The Case of the Phantom Defecator

Hello Everyone,

Over the past month, this island has been in complete pandemonium. Gossip, back stabbing, people threatening lawsuits, familial fights, resignations, the list goes on and on... and at the bottom is where I’ll begin.

The Town government is run by the “Board of Selectmen,” an old-timey form of government consisting of three people who basically run the town. One of the Selectmen is a retired Naval commander with an intense Mainer accent, clipped enunciation and unbearably evil personality. Every meeting, he embarks on a very long monologue about some citizen of the month who has done something wrong or caused a stir. I’ve been the topic for half of the September 2009 and the entire February 2010 diatribe...but I’m not going into that. Usually these speeches make people’s eyeballs roll back in their heads and you can hear audible grunts from the audience, but last month’s monologue had people on the edges of their seats...

(The following is paraphrased, but damn close)
“I’d like to be granted approval for the installation of video cameras on my island.” He starts (he lives on an island other than my own). “Yesterday, I got in my truck to go get my morning coffee down at the store and when I turned on the windshield wipers to remove the dew, I noticed a large pile of human feces heaped on the hood. I immediately got out to inspect and on either side of this pile of excrement were two indentations, from feet. Somebody had squatted on the hood of my truck and taken a shit. I would like immediate permission to install video recording devices and I am offering a 500 dollar reward for any evidence or testimonials incriminating this Phantom Defecator! I have received information that on the evening of this crime, a person was seen driving recklessly in a golf cart wearing a cape and a batman mask. ”

From my chair in the back of the room, despite all the restraint I could muster, including plugging my nose, I emitted a squeak of laughter. Aggravated, the selectman looked directly at me from across the room and roared: “You seem to be finding this lewd act to be quite hilarious. Perhaps you had something to do with it?”

I felt like I was in 7th grade again getting verbally abused by my math teacher, Mr. Cash. But before I had a chance to say anything, a man in front of me stood up and said: “I bought a gallon of raspberries from her last week and she remarked to me that she must have eaten a whole quart of them while picking. With all do respect, Sir, did the poo look like cat scat or bear scat (cat scat has bone fragments and hair while bear scat contains seeds and berries)? From what you have just said, the guilty person is either a batman or a catwoman. She (pointing at me) eats far too many berries to be Catwoman! He then sat down, turned around, and winked at me.

No, I was not the “Phantom Defecator” and had the town approved the installation of video cameras that day, they might have caught the perpetrator taking me out to lunch after the meeting. Though I might be full of seeds, the man in front of me was the one full of shit, or should I say- no longer so full.

Prawning Llama:

Ever see a 7 foot tall, 300 pound animal hopping around like a bunny rabbit in a fit of rage? How about if this animal looked like two men wearing a funky horse suit? Well, this was the sight I saw when Pumpernickel the rescue llama was being sheared for the first time of her life and broke free. It was one of those terrifying situations in my life that had me soundlessly screaming at the top of my lungs while Pumpernickel “prawned” after me... I was in a dead sprint for the other side of the pen and successfully hopped the fence like a rodeo clown.

Did you know that llamas are great guard animals for goats? That was the second most important fact I learned while at a goat workshop in rural Maine a few weekends ago, second only to the sexual habits of goats...

Male, or “Billy” goats are gross. They smell like dank urine because they pee on their beards, thinking that it will increase their appeal with female goats. For a human comparable, I think their strategy is about as successful as the effects of Axe body spray on women. Not going to work. Ever. No matter the advertising (And please respond if you feel as if you 1.) have had success with Axe or 2.) have been reeled in by it).

Despite this goat’s shameful behavior, I continue to watch him because he’s sort of funny and this young farmer guy from New Hampshire next to me strikes up a conversation. My eyes are still on the billy goat and though this man is talking to me, I’m not really listening due to being in a daydream state. “The only time female goats are interested in men is when they are in heat,” he said. “They’ll take a young or inexperienced billy and show him what to do, often not letting him eat, drink or rest for days.”

At about this time, I snap out of my daydream to the reality that this man’s hand is clasping my arm. “The male’s only job is to satisfy the female, and sometimes he dies trying.” Suddenly, the reproductive habits of goats became the reproductive habits of “goats” and I found myself throwing my arms up in an exclamation of “Lunch Time!” The instructor was cut off mid-sentence in whatever she was talking about, but humored my sentiments and we broke for lunch.

Claiming that I left my lunch in the truck, I got in and drove far far away.

The end

Tomato Sex

Hello Everyone,
Here’s a shamefully overdue update. I hope everyone is great!

Late last fall, a lobsterman came into my office holding a small plant. “Lizah, I found this growin’ in my compost heap. Seeing as how you don’t have any children or pets, I thought you could use a little more responsibility to get you into that mindset. Would you mind taking care of this for me to see if it will live through the winter?”

I was speechless. Here was this good natured, well-respected lobsterman in my office holding what appeared to be a marijuana plant and asking me to cultivate it for him! I’ve been asked to do a lot of things on this island, but becoming an illegal foster parent was most certainly not one of them. With much hesitation in my voice, I asked him if he had glaucoma… He took one look at the plant and busted out laughing. “Deah, this is a tomato plant!”

Beyond relieved (and embarrassed), I grabbed it from him and took care of it until I left for the Grand Canyon in January. Before I left, however, I gave it back to him with instructions of what to do and left it up to him to keep it alive. When I got back in early March, he came storming into my office: “Lizah, the tomato plant (*snicker*) has flowers on it! What should we do, seeing as how there aren’t any bees out.?!”

So, I invited myself over for dinner that night to take a look at this tomato plant and sure enough, it had flowers all over it. Pollination was necessary to take it to the next step, so we discussed various methods of doing so and quickly came to the conclusion that hand pollination might be the only way. Some sources recommended shaking the plant to disperse the pollen, but that just seemed a little aggressive, so we looked into other ways (on the internet) and found the title: “Pollinating Greenhouse Tomatoes with Vibrators.”

We looked at one another and it was settled, that was the method we were going to try…but where would we find the right vibrator for the job? Well, after a few phone calls where we half-attempted to explain hand pollination via a tomato vibrator, we finally had success! “How about trying an electric toothbrush?,” someone skeptically suggested. Yes!

The experiment then began. We very carefully placed the “tomato vibrator” behind each of the flowers to release the pollen and I kid you not… Right after we finished with the last flower, the whole plant wilted… no doubt from exhaustion. We gave it some water, and hoped for the best.

Yesterday, I ate my first cherry tomato of the year.

Ms. Aloozer

I had the recent opportunity to be a substitute k-3 teacher and PE teacher for the two-room schoolhouse on the island. My work with the school often surrounds curriculum development, so this was the first time for me to have all-day interactions with the kids. As the PE teacher, I had to come up with activities to fill an entire hour for the older kids and the same for the younger kids. The older kids were easy, we just played soccer for the entire hour. I played in college, so it was a grueling hour of 3 versus 1 for the most part. The two boys in the class were totally into it and have since asked if I could help them to schedule a "world cup" soccer game between them and other community members. They want me to train them so they can really be good...

The younger kids were another story. After 30 minutes of playing freeze-tag, octopus and jump the creek, I tried to play soccer with them. This was a total disaster. One girl bit her brother because he was being a ball hog and I had to put her in time out on the picnic table for 4 minutes. After 2 minutes, I look over and she is lying on her stomach, head on her arms, and noticeably sobbing. I called a time-out and went to try and make things right with her. When I got there, she looks at me with tears in her eyes and says: "Ms. Eliza, I have a deep-dark secret to tell you!... I'll NEVER be good at soccer!" Oh, the humanity! As I was trying to comfort her, another fight broke out between the two remaining kindergartners (a boy and a girl). "Leave me alone! I need alone time!" proclaimed the girl, and stormed off to have personal time. Thankfully, PE was over so I went to gather the girl and she tells me: "I was supposed to marry him today, and I just don't think I can now! What he did cannot be forgiven!" This unforgiving act was that he scored a goal and she was goalie...they were on the same team.

Lunchtime followed PE and I went home to eat. When I came back to the school, one of the kindergartners was sitting in the hallway and greeted me with: "Hello Ms. Aloozer." It took everything I had to suppress laughing out loud and I told her that it was not nice to call people names. I then went and got the middle school teacher, otherwise known as the disciplinarian. The little girl apologized to me and she has since refrained from calling me anymore names. Whew, I have a new found appreciation for those who work all day with kids! Unfortunately, I also have a new nickname...

Common Ground Fair: Sheep Edition

Last September, I spent an entire 3 day weekend at the Common Ground Fair. This was the best fair I ever attended and it is no discount that this was actually my only fair experience to date. What makes the Common Ground Fair so great is the fact that it focuses on sustainable agriculture, homesteading, and anything back-to-the-land you can think of. I attended workshops on apple orchards, peach trees, edible landscapes, sheep and composting. Without a doubt, I got the most out of the sheep workshop...

Sheep: While wondering around from session to session, I saw a farmer talking to a group of people by a barn. He had a sheep up on a platform and was shearing some wool out of her eyes. As I passed by, something the farmer said piqued my attention..."rectal prolapse." Given the fact that my maturity levels will never venture past the age of 16, I stopped dead in my tracks to listen. Come to find out, a "rectal prolapse" is a rare genetic disorder found in 1 out of 1,000 sheep (or so) where, basically, the intestines fall out the rear-end.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: "*Gasp!* Why does this happen, Sir?"  

Farmer: (Seriously) "Sometimes a sneeze is all it takes."

Me: "What!?! A sneeze!? How do you handle that?"

Farmer: "Well dear (dee-ah), a bullet is how you handle that." 

This got me thinking, would such a thing happen to humans? I'm going to go ahead and speculate that yes, this rare genetic disorder can and has happened before to some unlucky person. Relatedly, when a sea cucumber becomes frightened, it will spit out it's intestines as some sort of defense mechanism. This scare tactic, however menacing, would most certainly would work for humans: 

Robber: "Give me your wallet"

Victim: "Hatchoo"

Robber: What the?...Was that your?... Dude, keep your wallet- you've obviously got bigger problems than me.

Come to find out, the ewes get to look forward to other, more common, forms of prolapse- uteran and vaginal. By the time the farmer and I had entered into this branch of conversation, I looked around and noticed that I was the only one left in the group. Taking full advantage of the 1 on 1 time, I asked: "Well, how in the heck do you fix a uteran/vaginal prolapse?" He removed a ball of twine from his dusty jacket and wrapped it around the ewe like a harness, essentially cinching her buttocks closed. The ewe gave me a look as if the last of her personal freedoms had been taken and I couldn't help but to sympathize with her. I can't imagine how uncomfortable it would be to walk around with my butt permanently clenched...though, I have met a few people in this world who don't seem to mind it at all. 

Eat Lobster, Wear Orange

Season’s Greetings Everyone!
I haven’t been voted off the island. I haven’t been captured by a band of pirates. I haven’t run off with a young lobsterman to an island more remote than my own…yet. I have, however, survived yet another deer season on the island. This period of time, from Nov. 1st to Dec. 12th, will double as my excuse for not updating and serve as a topic for this email…

When a member of a 67 person community (we lost a few this year), people usually notice when you get a new pair of jeans, switch your deodorant scent or change your hair conditioner. This fishbowl living gets to me at times and this year I was particularly looking forward to deer hunting season… When the deer would be in the spotlight and not me! Well, I was wrong…

In addition to wearing orange at all times, make sure to follow these guidlines:
-Double check to make sure that no toilet paper or tissue is stuck to your clothing. Such adornments will certainly result in you getting shot.

-Don’t wear granny panties. You know, the high waisted, full coverage, comfortable kind that will result in ridicule if ever discovered by your friends. Though often perfect for jogging due to the fact that they won’t give you a wedgie, they can be life threatening. You are a goner if the waist-line happens to ride up and become visible…and it will ride up. Heed warning!

-If you have to relieve yourself outside, make sure to look up in the trees for humans- especially crusty old men. They will be wearing camouflage and toting firearms, so really look hard and double-check. Though far-sighted and colorblind, the last thing you want is old Wilbur spreading rumors about you and “That time when….”

-Never wear headphones while peeing. I dropped my drawers the other night on a run and if I hadn’t heard that buck snort, I believe with all my might that he would have attempted to mount me…a chapter that my self-defense class disappointingly skipped over.

-Do not, under any circumstances, try and gather apples on all-fours. Who cares if they are an extremely hearty variety that will store in the basement through February, this is your life we are talking about! If it is deer season- don’t even think about it! The same also applies for crab-walking, be it leisurely or competitively.

Despite following some of the above warnings and finding out the hard way about others, I was physically hit by a doe on the last day of hunting season- December 12th, 2009- in broad daylight. She was spooked while feasting in a garden and after dodging left/dodging right, we collided. For a split second, I thought- quick! Ride her!...As if she was some sort of magical creature who would crown me queen of the deer kingdom. We both limped away with a few bruises and it only took one witness to, once again, make me the talk of the town. I still haven't lived down the motorcycle stunt, but being the talk of the town this time is a little worse thanks to the Mainer accent, where women and children are affectionately referred to as "Dear" (pronounced Dee-ahh). Even if someone didn't know about the collision, all they have to do is call me "Dee-ah" (which is inevitable) and without skipping a beat, someone in-the-know will fill them in.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Pantyhose and two pieces of tape

Hi Everyone!
Happy Fall! It has been a while since I last wrote, so the length of this email is pretty long. Enjoy!

A few weeks back, I was driving through Camden (an area of extreme summer wealth with lots of cute restraunts and large schooners) with a friend and I noticed a really nice purse in the middle of the street. Given the financial status of this area, there was a huge incentive to return that purse to its owner so I could be rewarded with some sort of "thank you" compensation. So, I pulled a u-turn in the road and got my friend to open the passenger side door and grab the purse. He grabbed it, shut the door, I sped off, and he excitedly opened the purse to see what bounty was inside. Suddenly, an intoxicating stench burst through the car and my friend exclaimed: "POOP, AHHH, THIS PURSE IS FULL OF POOP!!!" I quickly looked over and sure enough, someone had filled a Coach purse FULL of poo. We didn't know what to do since we didn't want to get a fine for littering and a gas station/trash can was no where in site. It was a miracle that we didn't wreck or hit any tourists trying to cross the street, since I was uncontrollably laughing at the hilarity of the situation and crying/choking from the terrible smell inside the car. A minute or so later, I pulled over at a tourist help booth and my friend jumped out of the car with the purse, literally parting the seas of tourists as he quickly deposited the purse in a trash can near the help window. I really hope this was a prank and will one day end up on You Tube, it goes down as one of the best pranks ever played on me.

Ok, I'll change the subject up a little bit and talk about the added value of me being on this island. I'm pretty convinced that before I arrived on this island, there wasn't much to talk about. After a recent event, which I'll mention in a minute, I've been the topic of conversation at church, at dinner tables, on the VHF radio, at the lunch cart, and everywhere in between. Here's why...

I nerdily lost a bet with a friend of mine over the identification of a mushroom. I've come to find out that my tragic downfall lurks within the realm of thinking I'm so right about something that I make ridiculous bets, bets that you couldn't imagine yourself doing but it doesn't matter because you are right and won't be doing it. Well, the consequence of this incorrect identification was that I had to ride on my motorcycle....through Bar Harbor (another huge tourist area)....on Labor Day Weekend...naked. (By the way, I drive a tiny motorcycle now. It gets 80mpg and is a lot of fun.)
After calling around to various police stations in the area and posing the question: "What are the legal implications of a female riding her motorcycle naked?," I quickly found out that though women are exempt from indecent exposure in Maine because you cannot see genitalia, I would have to battle this out in court. In fear of getting fired from my job and making national headlines, I decided to wear pantyhose, two pieces of yellow reflective tape, and have a motorcycle awareness slogan written on my back.

We took off from an over-crowded grocery store parking lot. 90,000 people were estimated to have been in Bar Harbor that Sunday morning, thanks to a few cruise ships that had just landed- and I'm pretty sure that every single one of them saw me. Some jaws dropped, others jeered, and a few women would quickly (and aggressively) stow their children behind them with looks of disgust on their faces. The ride was not quick, especially with a man in front of me who stopped for anyone who even had an inkling of crossing the street, just so he could keep looking in his rear-view mirror at the spectacle behind him. After a few thousand camera phone pictures and finger points, we finally arrived back at the grocery store, took some pictures with a group of Asian tourists, and put clothes back on...successfully completing the task without getting arrested! Now to how the island found out about this stunt...

The only person on the island that knew about this was Anna, my 78 year old housemate/best friend/island matriarch, who thought it appropriate to stand up during the "joys and concerns" portion of church to ask the congregation to pray for me. She explained how I had lost a bet and left the house wearing her pantyhose and two circles of yellow reflective tape in an attempt to bring about more awareness towards motorcyclists. Immediately after, an elderly man named Buddy excitedly and half seriously stood up and voted that church be dismissed so everyone could head over to Bar Harbor. The Reverend dismissed his outcry and called for a prayer. He prayed for the health of some island people, the war in Iraq, and then for Eliza, "As she rides her motorcycle through Bar Harbor wearing nothing but Anna's pantyhose and some tape." According to Ruth, the Reverend's wife, the whole church was cracking up- a first for her husband (who she thinks is boring).

If someone didn't know who I was before, they know who I am now. I can't go anywhere without someone commenting on my stunt, but it's all in good fun. Today even, I was lobster fishing with a friend of mine and one lobsterman nearby recognized me and called over on the VHF to say that he enjoyed seeing the pictures (located on Anna's refrigerator). Without fail, no less than 10 other lobstermen got on the VHF to ask where these pictures were, to comment on the situation, or to ask me what I was doing tonight. Yeah, it is going to be a while before I live this one down.