As I sit here on Monday morning, the wind is still blowing ferociously, drifting the snow into improbable swirls, and the thermometer registers 3 degrees. Not a single bird has visited the feeders yet; a lone raven, perched at the top of a bare oak tree, black against the blue sky, is the only life to be seen outside my window. Oh, except for the dog, who is calmly striding over the top of the fence that normally keeps him secure inside the back yard.

     Will this winter never end? Will we ever stop talking about this winter never ending? I was coping pretty well; I love bad weather, and the excuse it gives me to stay inside and play with yarn and stories. But then my washing machine drain froze, and it all came back — the years of living in a really drafty old farmhouse, burning green wood that sizzled more than crackled, giving off steam, not heat. A frozen kitchen sink drain is worse. It used to happen at least once a winter, and our solution was to go outside and break apart the pipe. Of course, that meant the sink drain water poured right out onto the ground, but desperate times, desperate measures.

     So poor me with a washing machine I can’t use. As it happens, our daughter-in-law, who lives two minutes away, has offered the use of theirs, leaving me with the minor inconvenience of taking my dirty laundry there. Poor Mrs. Jamieson, mother of the little girl in the photo, along with every other woman of her era, doing her wash by hand, an era, by the way that is still going on for a very large number of the world’s population. And all that got me thinking that we’re a pretty spoiled lot, with not much more to complain about than the inconvenience of a winter that’s gone on too long.

     Here’s a compilation of water troubles, random little tales told to me while I was researching Staying Put ten years ago:

      Viola Curtis was a happy little girl in 1924, the only daughter of Ada and George Curtis, growing up on their Belfast Road farm in Northport. Her mother was an accomplished woman who put up all the family’s food for winter and wrote for The Republican Journal. When Viola saw a pretty red wool cape in a Belfast store window, her mother went home and made one just like it using a pattern she cut out of newspaper. Ada played the piano for various functions at Tranquility Grange in Lincolnville. Viola liked to sit under the piano where she couldn’t be seen while her mother played.

     One day after she’d been practicing on the Grange piano, Ada got a drink of water from the well out back, using the hand pump. A water wiggler (centipede) was in the glass of water, and she swallowed it at almost the same moment she realized what it was.  Later that night she became violently ill, throwing up and coughing, finally bringing up the water wiggler. Viola remembers seeing it. But Ada continued vomiting, until her husband took her to the hospital, where she lingered for two weeks before she died. An autopsy showed that this thirty-nine year old woman died when adhesions from an old appendectomy broke loose during her violent coughing and twisted around the bowel.

     Viola’s life took a sad turn after that. Her embittered father blamed the doctor for misdiagnosing his wife’s problem; he put his daughter out to board with a succession of families who cared only for the money he paid them. Meanwhile, he struggled to support them as a traveling salesman. Eventually, he found a kind family to take her in, and she finished growing up, as she had started out, in a happy household.

Water from dug wells held other dangers than the wildlife that lived in them, at any rate, the visible wildlife. A fairly common health problem arose when the well was located downhill from either the barn or outhouse. Runoff from the barnyard with its manure pile and concentration of animal droppings would seep into the groundwater, and from there into the well which supplied the family’s drinking water. This situation was a breeding ground for the typhoid germ. There were occasional cases of typhoid fever in the area during the first decades of the 20th-Century, and usually they could be linked to contaminated wells.

     A young girl in Lincolnville contracted typhoid fever supposedly from drinking water from a roadside ditch. She died of the disease. But sometimes a case of typhoid would appear where there was no contaminated water or apparent contact with the pathogen. Typhoid fever is known to occasionally spread by carriers, individuals who harbor the germ in their bodies but who don’t develop the disease themselves.

     One such typhoid carrier may have been responsible, in the early 1930s, when two Lincolnville households experienced deaths from typhoid within a short period. It turned out that following the first death the elderly father in that family went to stay with a neighboring family. Not long after that, the twelve-year old daughter in that family contracted typhoid fever and died from it. Local lore held that the elderly man was the carrier.

     A hazard of dug wells that is more obvious is in their very nature — an open, water-filled hole in the ground. More than one young child drowned in the family well. And more than once, a heroic mother or father managed to save their child. One woman grabbed hold of her four-year old’s thick curls and hung on for dear life until she was able to yell loud enough for help to appear. Another woman, nine-months pregnant, managed to climb down the rock walls of the well to rescue her toddler.

     Passing animals can fall into an open well as easily as children do. When the  water from a dug well develops a bad taste, the homeowner ought to first check to see if anything has died down there — porcupines, skunks, rats and frogs are all candidates. The well is cleaned by removing the carcass, pouring in bleach, then pumping out the water and letting it refill naturally. This process is still used today.

     A good water supply was the number one requirement of a farm. Some of the early places were built near a natural spring, spots where the ground water is right at the surface. A farmer could build a simple wooden box around a spring and dip from the resulting pool. The house at 367 Youngtown Road [Cellardoor Winery today] is built one hundred and fifty feet downhill from a spring, and the water flows, thanks to gravity, through a pipe right into the kitchen where it keeps a stone sink full all the time. The overflow is piped out the back. [Not sure if this is still in place.] According to Clyde Young, born in that house in 1913, the spring never once dried up until 2002, the year he was almost ninety.

     My town-bred dad loved nothing more than poking around our place, figuring out how things used to be done here, first on visits, later when he’d moved to Camden for the last decade of his life. He never found a well on our property, and couldn’t figure out where the water supply was. It was obvious from the barn, the bits of harness, poultry gear and horse shoes that kept turning up, that animals as well as people lived here. His best guess was that a wet spot across the road (where I still harvest damp sphagnum moss every spring for hanging baskets) was once a spring; it had probably been destroyed when the road was initially paved, he surmised.

     Our dirt-floored, rock-walled cellar is partially taken up with a large cement cistern. You can still see where pipes came down from the roof gutters to funnel rainwater into it. And when we moved here the kitchen counter had the hole for the sink handpump. They must have used the cistern water for washing, but presumably not for drinking. In addition to the possible spring across the road, there is still a wonderful spring in Sleepy Hollow where several neighboring families got their drinking water.

     One day, I ran into a neighbor coming up from Frohock Brook where he’d been fishing for a new trout. His old one had died, he told me, the one that lived in his spring. The spring was located across the road and a considerable distance down in the woods. He pumped the water up to his house from that spring and counted on a healthy trout to indicate that the water was wholesome. I know what you’re thinking; why wasn’t he troubled about the dead fish?

     When a spring wasn’t available the farmer dug for water. The hole had to be wide enough that the sides wouldn’t collapse during the digging. The dirt and rock was hauled up in buckets and dumped. The water table was reached when water started to fill up the bottom of the hole. Now the walls of the hole were laid up with rock to form a clean, somewhat uniform surface. Often a covered wooden box was built over the top. Some men were so skillful with rock that they built wells that are as sound today as when they were first completed.

     Burrowing straight down into the earth in search of water is a primitive activity, so it’s not surprising that dug wells evoke beliefs not founded in reason. When a man undertakes to dig for water with a shovel and his own strong back he understandably wants to dig where the water is close to the surface. So he might first consult a dowser. Dowsing is the art of finding water under ground. The dowser usually uses some sort of forked stick and, holding the arms of it in each hand, walks over the land. When water is close to the surface the branch points down, seemingly of its own accord. “Dig here,” the dowser recommends, and if he’s good, or maybe just lucky, a good vein of water is only a few feet down. [Someday soon I’ll write about the dowsers among us!]

     Local lore says that a certain well in town is so deep the stars are visible in broad daylight from the bottom. Apparently all but starlight is blocked by the deep shaft. And another story has a fellow sending the state a sample from his neighbor’s well instead of his own when he sold his house.

     Most  (but not all) of the old wells were filled in after farms were abandoned so unsuspecting people or animals wouldn’t fall in. The rocks that were so laboriously laid up to form the walls of the well were pushed into the hole until only a rock-filled depression remains. But even so, be cautious when exploring an old farm site in the woods of Lincolnville. You might be surprised.

     Read more stories about our town in Staying Put in Lincolnville, Maine 1900-1950,  available at Western Auto and at Sleepy Hollow Rag Rugs, 217 Beach Road.

     There are other ways to pass this too-long winter than whining and feeling sorry for ourselves, other than remembering how hard it used to be. Easter is coming, the season of rebirth, in a religious as well as the very real change of seasons. Birds show us the way first.

     The goldfinches are taking on that faint, olive green/gray coloring that will suddenly turn to brilliant canary yellow. On a sunny morning I hear the chickadees calling a tentative “sweet spring” song, and the cardinals are going crazy. Not that I ever have a cardinal here on the edge of the woods, but on a walk down Ducktrap Road last week, in between snowflakes and blizzard-like winds, we saw five cardinals — three males and two females. They were all singing their piercing, sweet cardinal call to one another, darting from tree to tree, and making us anxious for their good sense. After all, if they really follow through on all those love calls and actually mate, will their eggs come too soon for survival in the cold?

     And that brings me to eggs. Last Saturday, for perhaps the tenth year, Julie Turkevich held her annual Pysanky egg decorating party at the Community Building. The party was originally held at her house, but over time, as enthusiasm (and the guest list) grew, she moved it to the Community Building. The guest list is open-ended, in that Julie will happily invite anyone who expresses interest. Opening it to the public, though, isn’t an option as she needs to have an idea of how many supplies to have on hand. She asks for a donation to help with those. People also bring plates of cookies, little sandwiches, etc. to keep the decorators fortified; it’s a party after all.

     Pysanky is generally thought of as a Ukranian craft, though many other middle European people do it as well. It involves drawing with wax on the egg shell using a special little pen, then dipping the waxed egg into intensely colored dyes. Dry it off and wax it some more, then dye it another color. Each waxed section retains its original color, so when the wax is removed  — voila! A beautiful and surprising design is revealed. Think batik if you know that process.

     The room was full of children on Saturday, as Pysanky has a lot for a child to like: open flames, messy dyes, and a certain magical property hard to find in today’s world. There were also parents of those children, guiding them through the process, and also making sure nobody’s hair caught on fire. If you really want to make your eggs authentic, you use an intact, raw egg rather than a blown-out one. Over time the insides dry out and, theoretically, the eggs last forever. Sometimes, though, on a hot summer day you hear a strange pop coming from a cupboard, and you discover an old Pysanky egg has exploded, thereby adding to the magic in the eyes of your children.

     The pen or kistka, its little well full of beeswax, is hold over a candle flame until the wax melts, which then flows out onto the egg in whatever design you want. Jars full of the dye colors are lined up, cool colors on one table, warm on the other. The kids (though initially under supervision, but eventually, as their parents become immersed in their own eggs, are on their own), dunking their eggs, coming up with purple and blue and green finger tips.

     Julie and a cohort of experienced Pysanky people go from table to table, advising the newcomers, admiring designs, and commiserating when clumsy little hands drop a perfectly-finished egg. Julie would be the first to say that children should be accompanied by an adult. Even quite young kids can participate; one wriggly four-year old boy sat quietly on Dad’s lap as the two of them worked on his egg.

     Julie’s party isn’t just for kids and their parents. A number of adults look forward to the annual event, coming with designs in their heads and a supply of eggs. It’s a rare, quiet hour or two, the smell of melted beeswax, pretty colors and your own hands.

     So if this sounds like a fun way to spend a Saturday when the snow is dirty and nasty, the wind won’t stop, and spring seems an impossible dream, contact Julie  while you’re thinking of it. She’ll add you to her invitation list for next year. By the way, if you’d like to try Pysanky on your own and/or don’t know where to get supplies, Fiddlehead Artisans in Belfast has them. 

     This Thursday and Friday, 7 p.m., in Walsh Common, LCS students, grades 2-8, will put on Blather, Blarney and Balderdash, an Irish play “with something for everyone: love, mystery, comedy, and mythical creatures.” Reserve tickets by calling Mrs. Widdoes at 763-3366 ext. 124.

     Kindergarten registration is starting; please contact school secretary Marie Pierce by email or at 763-3366 if you or someone you know has a child turning five on or before Oct. 15, 2015.

      At its April 6 meeting the School Committee will be discussing how to adjust the calendar to account for the three extra snow days that were taken this year. One option to be considered would be having school on Saturday morning, April 11, an early release day on Friday, May 22 (currently a no school teacher workshop day) and Saturday morning, June 20, this last to be the annual Field Day. School Committee meetings are open to the public; anybody with concerns about this schedule can also contact Principal Russo, 763-3366. By the way, the email address for any staff member at the school, or for that matter in the five town school system – Appleton, Camden, Hope, Lincolnville and Rockport – is first name.last name@fivetowns.net.

    Maria Libby, current assistant superintendent and the newly appointed superintendent for the Five Towns (Union 69 as well as SAD 28 and the CSD), has written an open letter to our communities with her comments about our schools and standardized testing. Since this is an issue frequently in the news here’s a chance to read the thoughts of our own local educators.     

     The Lincolnville Historical Society is holding a free deed workshop on Wednesday, 10 a.m., at the Library, led by Randy Harvey. Several people have signed up for this, which will include instruction and discussion of how to research your own deed, with follow up trips to the Registry of Deeds in Belfast. If you didn’t sign up, but would like to come, contact Randy to see if there’s still room. If there’s enough interest, a second workshop could be scheduled for a later date. 

     Once again, this Sunday, Rev. Kate Braestrup, Chaplain to the Maine Warden Service, will the guest preacher at United Christian Church’s morning service, 9:30 a.m. All welcome.     

     From Librarian Sheila Polson: “This month the library book group is reading “This month the library book group is reading “Wild,”  the memoir by Cheryl Strayed about her solo hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. The meeting to discuss the book will be Tuesday, April 14, at 6 p.m. The book choice for May is “The Boys in the Boat” , by Daniel James Brown which tells the inspiring true story of the 1936 U.S. men’s Olympic rowing team. The discussion of that book will be Tuesday, May 19 at 6 p.m. Everyone is welcome to join the group. It’s always a great time to chat about the month’s choice and also share ideas for future books to read. For more information, call 763-4343 or email.“

     “Divine Design”, a two-day event for women who would like to learn more about God’s design for their lives, will be held on Friday and Saturday, April 10 & 11, at West Rockport Baptist Church. Derived from the True Woman conferences, the weekend will include worship, teaching videos, small group discussions, fellowship and refreshments. For more information and to sign up, contact Pam Ramsey at 785-2285.  

     Finally, the weekly Soup Café, a project of United Christian Church and open to all, has been a reality for nearly a year. The dream of holding a free, weekly community meal, an idea of longtime Pastor Susan Stonestreet’s for several years, began to take shape as the Community Building renovation moved along. The “CB”, once Lincolnville’s basketball court, has been transformed into an inviting space for art shows, private parties and receptions, meetings large and small, contra dancing, plays, and concerts.

      A kitchen and handicapped-accessible bathroom are next on the agenda, with construction hopefully within the year. Meanwhile, though, a makeshift kitchen with microwave, refrigerator and counter space is proving perfectly adequate for the Soup Café. Susan Silverio has organized a great team of soup makers (3 kinds including a vegetarian), bakers, and servers. Thanks to Borealis in Waldoboro, fresh breads are on the menu as well. 

With no charge for the meal, any donations go to the church’s Good Neighbor Fund. Wally and I are regulars nearly every Thursday. There’s generally somebody making music, must recently Sam Manning on the harmonica, or Rosey Gerry and Jack Silverio on guitar and mandolin. And lately, we’ve noticed, the dessert-makers are upping their game – Cream Puffs, Fruit Tarts, Pineapple Upside Down Cake, homemade Donut Holes. If you or someone you know is in town on Thursdays and would enjoy a little company and a home cooked meal, join us at the Soup Café.

Contact Diane O’Brien with news for this column; call 789-5987 or email.

Lincolnville Resources

 Lincolnville Town Office: 493 Hope Road, 763-3555

 Lincolnville Fire Department: 470 Camden Road, non-emergency 542-8585, 763-3898, 763-3320

 Fire Permits: 763-4001 or 789-5999

 Lincolnville Community Library: 208 Main Street, 763-4343

 Lincolnville Historical Society: LHS, 33 Beach Road, 789-5445

 Lincolnville Central School: LCS, 523 Hope Road, 763-3366

 Lincolnville Boat Club: 207 Main Street, 975-4916

 Bayshore Baptist Church: 2636 Atlantic Highway, 789-5859, 9:30 Sunday School, 11 Worship

 Crossroads Community Baptist Church: meets at LCS, 763-3551, 11:00 Worship

United Christian Church: 763-4526, 18 Searsmont Road, 9:30 Worship

 Contact person to rent for private occasions:

 Community Building: 18 Searsmont Road, Diane O’Brien, 789-5987

 Lincolnville Improvement Association: LIA, 33 Beach Road, Bob Plausse, 789-5811

 Tranquility Grange: 2171 Belfast Road, Rosemary Winslow, 763-3343