A Blue Crab in Lobster Waters

The Case of the Phantom Defecator

2010-08-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

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:

2010-07-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-14T10:29:00.001-07:00

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

2010-01-10T06:26:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-02T09:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-27T16:14:00.000-08:00

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

2009-09-21T19:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Binocular Bathing!

2009-06-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone!

It’s been a while since I last updated, so I’ll try to give you a quick biographical sketch of my life to date. So far, the month of June has held 6 days of sunlight and a high temperature of 82 degrees. Fog tends to just hang out on the islands and I cannot get a tan on this island if my life depended on it, and believe me I have tried…

Last Tuesday was sunny and I decided to kayak over to another island to do some fieldwork. I came ashore on one of the vacant sandy beaches and didn’t think much of where I was. After completing my work, I went back to where my kayak was and decided to go for my monthly “dip.” Well, I happened to be wearing cotton clothing which doesn’t fare well when cold and wet, so I decided to just strip down and do a quick plunge. The water was about 50 degrees, a far cry from the 36 degree March water and it was actually semi-pleasant, so I stayed in for a minute or two complementing myself on my new found cold tolerance… and then I saw her. The house on the beach, previously thought by me to be vacated, was not. Mrs. Bryet, a shockingly still alive 92 year old woman, was standing on the beach- cane in the left hand, binoculars in the right- looking straight at me. As I ran out of the water, the binoculars followed. I wasn’t sure whether I should cover my face in fear of being identified, or cover the other indecencies. In a Maine court case a couple years back, a few women were arrested for streaking- charged with public nudity and indecent exposure. Turns out, most women under Maine law are exempt from public nudity and indecent exposure due to the fact that genitalia cannot actually be seen. Yeah, I covered my face. Anyways, I rushed to get my clothes on, shoved off in my kayak before Mrs. Bryet could identify any of my moles in a line-up, and paddled home…

Having written that whole paragraph above, I’d like to go ahead and announce that I ate sea urchin gonads at 6am this morning…while looking for baby lobsters under small boulders at low tide. They were salty and quite delicious, though they could have benefited from a cracker or a piece of sushi. People often ask me what I do for fun on the island and when I say things like this, they give me a look as if I’m a total basket case who will never emerge from the deep end. My sister, for example, once proclaimed in annoyance: “Eliza, I just don’t know how to talk to you anymore!” The longer I live on this island, the more I believe that the people who live here year-round are here because they have lost the ability to function on the Mainland, or the Muggle World. So this island life I live, a life where squirrels and open container laws do not exist, yet fairy houses and 25 year old lobstermen constables do, is gaining on me. You’ll just have to come and visit to get the full effect!

Love,

Eliza

Expired

2009-03-27T13:28:00.001-07:00

Hi Everyone,
To all of you who are south of Maine, I wish you a happy spring. I can't in good conscious say that I'm in spring right now, when absolutely no new vegetation has appeared. I've been told that it will come in May, so I'm looking forward to that. May also brings an expanded ferry boat schedule, including a Sunday boat! The sense of freedom is nearly overwhelming once you set foot on the mainland after being on the island for weeks on end. Anyways, not too much to report this month. I've been busy learning how to be a Mainer- tapping maple trees, boiling down sap into syrup, pruning apple trees, going swimming, helping to paint the bottoms of boats. I have collected a couple stories though...

On the westernmost point of my island sits an old Coast Guard station, which is now privately owned and has some of the best views around.
About 10 years ago, the caretaker of the station decided that he was sick of cutting the grass, so he brought sheep to the island as an easy fix. One of the rams was really ill tempered and would never let the caretaker even get close enough to shear him, and as a result, his hair was really, really long. After a couple of years, this beast of a ram finally died and the caretaker decided that he would shear that damn ram once and for all, so he threw him on top of a picnic table in the front yard of the station. By this point, rigamortis had fully set in and the ram had all four of his legs sticking straight up into the air, as if you had turned a table upside down. So, while the caretaker was shearing away, without displaying any sort of care or caution (because the ram was dead), a group Jehovah's Witnesses, with lunch in tow, had made their way up the driveway. Suddenly, they found themselves "witnessing" this man manhandling/shearing a dead sheep on top of the picnic table where they had intended to have lunch! How abominable! The group was so disgusted, they turned around and walked all the way back to the town dock, where they sat and waited there for the ferry to come and pick them up. To this day, they have never come back.

I'll leave you all with this story:

We recently had a community member die on the big island, which is always a sad thing, especially when the year round population hovers around 32 people. Because I work in the Town Office, I often have to field phone calls from people and a few days after this woman had died, I received a call from her brother....
"Hi, I'm [so and so] and I'm calling about my sister's car registration, because just like my sister, it has expired."
I was awaiting a snicker of some sort or a "badum-ching!" to indicate that this was a joke, but there was nothing. We sat in an awkward silence for a few seconds and then I put him on hold...so I could hand the phone off and have a good laugh. Though that was one of the more awkward moments in my life, I can't help but admire the man's cleverness. Touche!

Heart Beet

2009-02-25T15:15:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

It’s been awhile since I last wrote and my only excuse is this: It’s
February, the most miserable month of the year. This winter has been
the coldest in Maine since the early 70’s and yet, I’ve still managed
to swim in the ocean once a month for the past 5 months. The most
recent swim was last Friday…36 degree water…30 mph winds… a “wintry
mix” of precipitation.
I went with the usual crowd of Patty the lobster woman and Kaitlyn the
postmistress. Kaitlyn's mother had recently given her a box of old clothes
and within that box was a pretty little black negligee (neg-le-jay).
Kaitlyn, when deciding what to wear over her bathing suit the day of the
dip, thought that the negligee would be perfect for wearing down to
the beach. So there we were standing on the beach, me and Patty in our
bathing suits and Kaitlyn in a tight black negligee- because she couldn’t
manage to get it off. In we ran, submerged ourselves, and out we came-
screaming as usual. Kaitlyn’s scream was different though… “Ahhhhh! Help!
Ice! Get this damn thing off of me!” Her negligee had frozen to her
body! Because hypothermia is a legitimate concern, Patty pulled herself
together enough to try and get the thing off. I wasn’t so successful;
it was the funniest thing I have ever seen and thus the situation
rendered me useless. In the end, a razorblade cut that tight negligee
off and Kaitlyn has vowed to never ever wear anything like that again to
dip.

Part of my job is to try and get everyone on the islands to do a self
home energy audit. I’ve gotten the town to buy a bunch of devices
where you plug in an appliance and it tells you how much energy it
uses (Kilowatt Hours). I also got the town to buy a laser gun
thermometer. I intended this gun to be used for detecting where the
cold spots in your home are (so you could seal them up), but one
particular islander had another use for it. Last week, I got a phone
call from the librarian and she said: You have got to get down here,
Charlie has checked out the laser thermometer and someone just spotted
him entering his pig pen with it! Realizing the potential of this
gossip gold nugget, I ran down there only to see with my own eyes,
Charlie taking aim at a pig’s rear end with the laser thermometer. I
watched undetected for a little while until Charlie got within 5 feet
of the pig’s behind and I then I exposed myself by asking him what he
was doing. “Oh, just zapping the pig’s [privates] to see if she’s in
estrous.” What! “Eyah, the heat coming off her [privates] will tell me
whether she’s ovulatin’ or not.”
God, I don’t know if it’s just a February thing or what, but these
islands just keep getting weirder and weirder.

Among other stories, I got a wedding proposal last month from a man on
the big island (the one I don’t live on) and it went a little like
this… “Sorry for the house mess, I don’t have a woman to clean up
after and take care of me. I sure am lookin’ though and I think you
would do a fine job, want to be my wife?” I would have shrugged this
off with a huge amount of laughter and snide remarks if I didn’t
already know his past… He is a carpenter/handyman on the island who
owns a variety of commercial equipment, including an excavator. The
last woman he liked was dating someone else on the island and he just
couldn’t handle seeing her cavorting with a man other than himself.
So, he took matters into his own hands and one night, the man’s ocean
front house managed to fall into the water, belongings and all.
The only things left were a chimney and pair of excavator tracks. I don’t
know exactly how I’ll handle this situation, but the good thing is
that I don’t own any property!

To make this post even longer, I’ll quickly tell you about a recent
episode of mine when I thought I was dying...it’s a little gross so
you might want to just end the email here. Last week I noticed that
my urine was red, but there was no pain. I called the doctor and
explained this to him and he told me that he would like to see me as
soon as possible, because it could be my kidney’s failing and I might
just happen to have a high tolerance to pain. Well, the day went on
and I planned to go off on the late afternoon boat if my condition
persisted. Sure enough, by 2pm it was still red. I was pretty scared
by this point and asked the librarian: What do you know about
mysterious pee colors?
Her answer: I know that if you eat a lot of beets, it will turn your urine red.
BEETS, I HAD EATEN BEETS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE THE NIGHT
BEFORE! What a relief! My kidneys weren't shutting down, it was
beets all along! For you people out there who have never eaten beets
before, don’t make the mistake I made! You will survive and live to
pee clear again.

Alright, that’s it for this update.

Stay warm!

-Eliza

Tail-less terrors

2008-12-29T17:08:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays Everyone!

I thought that I'd start this email by giving you all a glimpse into
my everyday life out here…
I recently bartered for half an office in exchange for random acts of farm labor. Unlike other people who have offices fall in their laps, I have to prove myself by working around horses that look like donkeys and a cattery of manx cats. For those of you who have never seen a
manx cat, they are cats without tails (bread that way). They look so odd without a tail that I can't help but treat them like lepers...and they hate me. There is one that invades my office to commit random acts of terrorism while I'm away… like destroying the scarf that I knit at the last meeting. Oh, by the way, it's socially acceptable to knit at meetings here and it has totally kept me from becoming a distraction…a real challenge I've faced in the past. If knitting were
allowed in high school, I would have never been sent to the office. Anyways, last week the woman who I share the office with tracked in cat poo/vomit/whatever from the manx cattery, pushing my gag reflex's limits to the max. Now this might sound judgmental, but I'm guessing
she couldn't smell the poo/vomit because she's a chain smoker, adding yet another item to the list of why people should quit smoking. Never did I expect this to be in my job description and sometimes, like the duration it takes for a Glade Plug-In to work, I think a cubicle might be nice.

About a month ago, a team of well-intending dentists sailed out here for a charity mission to bring dentistry to the islands. Having had a 2 year outstanding dental appointment, I decided to sign up for the event, which took place in the dusty Ladies Parlor of our community center.

There I was, sitting upright in a wicker chair- an island "Golden-doodle" dog panting on my right, a man wearing a headlamp on my left. That man was the dentist, Dr. Oh (real name). The lighting in the Ladies Parlor was too dim for him to see anything, so someone had gone home and gotten their personal headlamp in the name of dentistry…instantly turning the situation into some sort of spelunking adventure. Horrifyingly enough, Dr. Oh accidentally turned on the
strobe-light function of the headlamp while creeping in towards my mouth- instantly transforming him into a Zombie (insert horror film "eeee eeee eeee" music). His dental technician quickly fixed that problem and the rest of the dental experience was pretty run of the
mill- giving exception to the technician behind me, keeping the wicker chair at a steady 60 degree angle. All in all, no cavities and no accidents, of which I'm very thankful for…I pity the fool who needs to get a cavity filled.

Lastly, I found out over Christmas dinner that there is an island-wide bet concerning whether I can cut it as a lobsterwoman or not. The woman who leaked this information told me that only a small group of women have proved themselves sea worthy throughout the island's history and her money is on me joining those ranks. She then told me…."Don't you even think about going out this winter, I can't lose this bet." Good thing she told me, there's something so inviting about
single digit temperatures, giant lobster claws trying to snip off my numb digits, and turbulent winter waters that just beckon vomiting. I'm going to wait and test out my lobster legs this summer, when it is nice outside. Wish me luck.

Alright, this concludes the island update, where the women are strong, the men are all good looking, and the children are all above average intelligence.

What do you call a woman with one leg??

2008-12-08T11:57:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the frigid North!

As I write this, it is miserable outside: snow, 45 mph winds, and a -15 degree wind chill. Like many of the pilgrims before me, I have just received my first proverbial bitch-slap from Mother Nature. In my hubris, I thought spending a winter on a Maine island would be like spending the winter in East Germany...like I actually knew what cold was… What was I thinking!?! It's so cold here that it takes my runny nose 3.4 seconds to freeze to my upper lip. People here have even started to show signs of slowing down, a condition I refer to as "human hibernation." All they care about is staying warm! For instance, this morning I asked a man if he knew where his septic tank was. His reply: "I hope that cord of hardwood dries out by next month, I think I'll need 5 cords this winter. What do you think?" I can already tell that it's going to be a loooong, cold, unproductive, winter.

Living on this island has caused me to brush up on my nautical terms. I had a meeting with a man last week and as we were wrapping up, he asks: "Do you think the sun's over the yardarm?" I must have given him the American equivalent of my "German face"- the face of total incomprehension, and he laughed and said- "Let's go have a drink." It was 1:30 in the afternoon…

Another recent instance occured when I haphazardly showed up at the scene of an accident on the island. After the EMTs got there, one of them barked orders for me to get the oxygen tank from the ambulance. "It's in the bow." Ok, in an emergency situation, I should not be asked to think in terms of where things would be if this ambulance was a ship. "Is the stern the front, and the bow the back? Wait, that's wrong- the stern is definitely in the back." Time wasted: at least 20 seconds.

While I'm on the topic of nautical terms, I was at a contra dance a few weeks ago and the man whom I was waltzing with decided to introduce me to his friend…who had a wooden leg…I swear. The man introducing me was an old violin maker who thought I was interesting enough to meet his (middle aged) friend. When someone introduces you to a person with a wooden leg, you can't in good conscience just say hi and walk off (with your two legs)- that would be rude. So after exchanging the usual common courtesy questions and finding out that he was there for the music, I decided to brave it and ask him a question that only someone with a forestry background can pull off: "Is that oak?"

It was maple…I can't be right all the time.

At this same contra dance, I quite possibly had the best pick-up line ever used on me. Before I divulge, I'd like to give you a little background information on a project I'm doing here (and make it as uncomplicated as possible). I'm currently working on a forest plan to clean up the forests on 3 islands, i.e- make them less fire prone and improve their health. Given the nature of my job as the sustainability person on island, I've got to make all of this happen using as many local resources as possible. Then, I have to create some sort of island industry where all of this wood can go. That's the project in a nutshell. So at this contra dance, I was explaining to my dance partner about my current research and he says to me: "I have a wood pellet machine. You should come over and check it out sometime."

I kid you not, my knight in shining armor has arrived … A great dancer AND he has a wood pellet machine (wood pellets are made from compressing sawdust into a very high density pellet and is then used for burning at a high efficiency)! Initially, I thought he was just offering-from one wood enthusiast to another- a chance to see his sleek new machine…but no, he googled me and has since written me an email. I don't know about all that, we'll see, but in the mean time- I'd really like to get my hands on his pellet maker.

Alright, that wraps up a few stories from the last month or so. Take care everyone and stay warm!

-Eliza

Glacial Mermaids

2008-10-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone!

Yesterday marked my one month anniversary of being a Maine Islander.I have a few stories to tell, so to not waste any words…

This morning I did something stupid- I joined the dip of the month club. It's an all-female event and the woman I did it with is HARD CORE. She's the island's only lobsterwoman and is the type that doesn't speak often, but when she does, you had better listen! So there we were, standing on the shore. I didn't bring a bathing suit to Maine because who freaking swims in Maine? They have icebergs! Well, I decided to wear shorts and a tank top and just when I made up my mind that this was a big mistake, I hear "GO!" and down we both ran towards the water- officially crossing over into the realm of masochism/insanity. Ankles, shins, knees, thighs, PAIN!!!, stomach, BOOB HURT!!!, and then my head was submerged.I'm pretty sure that my hair grew an extra half-inch due to the massive goose-bumps that must have risen out of my scalp. Then I found myself dog paddling back to shore, no doubt a sub-conscious effort to save my "lady parts" before they suffered serious and permanent frostbite. Total time in water= 1 minute.

Speaking of lady parts, I was at a potluck the other night and while I was eating in the living room, I couldn't help but notice all of the mermaids in the house. Paintings, sculptures, clocks…you name it. Well there was one particular mermaid that was obnoxiously mocking me from her post on the wall and Floriana must have seen me staring at it and said to me: "McKinley (her son whose house we were in) is a breast man. His wife only lets him admire mermaid cleavage, all others are off limits." I guess a shrine to the bountifully bosomed mermaid is better than spending all your time at Hooters.

I recently caught myself calling a lobster boat in the harbor with a shiny green hull "sexy." I'm pretty sure it's normal for women to call sports cars sexy, even sailboats …but lobster boats??? I must be sick. In an industry centered on men who smell like fish and go to bed by 8, I've managed to find sex appeal in lobster boats. Perhaps I've come down with some Yankee version of Island Fever.Never in my life has a scallop or oyster boat had this effect on me. If ever one of you catches me talking about the sleek lines, wide decks and masterfully tooled engines of lobster boats, hit me- please.

Last but not least, I heard a story last weekend about a special Newfoundland dog on the mainland. For those of you who are unfamiliar, a Newfoundland is ENORMOUS- 160 pounds, long hair, and a slobber machine. Anyways, he pays regular visits to the primary school library where kids read to him/climb on him. One little boy with a stuttering problem was reading out loud and he got hung up on a sentence. The dog apparently lost patience and wanted the boy to move on, so he licked the boy's entire face in one slimy swoop. The boy stopped stuttering for the next 30 minutes! Hahaha- perhaps a slap in the face by a certain mermaid would cure the boy for good…

Alright, well that concludes the update. Oh! On Friday Leonardo Dicaprio was on the Island. He's filming something on a nearby Island and must have decided to do a day-visit over. Nobody cared, and that's why I love this place.

Take care everyone!

-Eliza

Aloha!

2008-10-26T17:20:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone, greetings from the wild eastern frontier (Maine)!

Imagine a place without the following: Squirrels, skunks, raccoons, banks, year round restaurants, traffic lights, official street names, grocery stores, speed limits, laws (for the most part) and single 20-something females.3 weeks ago, I became an introduced species to this place, a small island 3 miles off the coast of Maine. Out of a year round population of 91, I am the ONLY single 20-something female on this island. In simpler terms: 16 to 1 ratio- the 1 being me and the 16 being a fleet of strapping young Lobstermen. This simple ratio will probably provide the fuel for my future emails, so beware.

The only place on the island that accepts money (cash/check/barter) is the town store, which currently has a sign on the door that states: "October Hours- By chance." If you do happen to make it to the store while it is open, you can purchase milk, beer and chips. Really, the store is just a cover for a gossip factory. If my ears tingled every time someone was talking about me, they would be flapping back and forth like a pair of wings. That's what happens when you are the new kid to a community of 85 people. The following statements are real: "Oh you must be Eliza- you really do have nice teeth" (uh, thanks- braces) or "Hi Eliza, I'm so and so, they said you looked young…how old are you?" (I'm 24) "Oh, have you met my Grandson?"

My first friends on the island consisted of 2 women in their late 70's and a woman with a cracked skull, all of whom I met in Church. To digress a bit, the church service here is nothing like I've ever experienced before. The preacher, an ancient theologian from the mainland, comes on the second and last Sundays of each month (because he has other heathen islands to save) and often when waiting for him to get there, other people step in to fill the time. Last Sunday a man named Ashley Bryan, a famous children's book writer/illustrator and local of the island, led the 20 person congregation in singing Black American slave spirituals to the tunes of a wooden recorder.That does NOT happen in the south (where I'm from) Later, the preacher invited one of the island locals to engage in a debate sermon- where they just argued back and forth the book of Philippians. Apparently, the preacher caught word that his church was no longer religious enough for the man, so he challenged him to a duel. I found myself taking a side- It was like watching a holy boxing match.

Anyways, back to my new friends. The two older women, Floriana and Ethel, are the co-matriarchs of the island and I spend most of my time with them. Comparatively speaking, Floriana is the angel on my right shoulder and Ethel is the devil on my left. Ethel, with her thick Mainer accent, has lived on the island her entire life. She talks trash, swears like a sailor, and is undoubtedly the best cook on the island. Floriana is her complete opposite. When a child was recently asked who the nicest person in the world was- he said Floriana. She's the mother of 6 children, all of whom have done a good job populating the island (5 grandsons my age). Elizabeth is the woman with a cracked skull. She was the first person I met on the island and within the first 5 minutes of conversation, she tells me that at 9 months, her parents dropped her on her head-resulting in a fractured skull. Periodically, she has small seizures resulting in a mid sentence pause. It's annoying to remind her constantly of what we were talking about, yet it is very entertaining. Oh, she's an EMT on the island-God help us.

-Eliza (the youngin' with the nice teeth)