Giant Pumpkins

Growing giant pumpkins has become very competitive in Maine and in other parts of the US. The largest pumpkin grown in Maine this summer weighed 1,210 pounds. What does one do with a 1200 pound pumpkin?


Several years ago, Buzz Pinkham of Damariscotta, read a book on growing giant pumpkins that listed a number of things for which they could be used. One was to hollow out the giant gourd and use it as a boat. That summer he grew a giant pumpkin, removed the seeds and pulp, and muscled it down to the harbor for a test run. Giant pumpkins are not easily moved by one person. I can guess the process of transporting it required the help of others. By the time the day arrived for the test run about one hundred people had heard of his experiment and gathered to watch. "You can't really sneak into town with a pumpkin boat," he said.

That event was the seed of the Damariscotta Pumpkinfest and Regatta which has become a giant of a celebration in October. Bill Clark and Buzz Pinkham are co-founders of the festival which now includes a pumpkin regatta (some pumpkin boats have outboard motors), a pumpkin decorating contest, and a parade among several other activities. There is a pumpkin smashing contest, a pumpkin drop (this year onto a police car!), a pumpkin catapult, and pumpkin firing. People spend months growing them, tending them, and preparing to smash them. By the way, it took one contestant in the paddle contest four days to hollow out the pumpkin.

How big is a giant pumpkin? Generally it is between 500 and 600 pounds. Each year at the festival people give away seeds to grow giant pumpkins - insurance for more contenders in next year's festival. This year's winning giant pumpkin was grown by Elroy and Missy Morgan. "It grew 30 pounds per day for three weeks, weighing only 167 pounds on Aug. 3rd," reports the Bangor Daily News.

"I've had people say, 'That doesn't make sense,'" said Buzz. "We spend too much time in our lives trying to make sense of things. You have to have a day when things don't make much sense - and enjoy it."

The festival lasts about a week. You might want to include it in next year's travel plans.

Photos of this event and more information including how to harvest a giant pumpkin

Videos of 2007 Pumpkin Boats and Festival about 7 minutes, and 2008 video, 2 minutes

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This story was writeen by Betsy Hanscom and published in the Maine Warmers November 2009 e-Newsletter. This month's special was for Foot Warmers and a Neck Warmer. To sign up for her newsletter and be entered into a monthly drawing for a free warmer please visit the web site and follow the links.

Pie and Paddle

Linda Dexter (pronounced Linder Dextah by most Mainahs)* owns a charming gift shop named Ecopelagicon, where she also rents kayaks. The name of her store was formed from three parts: "eco, for ecology; pelagic, a word meaning living or growing at or near the surface of the ocean; and con, for conservation."

Ecopelagicon sits slightly back from the main street in Rangeley, Maine, on the edge of Haley Pond, which flows into Rangeley Lake, but "you can't get there from here unless you're a fish," says Linda.

Kayaking is a growing sport in Maine as in many other parts of the country. What's unique, in Rangeley, is a weekly "Pie and Paddle" event started by Linda and now quite popular among some of the locals. It began on the spur of a moment one day.

On her way out to join two friends for a morning of kayaking she carefully wrapped up some leftover blueberry pie, poured coffee into a thermos and grabbed a few cups, plates, & forks. After paddling from the center of town out to Maneskootuk (pronounced man' es scoo took) Island in Rangeley Lake, they stopped for a break and conversation. The two friends were pleasantly surprised when Linda offered them pie and coffee, and they happily accepted the treat.

One of the lady kayakers offered to bring pie the following week for their excursion. Word spread fast and since then the number of morning paddlers has grown.

Now when they reach the island they hook all the kayaks together and pass an assortment of pies from kayak to kayak being careful not to feed pie to the fish. Meat pies and healthy quiche type concoctions are not allowed. Muffins, Danish, donuts or anything else will be sent back uneaten.

"We have rules about what we bring for pie...no quiche, pork pie, tofu pie or anything that is posing as a pie but is a meal. Dessert Pies Only!!!" says Linda.

Linda has been named the official Pie Warden.

If you happen to visit Rangeley, Maine be sure to stop and see Linda. She has a nice smile and a great sense of humor. If you go kayaking remember to take some pie and coffee to share with friends.

*Mainers do not pronounce the letter R when it appears at the end of a word, but when a word ends in A they'll put one in.

Photo of Linda by Carol Sullivan
Photo of the yummy looking pie by The Pie Warden herself

Ecopelagicon carries Maine Warmers microwave heating pads. Check out their Moose Warmers and Cozy Bear Warmers in stores or online.

Another Member of the Atlantic Club

Cars are frequent topics of conversation on the island because we all drive beaters -- motor vehicles that won't pass inspection (not required by law on the island). Most still have enough miles left on them to last several summers and provide numerous tales of woe. A car story I hadn't heard emerged last summer as we dined with friends one evening.

Our dear friend John was operating a 1992 Chevy S-10 that did not have an emergency brake or first gear. On Friday of Memorial Day week end a few years ago, using this truck, he had launched a new row boat and was preparing to load the old one onto the bed of his Chevy. He had backed the truck down the boat ramp, near the Stone Pier, on this lovely late afternoon and left it in reverse gear to keep it from rolling.

The Stone Pier still remains one of the busiest places on the island. Fisherman and commuters who have boat moorings use the Stone Pier daily. A ferry boat pulls up to a float where passengers depart and arrive from the mainland. Islanders, meeting friends and relatives, and kids just wanting to see some "action," show up at the Stone Pier in sync with the boat schedule. In the bay, lobster and pleasure boats bob up and down and point into the wind. On the left side of the boat ramp sits the 7th tee of a golf course. It's a Par 3 hole and an 80 to 90 yard shot from the tee to the green, which sits across a small cove.

As John stopped to talk with Lindy (the ferry boat captain) and Leon (a local resident) on the pier, the truck, suddenly and mysteriously "rolled backwards, started, and shot into the cove," disappearing into about eight feet of ocean water.

It's hard to describe how cold the ocean water in Maine is in May. The northward flowing mild current of the Gulf Stream misses the Maine coast, and Arctic-like ocean waters crash onto our beaches and rocky shores. My theory is that most Islanders don't learn to swim because the Gulf of Maine water is too darn cold. When water temperatures are between 40 & 50 degrees F., a person immersed in water without any protection, can lose consciousness in 30 to 60 minutes. That's probably why boats are kept in great condition - - unlike cars. On Memorial Day weekend the ocean temperature around the island is between 45 and 50 degrees.

After the initial shock and discussion of how to get the truck out of the water and avoid problems with the DEP, Leon jumped into his truck and drove home to get a long rope while John contemplated having to go into the water to do what had to be done. John is a self-proclaimed bad swimmer.

When Leon returned and fed the long rope down the ramp, Ruthy, an island lady who seems to know everything that goes on around the island, showed up on the 7th tee.
"What's going on, John?" she asked, eyeing the rope going from Leon's truck to the water."Oh, nothing," replied John."Something must be going on! What's that rope?""Oh nothing."
The truck was totally invisible -- the water innocently reflecting blue sky, hiding the captive truck, and keeping their secret. Off she went to finish her golf game.

John had to swim out to the truck, and in several uncomfortable dives open the doors, open the windows, thread the rope through the windows, and tie a knot. He did a great rendition of Lloyd Bridges in Sea Hunt showing us how he swam into the cab of the truck. He was not able to get down far enough in the cab to depress the clutch, but after several tries was able to budge the gear shift out of reverse and into neutral.

Lindy had to leave to pick up a bumper crop of holiday weekend travelers in the ferry boat which would return to the island in 30 minutes.

Leon started pulling the Chevy along until it caught on a rock on the bottom of the cove. John enlisted the help of an idle teenager and had to go back into the water to maneuver the truck over the rock. The air in the tires helped to elevate it just enough so John and the teenager could stand on the roof and bounce up and down until it cleared the rock. The ocean finally gave up the drowned truck just before the ferry boat pulled up to the float at the Stone Pier.

John returned home to his wife Annie who was wondering what was taking him so long. (I am sure he used his Maine Warmer right then). Now a member of the infamous Atlantic Club,* he drives a decent truck with an emergency brake and all gears.

*The Atlantic Club is a group of people who, usually through circumstances within their control, have had a motor vehicle end up in the Atlantic Ocean, sometimes with them inside. Once the vehicle is immersed in salt water it is unsalvageable and is hauled off to the crusher.

--- This story appeared in the June 2009 issue of Maine Warmers e-Newsletter. Subscribers to the newsletter are eligible to win a warmer -- microwave heating pad - in a monthly drawing and receive special offers not available to the general public. Visit Maine Warmers Sale page to save on Neck Warmers and Specials page to save on Brown Bear warmers.

Ahead of Her Time

At 6 PM I would leave the chaos and schedules of my young family behind to attend a writers' critique group at Deb's house. For a few hours we shared our written and verbal stories as we do today, over twenty years later. I recall relaxing on her off-white couch, sipping tea, and enjoying the large paintings that helped create an atmosphere of peace and calm in her living room. Four cats squeezed between our laps or perched behind us on the back of the sofa. There were no children.

After years of trying to conceive a child -- utilizing all that modern medicine had to offer -- Deb announced that she and her husband decided to follow a new path. They were seeking open adoption - a term of which I was completely ignorant and skeptical. Back then, this was a new frontier in adoption, and Deb was a pioneer.

Deb and her husband were at the hospital the day each child was born. After delivery, they participated with the birth mother in naming their child. Deb keeps in touch with each birth mother, sending photos, inviting them for birthdays, and keeping them up to date on the activities of their children.

Through her written stories -- read aloud at our critique sessions -- I learned about the sea of emotions that envelop the birth mother when deciding what to do with an unborn child she cannot support. I was struck by the unselfish love for her baby. Often the stigma of an unwanted pregnancy causes a birth mother to be ashamed of her actions and to hide the fact that she gave a child up for adoption. She often fails to see beyond the guilt at the incredible gift of a precious baby to a couple who could not conceive.

It wasn't until Deb's oldest son, Ben, was 15 that the connection with the birth father and his family was made. A large number of his relatives gathered and welcomed Ben, Deb, and family with open arms in a celebration that lasted for days.

The second child Deb adopted, Dan, has a birth mother who flew to Maine to visit for a week in Deb's home. Deb and family flew over a thousand miles to visit her three times - twice for special events.

"Isn't it scary -- knowing the birth parents?" people ask Deb. She explains that children want to know their birth parents loved them and not feel guilty or think they did something to cause their parents to give them away. Likewise, birth parents always wonder what happened to the child whose custody they couldn't keep and for whom they wanted the very best. Knowing their child is loved and supported and that they have the option to find out how the child is doing helps ease those worries and feelings of inadequacy or guilt.

Over the years I have witnessed Deb's joys and frustrations as she met the ordinary challenges of raising her sons. What is extraordinary and receives little recognition is how she works to maintain the relationships between the children and their birth parents. It is an enormous gift.
Today the lovely paintings in Deb's living room are camouflaged by various teenage toys -- a computer, desk, printer, bookshelves crowded with DVDs, other electronics, and board games -- squeezed in around the couch. A piano and woodstove vie for space on the periphery - not to mention the drum set in the family room. A unique but joyful family history sits in picture frames on the bookshelves and covers the refrigerator and walls. There are two young cats and a dog.

I am a bit envious of the activity in her life - my grown children now moved out and the house too peaceful and quiet most of the time. Today Deb is happy to leave the chaos and schedules of her teenagers for an evening in the peaceful calm living rooms of the other writers - sipping tea and sharing stories.

by Betsy Hanscom
Owner, Maine Warmers ®

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Rolet -- Part II

Hugging the coast of Maine are hundreds of small islands some of which are drivable by cah.* Island cahs do not need state inspections like mainland vehicles do, but they do need to be registered and insured. We don't drive many miles on an Island that is only four miles long and one wide. The roads are either dirt or in dire need of repair and the speed limit is 25 mph.

After several years of riding a bicycle to the store, library, and even the town dump I was overjoyed with the idea of having even a beat up old cah (often referred to as a beatah) to drive during our summer vacation on the Island. Good friends had offered us a Honda with 200,000 miles that had been used by their teenage son.

Soon after we accepted their thoughtful gift we hired a mechanic to free the brakes which had somehow seized up while the Honda sat idle for a week. I wrote checks to pay the excise tax, registration, and liability insurance. There was also the cost of transporting it to the island and driving it to the cottage. It seemed well worth the cost when I thought of finally hauling the old lawn mower, leftover building materials, and paint cans out of the shed and depositing them at the dump.

When my husband, our youngest son, Brian, his girlfriend, Karen (high school students at the time), and I arrived on the Island that summah, I loaded up the cah. On the way to the dump I stopped to put gas in the empty tank.

After lunch Brian and Karen drove off on a tour of the Island. There is a road that cuts through a golf course and ends at a stone pier where kids often congregate. Having shown off the new wheels and Karen to his friends Brian started up the road. Just where the road cuts through the 4th hole of the golf course the front passenger's side wheel fell off and the Honda came to a screeching halt.

Without AAA or cell phones, Brian and his buddies managed to get the Honda to the Island mechanic, Dave, who also happens to be a good friend of ours. "I have a loanah you can take," Dave told Brian and gave him the keys to a 1963 Chevrolet with the letters "CHEV" missing from the decoration on the grill.

My husband and I were strolling down the beach in unsuspecting bliss when we looked up and saw Brian and Karen in the Chevy jerking and lurching up the road to the cottage. It had a standard transmission, and the gear shift was on the steering column, called "three on the tree" by car aficionados, not something that is seen in cahs today. Brian, unfamiliar with anything but a four on the floor standard transmission, was struggling to figure out where to find first, second, and third gears. He was mostly finding reverse. Karen - if not impressed by this time - was a good sport.

I wrote a check to have the Honda transported off the Island and taken to the junk-yahd. We remained good friends with the people who gave us the Honda, accepted the cah we called the ROLET (pronounced ro-let') as a gift from Dave, and for several summahs drove happily to the Island store, library, and dump.

*Mainahs don't pronounce "R's" at the end of words and put them in when they don't belong.

by Betsy Hanscom, Owner, Maine Warmers

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My Father

Today is my father’s 88th birthday. A few years ago I feared that he would not be living today. I believe his desire to socialize and his sense of humor have contributed to a long prosperous life. My mother – age 85 - takes good care of him, and they are fortunate to be able to spend summers in Maine and winters in Florida.

My dad experienced the Great Depression and then married my mother before departing for Africa and Italy to serve in the Army during World War II. While on a reconnaissance mission, not far from the Arno River, the day before his 26th birthday, he stepped on a land mine and lost the lower portion of his leg.

With the aid of an artificial leg he carried on a lifetime of activities, raising three kids, completing a graduate degree in chemistry while working full time, and playing lots of golf. People never realized he had a disability. As a kid, when I was angry with him he would tell me I could kick him in the leg, then he put his left leg forward. It always brought a smile.

At age 75 a stroke took the use of his right hand and made speech difficult for him. It did not take away his great sense of humor and positive attitude. He learned to write with his left hand, and continued to use the computer -- teaching me how to use publishing software programs. He snapped one-handed digital pictures and wrote Newsletters for a group of Floridian friends who call themselves the O’Hellions. In writing he would poke fun at their card game conversations and the following week his letter would be read aloud. You never heard such laughter!

In a phone conversation with my mother yesterday she related their social activities of the week. Last Saturday a neighbor, David, dropped in to wish my father a Happy Veteran’s Day and my folks invited him for dinner. Later in the week David made a big salad, bought pizza, and stayed to enjoy it with them. Another night, Bob, from across the street, popped in for a glass of wine. Two afternoons Bruce from across the street stopped in to chat and to help them with a few odds & ends. Darla, in the next house down, delivered freshly made biscuits. Tonight my folks will take sisters Jamie and Doria – the two daughters of old family friends to dinner to help celebrate my father’s birthday. This is an example of a fairly routine week for them in Florida.

Their neighborhood in Maine was the exact opposite. My mother has often referred to it as "Dullsville."

Last spring, as my father was trying to regain some weight and balance after another stroke, I spent a week helping them close the Florida house and return to Maine for the summer. I wanted to enjoy a walk in the Florida sunshine but hated to leave my father sitting inside by himself. So I borrowed wheel chair from Sarah who lives at the end of the street with a plan to push him while I took a brisk walk. To my surprise he said, “No - I want to push the wheel chair – not sit in it!” He pushed, and when he got tired he sat, and I pushed. After a week of daily walks and talks he was eating better, sleeping soundly, and encouraged at how far he was able to walk.

Back in Maine, with his own brand new wheel chair he exercised by himself outside and then sat in the drive-way to enjoy the sun. One after another, the neighbors came out of their houses to talk with him or stopped to chat as they were driving by. My folks began to meet and know neighbors they had hardly seen for the 15 years. That night my father asked my mother to make a cardboard sign. The next day, as he sat wearing a jacket and knit hat in the wheel chair at the end of the driveway, he held the sign that said, “WILL WORK FOR FOOD.”

No more "Dullsville."

Written November 2006

Teens in a Jeep

A sandbar connects our Maine island to a little island and at low tide is enjoyed by walkers, waders, and swimmers. When the tide is high about 6 feet of salt water covers the sandbar. It is affectionately referred to as “the bar” by islanders but pronounced “bah.” Years ago, when the little island was populated, a milkman drove across the sandbah at low tide in a truck to deliver fresh milk, bread, and donuts to the residents.

The mile-long stretch between the two islands is sandy, muddy, rocky, and marshy. It has curves and undulations that shift over time, like children who change each year but never lose their general character. When our kids were small they played in the shallow gentle waves at low tide finding sand dollars, crayfish, and hermit crabs.

In the evenings, as we sit around the suppah table we share stories of each day’s island adventures -- and misadventures. One night this summer, the table conversation was started by my husband, saying how easy it was to put the boat in the water on the beach with our newly acquired 1998 4-wheel drive “beater” truck. Our son, Brian, now age 30, asked, “Did I ever tell you about the time Randy got a 4-wheel drive jeep stuck on the sandbah?”

I was happy not to have heard this story when he was a teenager and have changed the names of the participants to protect the guilty.

A mixture of island teens -- residents and summer kids -- would play all day on the beaches, meet after suppah at the general store, have an ice-cream, then walk or bicycle to a beach of their choice to hang out until curfew.

One summer, Jessica showed up sporting a 4-wheel drive jeep in better condition than most Island cahs. It was purchased at an extraordinarily low price by her parents just a few days prior to their summer vacation. The third night after her arrival Ben and Randy convinced Jessica to let them drive the jeep across the bah. As soon as she said yes the kids piled in -- Randy at the wheel and Jessica the last one on board -- and off to the sandbah road they rushed. Down the dirt road to the beach they bounced and then out onto the bah. As they approached the middle, the jeep suddenly sunk up to its frame in gray clammy mud. Amazingly the 4-wheel drive feature did nothin’ to free it. They got out and tugged. The tide inched its way up the sand. They collected more friends to help tug. The water now was an inch high all around the jeep. Frantically, they borrowed motor boats and long ropes and tugged more. No matter what they tried the jeep would not budge. From the shore they watched in pain as the tide swallowed the jeep.

Jessica finally had to go home and wake her father from a sound sleep. “Dad,” she said softly, “the jeep is stuck on the sandbarrrrr.”

Pause.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“Three AM.”

Pause.

“Why didn’t you wait until morning to tell me?”

In daylight some very helpful Islanders with just the right boats, ropes, and experience hauled the jeep from the mud. Jessica walked to the evening gatherings the rest of the summer.

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by Betsy Hanscom, owner of Maine Warmers -- microwave heating pads and gentle ice packs --whimsical gifts for active teens who occasionally develop strains or sprains in the course of physical activity Cozy Sheep, Moose, Bears