Allen Miller stopped at the open door of the shed between his house and barn, pausing in the red light of the sunrise that flushed the sky behind the hills. The air was clear and cold, bitingly cold, this New Year’s morning, 1909, but Allen didn‘t notice. He’d had a lot on his mind lately, what with the election back in November; now that his departure was imminent, worries about the place and his family occupied him.

To be chosen to serve in the state legislature again after nearly twenty years pleased him. He hadn’t planned on re-entering politics, but guessed he just couldn’t stay out of it. A life-long Democrat, Allen loved the talk of politics—the arguing, the persuading, the discussing. He couldn’t get enough of it around here, or maybe he’d just worn out all his listeners. Three months in Augusta ought to satisfy him, Emma said.

The last time, back in 1891, she’d been a good sport about being left with two young children. With Grace just ten, Horace eight and Hazel not even thought of, Emma had faced the winter alone cheerfully enough. Funny, but he didn’t remember being nearly as concerned about her that time. Barely into his thirties then, he’d been less likely to fret. She’d relied on the children to help with firewood and with the other winter chores—shoveling, carrying out the ashes from the stove.

Twin Elms, [2498 Belfast Road] and located at the well-traveled intersection of Slab City and the road to Belfast, had been the Miller family homestead for generations. Allen stepped out into the dooryard and looked back at the place. Some people said the two big elms were “husband and wife” trees; he’d seen the decayed stumps of a pair like these in front of an old cellar hole in the woods. He and Emma were like those old trees, never far apart. They didn’t have far to go to find each other when they’d married back in 1879. This house, his boyhood home, was a scant two miles from her Belmont home, Greenacres, where her father was a casket maker. It seemed hard to believe now that his father-in-law had used waterpower to run his machinery.

Emma wouldn’t be lonely, though he hoped she’d miss him. Both her parents, Oren and Jane Cammet, were living with them now, and they were still more company for her than work. One thing he could say for his wife, her house was always open to their relatives. Summers were especially busy with his sister Mary coming up from Brockton with her daughter—they often stayed the whole summer. Emma’s sister Ada Cammet came every year from Chicago bringing news of the latest fashions in clothes and houses.

He thought back to his own first visit to the city, before his marriage, sometime in the 1870s after his mother had to mortgage the farm. If there was one thing he was death on, it was owing money. As soon as he was old enough he traveled down to Brockton, Massachusetts and found work as a carpenter at a dollar a day. At that rate he soon had the mortgage paid off, and the farm owned outright again by its rightful owners. He chuckled to himself recalling his first morning in Brockton where he was staying with his sister. He’d stood in front of the window, fiddling with the shade, trying to figure out how to raise the blame thing, when it suddenly sprung out of his hands and rolled itself up taking the front of his night shirt with it!

Allen roused himself from his musings. There was still much to do before he left. For one thing, he meant to clean both chimneys; later when the sun was higher, he and Horace could shovel off the long, sloping barn roof. That would be two less things for him to worry about in Augusta—a chimney fire and a barn collapse. The rest Horace would have to take care of, like clearing the snow to the road so Hazel could get out to where the school team picked her up. Miller School was nearly a mile away and an easy walk in good weather for a fourteen-year-old girl, but not in the middle of winter. The roads drifted in quickly when the wind blew over the open fields.

With the barn attached to the house Emma wouldn’t have to go outdoors for wood or to feed the animals. And of course, twenty-five year old Horace would be doing those chores most of the time anyway. Allen was just as glad his son hadn’t married yet, glad of his company and his help. He knew Emma missed Grace since her marriage, and not just with the kitchen chores, but for herself. Still, she’d have plenty of support in his absence. Now he’d better get busy on those chimneys.

            Considering that most of the time Lincolnville’s a pretty quiet place, this week brings news of two projects with the potential to push us forward rather dramatically,

            The first has been in the works for several years; the Lincolnville Sewer District, a private entity, has been working diligently to find a solution to the Beach’s problem with sewage. The existing 25 year old sewage treatment plant (did you even know there was one? It’s located next to the boat launching ramp on Ferry Road) is nearing the end of its usefulness. It’s only served two of the restaurants and the commercial buildings across from the Beach and is privately owned.

            Now the Sewer District, using a $250,000 grant from the Northern Border Regional Commission, is planning a more extensive system which will serve three fourths of a mile along Route 1 from Shag Rock Point Road to Lively Lane. Read more about the project in the Bangor Daily News.

            The second news is that Lincolnville has been included, one of 20 midcoast towns, in a program to expand solar energy use. This involves bulk pricing of solar panels through Sundog Solar of Searsport, as well as a plan for a solar farm. If your house, like ours, does not have optimal solar exposure for rooftop panels, you can invest in a project on someone else’s land. You and other investors own the solar equipment (an array of panels on posts, for instance) and you get the electricity credits. “Solarize Midcoast Maine” is a project of Midcoast Economic Development District. An item over the week-end on the Lincolnville Bulletin Board drew several replies from people interested in learning more. Solarize Launch Events will be held at Thomaston’s Watts Hall on March 2, 6-8 p.m. and at the Rockport Opera House on March 15, 6-8 p.m. for all who are interested.

At their monthly gathering last week the book group agreed on the following choices for the coming months and the dates they’ll be discussed:

March 15: “The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie” by Alan Bradley, a historical mystery set in England in the 1940s.

April 12: “H is for Hawk ,” a memoir by Helen Macdonald about the year she spent raising a goshawk after her father died.

May 17: “Circling the Sun” by Paula McLain, a novel based on the life of record-setting aviator Beryl Markham in colonial Kenya in the 1920s.

June 21: “Crescent” by Diana Abu-Jaber, a love story set in an Arab American community in Los Angeles.

 I’m afraid this has been a terrible year to get a skating rink going on Nortons Pond I’ve really enjoyed reading Lesley Devoe’s commentary on their ups and downs. Here’s a post from the LBB last week:

“Greetings from the Rec Commission! The skating beyond the rink on Norton Pond is fantastic. As we speak, a father and son are shooting a puck between them and having a great time. This could be you.  It was hard to get onto the ice because it pulled away from the edge a bit in the rain. A little Maine ingenuity has solved the problem with the creation of a walkway made of branches. It looks like the work of a beaver but it will do the trick and is just to the left of the steps. Please spread the word about the skating and the ramp. We would appreciate any help to make a real ramp for such problems in the future. See you on the pond. Lesley”

 Unfortunately, I think the next day it rained and the temperature was in the 50s, but the spirit is alive and well!