Sunday evening exchange on the LBB (our online bulletin board) — Mia writes: “Hello we just got a call from a young friend who is trapped on an icy Road over at Mount Pleasant.  The tow truck cannot come---- they won't come because of the ice so she called the police and the police are working to go get her. Her fiance is by himself without a car and a phone …. in Lincolnville. ….. Does anybody reading this live close enough to stop over there if it's safe enough and just tell him that she is okay and waiting for the police to get her? …. she's very worried because he's by himself and has no idea why she's not home yet. 

“We don't think we can get over there because we're all iced in. If a wrecker says he can't get to her then we can't get to her.”

Pat replies: “Confused. Is she in a house or stuck in her car on the road? How did she get where she is? He has no phone? Is there a neighbor with a phone? It is 41 degrees. Why is it so icy all of a sudden?”

Mia: “She is stuck on Pleasant Mountain and awaiting a sand truck and a tow truck. Her fiance is at the home they share and she has the only phone. Someone replied here and said they would go tell him but I have called them twice and they're not answering their phone though they told me to call them. AAA said that it was so icy they wouldn't go until a sand truck came.”

Jeanne checks in: It's nearly 40 degrees here in the Center ... am puzzled as well. Is it really that much different over on Levenseller Mtn?”

Mia again: “Thank you, Hayden, for trying to go speak to him.  Just like what happened with our farm hand, your car would not go on the ice but I appreciate your valiant effort.”

Meanwhile, this morning on South Cobbtown Road:

 Corelyn writes: “It warmed up yesterday and overnight and a lot of snow in the woods melted. However, it turned every other surface with snow into thick, slick ice. My driveway and road are impassable at the moment. [My school is closed] but have a work/training day instead and I still have to get out. I am certainly glad I am not a school bus driver.

“[A neighbor is taking] her truck out to check things and calling other sanders. This ain’t fun.”

A bit later: “The sander will come at 9:30 but [my neighbor] was trying to go out to get sand for all of us and crashed her truck. So, I am not trying it, and she has the best possible tires and is a terrific driver. When the guy comes he will sand me too.”

Winter in Maine. Not only do we see 50º temperature swings in a single day, but each of us here in Lincolnville apparently lives in our own climate zone. I personally live in at least two; the temperature out my back window can be 10º lower than in the front dooryard.

One of our sons once did his eighth grade Science Fair project on Lincolnville’s microclimates. He contacted four or five people living in different parts of town and asked them to track the temperature at their location for a month. The results were pretty dramatic, as the graphs and charts he devised were literally all over the map. I think he concluded it had to do with our topography: hills, valleys, streambeds, oceanfront, ponds. It’s a pretty complicated place.

Remember science fairs? Once a year, usually in the spring, schools held the annual Science Fair. Each student chose a topic to study, wrote a report, and put together a display that fit on top of a card table. Rows of tables filled the cafeteria, while students stood nervously next to their table to explain the project to parents and younger siblings.

You either loved the Science Fair or hated it.

Science fairs brought out the best and the worst in the kids and their parents. The Science Fair could even be seen as a symbol for everything good and bad about middle school (or junior high if you’re of a certain age).

Take a stroll down the aisles of the cafeteria on Science Fair night:

First off, notice the posters propped up on each table. The dreaded poster. Some are exquisitely designed, with perfectly centered letters cut out of construction paper announcing the topic: The Structure of a Flower, Life Cycle of the Lobster, or Rocks in My Backyard. Drawings and descriptions are artfully arranged on the pristine white board.

Others, another category of project all together, appear to have been thrown together late that afternoon. The title is hand-lettered in marker or crayon, no sign of a ruler or straight-edge, the scant information in nearly illegible handwriting under pictures cut out raggedly from some magazine. Fingerprints and glue smears mark the edges. Perhaps someone ate their lunch on this board.

Arranged on the table, or under it, or even tied to the leg of the table is The Project itself. A papier mâché flower, its stigma, anthers and petals neatly labeled, alongside a selection of potted African violets and a bouquet of flowers fresh from the store. Or egg cartons hold samples of those backyard rocks, somewhat dubiously labeled. On another a caged hamster is frantically racing its wheel, and we learn on the poster the care and feeding of this beloved pet.

The Science Fair at a coastal Maine school – say Lincolnville Central School – could be unpredictable to say the least. Life Cycle of the Lobster probably means actual lobster parts. The Newborn Calf? An actual little calf, sleeping under the table on a blanket.

Parents knowingly nudge each other at certain tables where the project is just too perfect. “She never did that herself,” or “you know his dad built that.”

What better example of the unfairness of life? Where parents give a leg up? Or not.

We’re so easily impressed by the display, by the gloss, the presentation. That messy poster, thrown together in the car on the way out to the Fair, doesn’t begin to convey the excitement a certain little boy feels for the calf born in his father’s barn last week, excitement that might grow with him as he matures.

Smelly lobster parts, a few rocks picked up in the yard, or the perfect model of a flower. Who knows where these children will end up?

 In seventh grade I took apart a bird, a pheasant my father had shot, boiled it till the meat fell off, cleaned the bones, and glued it all back together. My poster must have had a drawing of a bird skeleton I would have found in our World Book encyclopedia, and in front, the reconstructed skeleton hung from some sort of armature I built. It was a hit, that science project, and I really did do it all myself (except for shooting the pheasant.) Halfway through the Fair, though, my poster fell over, knocking down the skeleton which of course, broke all apart. I may have cried; I don’t remember.

No, I never became a zoologist or a doctor or any kind of scientist, but to this day I bury any dead birds I find in wire screening, dig them up later and clean their bones. I have no idea why, except that those little bones are such fascinating, perfect structures, and I like looking at them.

The Science Fair has been retired as far as I know, replaced for a time by the “Interest” Fair, where kids could display a collection, or a hobby, or pet. Computers now generate amazing displays – does anybody still cut letters out of construction paper?

Science Fairs favored a certain kind of kid, one who could assemble a poster without any visible glue or smudges or misspelled words and put together an interesting display. A certain amount of parental involvement sort of guaranteed a good grade, even an award, for there were judges and ribbons for the best projects.

Teachers often didn’t enjoy overseeing Science Fairs for those above reasons. Walk the halls of LCS today and you’ll see examples on every available wall of student artwork – no ribbons, no awards. No pressure.

A special Town Meeting is being called for Monday, February 12, 6 p.m. in Walsh Common, LCS. The purpose of the meeting is to ask the Town to contribute $19,000 a year for ten years to help fund the wastewater treatment facility being planned for the Beach. Read the agreement here.

This Wednesday, Feb. 7, 7 p.m. Walter Guinon of Ducktrap will talk about how he designed and built his own electric car. It looks a bit like a large yellow tricycle, and with photos he’ll describe how he did it. John Williams, fellow electric car owner, will talk more generally about the market for these vehicles.

Saute a panful of onions and garlic in some olive oil. Dump into a shallow baking dish. Layer slices of tomato, strips of red pepper, and sliced zucchini on top. Sprinkle generously with a mixture of bread crumbs and parmesan cheese. Bake for an hour at 350º. As the friend who brought it by said, “It’s like a flu shot!”