the Northern sky as continued proof that it has been choreographed by the master choreographer himself. The Indians, who are older than time, called this magical event “The Dance of the Heavenly Spirits,” and this so aptly describes this atmospheric phenomenon.

At times, the cold is so intense that it completely freezes the sap in the trees and even the slightest wind will cause the swaying branches to break, with a sharp sound like gun shots in the frigid air. Cold sears the tissues of the nose and lungs and compels one to move about quickly on their appointed rounds.

Man is completely at the mercy of Mother Nature in this unrelenting season. The morning may dawn bright and clear but within the hour, the sky has turned a dull gray and the wind shifts out of the North with a vengeance. The wind-driven snow comes skittering across the desolate potato fields to pile-up in huge drifts across the roads. The only contrast to the barren whiteness is the leafless trees and fence posts as they stand like sentinels in the swirling snow.

In Aroostook County, in the dead of winter, the roads remain in alternating conditions of either deep-piled snowdrifts or frozen ribbons of steel blue ice and one ventures out of doors only under extreme cases of necessity. To live and survive in Northern Maine, year after year, requires not only extreme patience but also an indefatigable spirit or a combination of both are required in order to live in this, as our mother used to call it, “God-forsaken” place.

Visitors, who live in warmer climes, which to us Stevens’ kids, meant any place south of Bangor, often voiced the opinion that “The County” must be a wonderful place to live when there is so much snow. Upon hearing this, Mother would roll her eyes and mutter a few choice words under her breath and say, “Surely God protects dreamers, fools and children.”

By Martha Stevens-David @ lmdmsd@megalink.net