Most mornings, as soon as the sun rises enough, I let my little Belladonna out of the crate where the insecure little rescue pup prefers to sleep. After feeding her and her big brother and putting the coffee on for my wife, I dress Bella up in her pretty reflective and blaze orange “dress”, and we hit the road for our morning walk.

It is hunting season in Maine, and I tell Bella that I do not want her to be mistaken for the tiniest deer ever. Not that she is especially small, but I am sure to tell her that she is, otherwise she might get too full of herself.

I am not a hunter, which is not to say I am opposed to hunting in any way. I actually love the November tradition of deer season. Sure, it is a time when, six days a week, you want to be sure to wear blaze orange, especially and imperatively if you plan to walk in the woods, but it is a small price to pay, to my mind.

We are still a place where tagging your deer means a freezer full of food for the winter, an extra dose of security as work tends to dry up for many of us when the summer folk go home. Maybe this is not as true for as many as it used to be, but tradition perseveres. Deer hunting season remains a big deal in the town of Lincolnville.

My dad hunted. I am not fully sure when he started, as it certainly wasn’t part of his life growing up poor on the streets of Augusta. Throughout my childhood, he always got excited come November. I remember him in his “lizard suit” — a onesie of down and green quilted nylon, which he wore beneath his blaze orange vest and hat, 12 gauge shotgun over his shoulder, to spend Saturday in the woods.

He used to take pride in the fact that he only hunted with a shotgun — no fancy scopes, no deer lures or blinds, and certainly no game cameras to help him find the likely feeding spots. That said, he rarely tagged his deer.

I don’t think that was why he hunted. The venison, when it was successfully harvested, was gratefully accepted, but he was also raising pigs, chickens, and a calf every year, and his year-round paycheck as a teacher and principal, supplemented by lawn mowing in the summer, generally kept our freezer full.

No, the Old Man just liked being out in the woods. On the sides of Frohock and Derry mountains, just across the street, or on “Fire Trail 2”, off Slab City, which I now know as the old Whitney Road.

The Old Man lived for the quiet solitude of the woods. His story of the time a chickadee perched on his nose, tiny claws finding purchase as it rested a moment, was shared far more than any successful hunt. Not to mention the mountain lion he swore he saw out on Slab City, where the True Road subdivision now lies. And he talked much more of the bucks he failed to shoot- and even of one who looked so majestic that he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. My old man was a sensitive soul. On those years when he did bring down a deer, he always seemed a little depressed, as his Saturdays no longer provided an excuse to just be in the woods.

He was not a stranger to the reality of eating meat, and did what needed to be done in regards to pigs, chickens, and yearly calf. And while he deployed a Hav-a-Hart trap to catch the skunks and raccoons that terrorized the chickens and corn patch every year, he was not above using the shotgun when necessary. But he told me, repeatedly, as was his way, that one should never take pleasure in killing, and to only do it when absolutely necessary- for food, for protection. A lesson that came brutally true for me that first year after his death, when I found myself with a yard full of broiler chickens that needed to be harvested. 

The Old Man's final hunt was in November of 2016. On the mend from the cancer that ravaged his body earlier that year, and would return with a vengeance in the New Year, he donned his orange, and crossed the road into the woods. He took no deer, but I am not sure that was ever the point.

Talking to a young woman the other night, who would be heading out to hunt with her father in the morning, she shared with wide eyes how she loves being in the woods as the sun comes up, and just listening to the sound of nature around her.

My old buddy Ben, who has a wall of deer antlers from nearly every season decorating his log cabin, told me of his love of hunting, of the opportunity to hunt in such an amazing place, his home. But he also spoke of speaking to each deer he takes, a ritual taught to him by an old Vietnam vet, which he in turn passes on to other new hunters. They are beautiful creatures, and I would hazard that few understand this as well as those who hunt them.

I am not a hunter. Which is too bad, because I kind of want to make venison jerky. I admit I envy the ability to just be present in the woods, to sit silently and patiently, to feel the claws of a chickadee perching on my nose. My father’s shotguns and rifles are safely put away, the only threat they now pose is to the occasional can, when I get around to teaching my kids to shoot like my father taught me, should they so desire.

So we wear orange when we walk. Bella has gotten to the point where she doesn’t even snarl at the hunters we see, next to their pickups on the side of the road- my nervous little rescue is coming along. And I think she likes her pretty orange dress.

Into the Woods

And speaking of heading into the woods, there is still time to see the Camden Hills Regional Hiigh School production of Sondheim’s Into the Woods. As always, this musical features a number of talented actors and techies who were brought up here in Lincolnville. I went to see it Saturday night, and it was beautiful, and funny, and surprisingly deep. The final shows will be on Friday and Saturday night so get your tickets!

Red Flag Rererendum

As a big democracy nerd, I am a big fan of Maine’s referendum process, where a citizen’s petition can put issues on the ballot that might not be taken up by our state legislature.

A Lincolnville resident reached out to me to let me know that on the next two Saturday mornings, at the Post Office, you will have the opportunity to sign a petition to request a Red Flag law be added to next year’s state ballot. For more information head down to the Beach post office on Saturday, or rely on good old Mr. Google. Though, I tend to think asking in person is preferable.

Can you believe that it is almost Thanksgiving? I am still seeking stories of holiday disasters, so reach out at ceobrien246@gmail.com. I always appreciate responses to my columns, be it by email, the comment section, or just when you see me at Hannaford. And if you have Lincolnville news, please let me know.

Be kind, wear blaze orange in the woods, and take care of yourself.

Municipal Calendar

Tuesday, November 19

Library open 3-6 p.m. 208 Main Street

AA Meeting 12:15 p.m., Community Building, 18 Searsmont Road

Lakes and Ponds Committee, 4 p.m. Town Office

Wednesday, November 20

Library open 2-5 p.m. 

Comprehensive Plan Review, 6:30 p.m. Town Office

Friday, November 22

AA Meeting 12:15 p.m., Community Building, 18 Searsmont Road

Library open 9-12, 208 Main Street

Saturday, November 23

Library open 9-12, 208 Main Street

Sunday, November 24

United Christian Church, 9:30 a.m. Worship, 18 Searsmont Road

Bayshore Baptist Church, 9:30 a.m. Sunday School, 11:00 worship, 2648 Atlantic Highway