Joe Nickerson’s Barn: One day some ten years ago, Ruth Nickerson Felton invited Peggy Bochkay and I into her barn. Peggy is a photographer and was my partner in creating Ducktrap: Chronicles of a Maine Village. With a camera in her hands and a notebook in mine we poked into all the nooks and crannies of Ruth’s barn, which we soon came to think of as her father’s – Joe Nickerson’s.

Joe’s barn, the center of his working life, remains much as he left it when he died in 1982. You see his hand in many ways, both dramatic and simple. Even the smallest details bear the mark of his hands – a hand-carved door handle, hooks whittled from the crotch of a branch, neatly coiled rope, the wall of harness hung up, no doubt, when his last horse was replaced with a tractor.

The cow tie-ups show the wear of animals confined countless days and nights, waiting to be fed, to be milked, to be turned out to pasture. They gnawed, they chewed, they rubbed itchy heads and backs against their wooden home, rounding the edges of the stalls, wearing away the thick floorboards with their horny hooves. And twice a day the man, Joe, carried pails of water to them, forked hay through the hinged doors at their heads and sat down next to their warm, cow-fragrant sides to milk them.

He did it when he was eager to get at some other task — plowing on a spring morning, or setting out the first traps of the season on a chilly fall day. He did it evenings, exhausted from a day of cutting wood or haying, when all he wanted was to sit in his chair in the kitchen while Elsie fixed his supper. He did it when the family was dressed and anxious to leave for a night out at a Grange function. He did it on fair days, compelled to come home at milking time, even on a rare day away. He did it until finally it stopped making sense. The girls were grown and moved away. People were becoming accustomed to store-bought butter and pasteurized milk. One by one he sold his cows until they were gone.

The chicken room is piled with the odds and ends of Joe and Elsie’s farming life; much of it is of his own making — barrels, berry boxes and the crates that held them for shipping, fish traps for the shiners he kept in the pond. Even a jar of eels survives, the bait he used for his trapline.

The fur room holds his fur-trapping apparatus, for the enterprise that more than any other provided Joe’s family with the extras. Christmas would be pretty slim without it, he used to tell his daughters. Thin, flat boards are stacked around the room, a different size and shape for each critter — fox, beaver, mink, skunk. Bunches of traps dangle from nails; penciled sums in Joe’s hand are still legible on the window frame, along with the names of long-dead fur dealers.

Underneath the barn where Joe stored his horse-drawn plow, potato digger and cultivator, an old wheel rim hangs near the door. Joe kept it hanging by the back door where Elsie had her clotheslines along with a hammer to strike it. He meant it for her to call him in from the blueberry field or pond if she needed him; if, in her increasing fraility, she suddenly took sick. In the end it was Joe who went first.

What did Joe Nickerson think about as he neared the end of his life? His daughters were long since established in productive lives with children and grandchildren of their own. Their husbands worked in jobs that provided a paycheck every week. None of them would be using the bait traps, the cow tie-ups, the plow or tractor, the hay rake or fur boards he had so carefully stored away. It’s tempting to think he regretted the passing of what he knew best – literally making his family’s living from the simple stuff of field and woods.

Probably it’s we of the generations who came after them who romanticize those days. Joe and Elsie Nickerson lived unremarkable lives – unremarkable because dozens of other couples were doing exactly the same things all over Lincolnville – and Maine – day in and day out. Which one of us could begin to duplicate their feat – feed and raise a family, have some fun, and stay independent into old age, all without leaving our own land?

And this brings me to the reason for a recent return visit to Ruth, and to her father’s barn. Walk into the main front doors of the barn and take in the big, empty lofts (empty of hay at any rate). A large, ungainly piece of equipment appears to be suspended in the air, and in fact, it is. The horse-drawn hay rake has been raised up to the second level and hung there, long logs stuck through the spokes of its enormous wheels, their ends resting on the barn’s beams. Ruth has no idea how her father got it up there, presumably by himself, she’s pretty sure. Perhaps he thought somebody might need it again someday. Exactly.

If any one can figure out how to get it down, Joe Nickerson’s horse-drawn hay rake will move to its new home in the Jackie Young Watts Open Air Museum. Once we get it down (and surely someone in Lincolnville can reverse-engineer Joe’s method) it will take up one end of the 40’ shed. Actually, this is a challenge! Please contact me if you’d like to take a look and help us out.

Read more about the Nickersons and other Lincolnville families in Staying Put in Lincolnville, Maine: 1900-1950 (Available at Western Auto, Schoolhouse Museum or Sleepy Hollow Rag Rugs)

The Community Birthday Calendars are here. Pre-orders can be picked up at Drake’s, Western Auto, or the Schoolhouse Museum (M-W-F, 1-4 p.m.) If you forgot to send in your order, but had listings last year, you’ll find those birthdays and anniversaries are still there; buy calendars for $8 each. For those who haven’t seen this calendar before, pick one up. It’s fun to see who you share a birthday with, to tell a neighbor “happy anniversary”. Proceeds from sale of these calendars enables the Historical Society to keep the Schoolhouse Museum open during the summer and fall.

For those who may be confused about the LHS’ two museums, the Schoolhouse Museum is located upstairs in the old Beach School building  (aka Lincolnville Improvement Association) at 33 Beach Road. This is where all the old photos, documents, memorabilia, maps, and artifacts are stored and displayed. The new J.Y.W. Open Air Museum is next to the Library at 208 Main Street in the Center. The displays there are still being developed with new signs and more items arriving this fall, so keep an eye on it.

Bay Leaf Cottages’ monthly Lincolnville Neighborhood Pot Luck will be held Monday, Aug. 25, 6 to 8 p.m. at 2372 Atlantic Highway (Route 1). Bring a dish to share. All welcome, rain or shine.

The Lincolnville Band, which has been in existence in one form or another since 1870, will give a free concert Tuesday evening, 7 p.m. at the Bicentennial Bandstand at Breezemere Park (Nortons Pond) in the Center. Bring your lawn chair, bug spray, and sweater; the evenings are already feeling fall-like.

The Lively Ladies, a group of artists who’ve been meeting weekly for 25 years to paint together, open their latest exhibit this Wednesday at The Garage Gallery, which is actually the lobby of Eastern Tire & Auto Service , 70 Park Street, Rockland. Now that’s putting art where people will actually see it! And probably appreciate it, too, as they wait for their new tires. At the opening reception, 5-7 p.m., the public is invited for wine, water, light refreshments, and a chance to chat with the artists. One of them – Lolly Clayton – is from Lincolnville, and Elizabeth O’Haverty of Hope is well known here as well. The Garage Gallery is open during Eastern Tire’s business hours.

David Little, author of “The Art of Katahdin” , will speak and sign books at the Lincolnville Community Library, Wednesday, August 27, at 7 p.m. His book was published by Down East Books in 2013 and includes over 200 paintings of the Katahdin region, including work by Frederic Edwin Church, James Fitzgerald, Marsden Hartley and John Marin. The book also includes two paintings by Lincolnville’s Chris Polson, who will be on hand to talk about his experiences painting in the region. 763-4343 or email.

Becky Dunton, a fitness instructor and personal trainer, will be offering a combination fitness and yoga class at the Community Building, 18 Searsmont road, Wednesdays, 9-10:30 a.m., starting September 3. The class, suitable for adults at all levels of fitness, will run for the month (four weeks) as an introductory program. Each class will consist of 45 minutes of strength/cardio training followed by 45 minutes of yoga; cost is $15 per class, or $8 if you only want to do one segment. BYOE (bring your own equipment if you have it: yoga mat, towel, dumb bell weights. Weights aren’t necessary, but a mat is if you do the yoga segment. Contact Becky for more information, or just show up on the 3rd. snailspeed74@gmail.com

The other day Connie Parker and I came home from the Open Air Museum via Slab City Road to take a look at the new culvert. While snooping around the edge of the road there, we ran into Dave Munson and his 11 year old son, Wyatt, who live just up from the culvert. Wyatt likes to fish in the brook that flows through the culvert, and he showed us how you can see the trout swimming there. The subject of moose came up, and he told us about his encounter with one. I asked him to write it down; here’s Wyatt’s story:

The Slab City Moose

          It was a nice fall day like any other. My brother Davey and I were going to the bus stop to wait for the bus. We stood there for a while not knowing when the bus would come. After a few minutes we heard some rustling and saw a bunch of tree branches moving, then we saw a full grown bull moose with huge antlers come walking out of the trees on the other side the road. Seeing this, my big brother told me to go behind one of the big oak trees that was growing on the side of the road. So I went behind the tree and when I looked out from the other side what I saw was terrifying.

         The moose was closer than arm’s length to Davey, who was standing out in the middle of the road with a moose towering over him. The moose stopped right in front of him and began to snort and shake its head and scrape its hoof on the dirt road. I was so terrified for my brother that I couldn’t move. Realizing my brother wasn’t a threat the huge shaggy creature moved on. Not long after that we were picked up by the bus and were taken to school. We told all our friends and as you can imagine they couldn’t believe our story. Even the teachers were amazed.

         When we finally got home we told our parents. Our mom had our dad stay up late that night to build a shelter for us at the bus stop in case the moose ever came back.

         I later asked Davey why he stayed out in the road and he told me: “Because if the moose charged me, you would have time to get home.” I will never forget that day my brother risked his life to keep me safe.

This happened the year Wyatt was in kindergarten at LCS. His dad told me: “I built the whole thing from leftovers from other projects and worked through the night to get it done. The boys ended up getting on the bus at the neighbors the next day because I needed hinges for the door, but the shelter was ready by the next day...Wyatt [starting sixth grade this fall] has fun remembering it and writing the story - especially because Davey just moved into his first apartment on Monday.” 

I did an informal survey of the various organizations that held fund-raising events this summer, asking how much each had raised from their efforts. The Strawberry Festival, Library Picnic/Auction, Blueberry Wingding, Community Building (flea markets, soup café, The Betrail), LHS calendar sales, and Grange suppers (with one more still to go) all together earned roughly $20,850, and that doesn’t count all the volunteer hours that go into these events, and the cost of ingredients for those who make and bake, and which people usually donate.

Bill Leavitt, who lives in Northport not far from the Lincolnville line, has been collecting local Scouting history, both Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, for the Katahdin Area Council Scouting Historical Society . He’s interested in any information, names, and memorabilia – badges, uniforms, books, etc. – relating to Scouting in our area. Contact him or at 338-3595.

 Pastor Mair Honan of Grace Street Ministry in Portland lived on Slab City Road in Lincolnville for many years where she and husband Paul Lipman raised their two sons. Some years ago Mair, who was a family counselor at the time, decided to walk the length of Maine, alone. She set off each day with no plan for the night to come. Almost without fail, by nightfall she had a safe place to stay with strangers, and then set off again in the morning. The insights she gained along this journey led her to enroll at Bangor Theological Seminiary, and eventually to being ordained in a ceremony at Lincolnville’s United Christian Church. Her chosen ministry was on the streets of Portland with the homeless as her congregation, which became known as Grace Street Ministry. 

Pastor Mair comes back to UCC about once a year to report to the congregation on her experiences with the people who live on the streets of Portland. Often she mentions the needs of her congregation at that particular time. As fall approaches, Mair has asked for new blankets, or older ones that are clean, as well as two person tents, both items that will help the people she serves be warmer while sleeping outdoors. And as she always says, Dunkin’ Donuts gift cards are the best. People are welcome at that business if they can purchase a cup of coffee, and often that’s the only place to get warm or use a bathroom. If you have blankets, small tents, or D.D. gift cards contact Susan Stonestreet , and she’ll get them to Mair. A donation to Grace Street Ministry can be made directly.

A note this week from Lisa Curreri: “It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of one of Lincolnville’s great old maples.  It stood beside 783 Beach Road for over one hundred years and was one of the reasons I originally fell in love with the house. It’s leafy branches cooled in summer, definitely provided the WOW factor in autumn, stood mute as a sentinel in winter, casting long, purple shadows across the frozen scene.  In spring one could almost hear the sap rise.  It brought tears to my eyes to watch it felled, but it had become a liability, and its time had come.  Whatever killed it was systemic, said Rich Lermond as he gave it the coup de grace. Great trees speak of times past and give such present pleasure.  In fact, they ground us with a sense of place.  I will miss that gentle giant.  I like to think its name was ‘Sugar Daddy’.”

The hop harvest is in full swing these late August days. I personally never laid eyes on a hop until Taylor Mudge called, looking for help with the harvest at the hop yard he and Jim Saidy are developing. Hops provide that elusive flavor in beer that we may call “hoppiness”; each beer maker has his/her own recipe/variety/amount of hops to add to the brew. At Ducktrap River Hops on Van Cycle Road in Lincolnville some nine varieties are cultivated organically. In the absence of sophisticated harvesting machinery, the only way to get the hops, actually the flower of a very tall, twining vine, is to pick them by hand. Fortunately for the pickers, the 18’ vines are cut down and brought into the barn where the pickers (Wally and I joined the crew for a few hours last week) stand at a table and pull off the lime green blossoms. The essence of the hop, its flavor, is buried deep inside those blossoms, and is only released after the thing is dried, all of which has to happen – cutting of vine, plucking of blossoms, and drying – within 12 hours or the whole thing is spoiled. Some of last year’s harvest ended up in Peak Organic beers. http://www.peakbrewing.com/

Jimena Lasansky’s dance classes resume September 8; registration for all ages is open now. Call 594-1007 or email.

Beachgoers were captivated by a scene out on the tidal flats Sunday afternoon as an eagle caught and brought down a seagull. Connie and Alton Parker watched it all, as the eagle wrestled with the gull in the water. It appeared the bird was too heavy for the eagle to carry off, so it seemed to be drowning it, pushing it under until the gull stopped resisting. Then, dragging it out onto the tidal flat the eagle began eating its prey. Meanwhile, a dozen or so people, seeing the struggle from the beach walked out to watch, some hurrying back to their cars to get cameras. The eagle took no notice of the spectators, Connie said, and kept eating. Finally, apparently what was left of the gull was light enough to lift and the eagle flew off toward Ducktrap with the body in its talons. Wow.  

To be included in This Week in Lincolnville, contact Diane, ragrugs@midcoast.com with events, family milestones, wildlife sightings, anything to do with our town.