Tagging a tree

Our custom is to bring the tree indoors on Christmas Eve and decorate it then. Sometimes we’ve even waited till that very morning to head out to the tree farm to harvest the one we had tagged earlier. But that was back in New Hampshire.

Here in Real Downeast Maine, we instead initially gleaned our Yule tree in the neighboring forests, sometimes even along country roads under utility lines, first in tabletop sizes and then full-size. The vegan member of our circle, however, complained that they weren’t full enough. She wanted something more classically ideal. Definitely nothing Charlie Brown.

Well, the natural – organic – ones do tend to grow mostly on one side, nestled in with others, unless you fell a taller evergreen and lop off the top five or six feet. Not that such an argument went anywhere. Even so, the rest of us were perfectly delighted with what we put up and strung lights on and all the rest.

Against that background, we finally relented and were then astonished at one nearby family tree farm that goes along for perhaps a half-mile in clearings along an unpaved lane into the bigger forest. There are probably enough trees for every child, woman, and man in the county, and the prices are ridiculously low in comparison to what you just paid, wherever.

The kids in the family will even come around with electric chainsaws to cut it down for you. What more could you ask? Well, maybe that netting before we jam it into the hatch of our car?

What you see here is us claiming one to be ours, that is “tagging” it with ribbon and an identifying label, ahead of time. We trust that nobody else will ignore those markers. (It’s happened to us only once, back in more populous Dover. We still found a fine replacement. Maybe better?)

My, those needles y do smell good, outdoors and in.

Here’s wishing you and yours and happy and memorable togetherness.

Regarding our real estate market

We were staggered and bewildered by the number of people – mainly from California, Texas, and New York – who were buying up properties out here, sight unseen during the height of the Covid epidemic. Well, that went for our Dover in New Hampshire, too. Their bids definitely inflated the selling prices.

It seemed pretty risky, from the locals’ point of view, and that included us. There are so many things, including warning signs, that you discover in a walkthrough of a property, fine distinctions that don’t appear in photos or descriptions. Just think of smells or the neighbors or even lighting as well.

There are also so many things you won’t catch if you see a property only in fine weather. Not just leaks or drafts, either. As a quip around here goes, will those buyers be selling once they’ve endured a winter living here?

We were lucky to purchase when we did. The prices not only went up dramatically soon after that, they’ve stayed up, We remain mystified about how young families are paying what they are for housing.

Gilkey Harbor memory

The member ships of the Maine Windjammer Association are independently owned and operated, and apart from setting firm departure and return dates, each of them ventures at the will of its skipper and the elements each day.

Watching the others in the course of a cruise is almost a game, and sometimes two or three wind up spending the night in the same cove, as happened here on Islesboro. We had the Heritage, above on one side, and the Angelique on the other, and the atmosphere was festive.

For more schooner sailing experiences, take a look at my Under Sail photo album at Thistle Finch editions.

One checkpoint where we lucked out

A miraculous thing for us was that the roofing shingles, which had prompted our big renovation project, had held on for the four years between the insurance company’s alarm after our purchase and the actual replacement. Not so for many other shingles around us, even those that had been replaced during those years.

My initial impression, looking at the real estate market when we started considering this move, had been that we could fit into something cheap and make do. But things were shifting.

Most homes we saw for sale had problems, either for my coconspirators or me. Many of the remodelings were utterly puzzling. Others really needed to be redone.

I wasn’t the one who zeroed in on Eastport, but now I cannot imagine anywhere else I’d want to be at this stage in my life. Maybe it’s like Swami when she came to the Poconos and felt the vibes.

The ideal of moving to an island in Maine is almost a cliché. Even a Downeast shore, or a bit to our west, like the Wyeth clan. But we did need to downsize.

At one point, my dream had been to live on a mountain lake. The ocean never even entered into the picture.

Yet here we are, surrounded by interesting people, too.