Environment

Here we have stories about the unique environment in Maine.

Peregrine Falcon

One bright morning I stepped out of my home only to hear the pleasant sound of a morning dove cooing on a near by pine tree branch as I watched the dove a shadow appeared and in a slit second it was gone in one fatal swoop then in the air eye spy a the dove being mercilessly shredded by a peregrine falcon  now perched on another branch the dove (now a unrecognizable pile of feathers) was being feasted upon by the now satisfied falcon and for a moment the forest was silent.

By (L.G.)

 The Coldness

  Alright, I am going to tell you about my morning. Everyday I have to wake up and all the cold from the outdoors has found it’s way into the house. So I wake up in the morning, not to a nice warm sunny day, nope I have to wake up to a dry freezing cold house, lips numb. I don’t want to get up out of my blanket the one blanket to keep me warm. I don’t want to get out of my blanket to jump into the shower because the warm water would only last a little while because the pipes would freeze.  As soon as I get out of the shower the coldness of the house makes me colder then I did when I woke up.
    Then when I get to putting some clothes on I usually wear a tank top, short sleeve shirt, sweater then a winter coat. Then, shorts, thermal pajama and button up pants. On a usual morning, that would keep me warm for the walk out my driveway.  My driveway is about 1/5 mile walk. The walk is so painfull because the usual morning is about ten below. Walking with the wind blowing into my face piercing my eyes making them water the tears turn into ice on my cheek. I try running to the end of the driveway to make the ten minute walk turn into a five minute run but that only makes it worse. The wind is now hitting my face and feels like someone has taken a side of a brick and is rubbing it on the side of my face every which way. I try to breathe but it is to cold my throat can’t stand this weather. I start to cough my head off.
    Finally, I get to the end of my driveway but then there is still the wait at the end of the driveway for the bus. I can’t hear the bus my ears sting from the coldness. I try to look next door to see if my neighbor is still waiting for the bus but the wind is relentless blowing into my face. I try to see if she is still waiting but my eyes are now filling up with tears everything is fuzzy because of the tears. I don’t think I have ever wanted the bus to come now so bad in my entire life. I look again for the bus and this time I see two orange lights flashing one side to the other. Then, I realize that it is the bus. I wipe my watery eyes so it doesn’t look like I’ve been crying or anything.  I want to look cool in front of all the high schoolers on my bus. The bus stops for me to get. I have never been so happy to be on a bus in my life. 

By (B.E.)

Brown Eyed Susans

    Summer in Maine is beautiful.  It’s not hot-hot like down south or cold like you might expect.  It’s warm- we have our hot days and our cool days, but nothing unbearable. 
    I go to my camp in the summer.  My camp is on a long dirt road surrounded by trees leading down to a small lake (yet, it’s called Big Indian Lake.)  We swim, boat, and tube there.  It’s something I’ve done most of my life.
    The scenery around my camp is dazzling.  Birch and Pine trees are everywhere.  The water sparkles like a freshly polished mirror in the sun.  When you jump in, delicate ripples float around you.
    My mom and I took walks up the dirt road all the time when I was little.  We’d admire the clumps of ferns along the path.  I’d pick the lupines, tolerating my mother’s admonition not to pick too many.  When we passed the rare brown eyed susan, I’d rush to pick it for my mother (those were her favorite).
    Later in the season, we’d pick blackberries.  I didn’t like them, so I’d pick them for my parents and my sister.  I’d brave the thorns, just to pick these small berries (even though they’d usually squish and leave me with purple hands because I’d squeezed them too tightly.)
    I enjoyed those walks; up the road, through the woods- picking flowers and blackberries.  I love the nature here in Maine.

By (H.P.)

Snow Day

    One day I got up at 6 o’ clock in the morning. Still in my pajamas I went outside to bring my two dogs out, Napolean and Rex. I was still tired so when I walked out the door I slipped and fell on my butt. That woke me up a little more.  So anyways onto what I was saying, I went outside, fell and stood up and I saw my two dogs jumping and leaping through the foot of snow, So I went back inside and started watching T.V to see if we had school and we didn’t. 
    So I called my friends Albert, Tommy, Brandon, Colton, and my best friend Seneca to see if they wanted to hang out and they all did so we went snowboarding, me and Seneca didn’t know how to yet so the boys had to teach us, after a long time we didn’t want to snowboard anymore so we just started making snow pile’s and we had a snow ball fight it was awesome, we were all runny around laughing and screaming. We went back to my house because I live right next to a pond and it was all ice, we went on the pond and we were running around and me and Seneca were being dumb and we ran right into each other we fell right on the glare ice and we started laughing Albert  and Tommy came over to help us because they thought we need help and when they took our hands we pulled them down, it was really funny.
    When we were trying to get up we kept falling back down so Brandon and Colton came over to help us.  Then when we finally got up we went inside down in the basement to get all the snow stuff off so we didn’t get the upstairs all snowy.  When we went upstairs we drank hot cocoa, ate sugar cookies, cuddled up in blankets, and watched T.V. To get all warm, my belly felt warm when I drank the cocoa. It was the best snow day ever.

By (C.T.)

The Cold of Maine

    Not so long ago in a state far, far, away called Maine... I was getting ready to go outside in TWENTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO WEATHER WITH A WIND CHILL OF ALMOST THIRTY BELOW, WHERE THE SNOW IS COMING IN SIDEWAYS to walk almost a quarter mile and stand for twenty minuets in said weather to go to school.  Now I’m not a poor person, sure I can’t have it all, but I live.  So why am I going outside in such cold weather to go to school today?  Because that day was a test day or a half day, I can’t remember which. 
    Any-who, I donned my ‘Armor’ that had: my heavy duty, extra large, L.L.Been, tested to Antarctic temperatures, hard as rock, Maine ice-storm proof coat with matching snow pants (for warmth purposes only), a pair of knit gloves with mittens over that, knit socks, and heavy boots.  All of which is over my regular clothes of: a long sleeve shirt, a hooded sweat shirt, and a pair of sweat pant.  When all of my stuff was on, I picked up my backpack, and left without a word.  Now for those of you who live in a place like say, Canada or Alaska, you know what the weather listed above feels like, but for those of you who live in Florida or Australia, I will describe it to you.
    The instant my face hit the air, it froze, My face went completely numb and I couldn't feel my legs.  My nose was so frozen, I had to breath with my mouth open.  Because of the snow, I couldn’t see very far.  So I had to walk very slowly to get to the bus stop.  When I got there, It was only a bit warmer than back at my house. 
    As I stood waiting, looking as solid as stone, I wondered ‘would the bus arrive in time to keep me from freezing?’  thoughts were racing as the wind blew.  I almost froze before the bus arrived, but when it got there, I was so happy, I almost died.  And that, is the story, of the Cold in Maine!

By (R.N.)

Winter With a Sun

    The chilling breeze is brutal as it slices through your sweater, tugging at your skin and freezing you to the bone. This is a typical winter for me, in mid-coast Maine. The winters here in mid-coast Maine are brutal, windy, and miserable. The days are cloudy, wet, and long. When the sun comes out of hiding in the summer time, and the beach unfreezes into a cool vacation, the summers are bright and beautiful!
    The fresh fruit and berries at the super market are plentiful, the beach is the perfect place for a swim. There’s also no school or homework to worry about!
    I would surely love to tell you about the summers here in Maine, but I am here to tell you about the winters. The cold time of year, with snow, ice and brutal winds that nag at your bare ankles and tear at your ears. I’ll start my story about mid-coast Maine with a personal experience that happens often, thanks to the snowy days.
    Beep, Beep, Beep, Be. I tiredly reach over for the off button and glance at the alarm clock, 6:00 am. I wobble tiredly out of bed and glance out the window. To my surprise its been snowing all night! All of a sudden I feel an excited burst of energy as I race down the stairs to turn on the weather channel. Chilled and hurried, I turn on the T.V. and read the canceled schools. SAD43, SAD46, SAD54, SAD56. Yes! No school today! I tiredly climbed up the turning, twisting stairs, up to my bedroom, over to my bed and under the covers. The blankets greet me with a warm welcome and before I know it I’ve drifted back off to sleep. School work can wait until tomorrow, I’ll worry about sleeping today. Winter does have some good times, I call it winter with a sun.

By (A.D.)

Moose Encounter

    I was visiting my Gram’s for the summer.  At this point in time, I lived in Virginia, and my Grams lived in Maine.  This particular day was sunny and warm, so we had decided to go for a walk down through the woods to the cove. 
    I was in a hurry to get back, so I was quickly walking far ahead of our group.  I had traveled this path many times, so it was easy to glide along making no sound; effortlessly flying through the woods though I still needed to watch my step.  With my head down, I didn’t notice when I came upon a gigantic moose.  It hadn’t noticed me, luckily. Silently, stealthily, and skittishly sneaking, I crept closer to the humongous beast.  Near crawling now, I was within ten feet of this moose, but stepping sideways I broke a tree branch.
    The moose turned its fantastic head in my direction, and seeing me, it bolted.  It was gone before I could shake the fear out of my face. 
    Later at the house, I told the story of my moose encounter. My sister said it was a story I’d be telling a lot. And, she was right.

By (J.W.)

Voices From Midcoast Maine

    The Black flies in Maine are the most terrible things alive. They survive by being so annoying, because they when they bite you, it leaves a little red mark that itches for days on end. There is so many of them you just can’t escape, and sometimes they even find their way inside, so when you wake up, you have a bunch of itchy red spots. It is close to impossible to even kill one, because they are so small, you can’t see them until it’s to late and they bite you.
    There is a way to defeat them though, it’s not very effective, but if you put bug spray on, the black flies will be less likely to attack you, but some still do. If you do see a black fly you will hear a slight buzzing sound, because of there tiny wings, and when you see when up close, they are as ugly as can be. They have eyes in the shape of little glass domes, and they seem to be hairy and very dirty little insects. They also hang around with the other terrible Insect of Maine, the mosquito.
    The mosquito is probably the most recognized bug in Maine, they have long spindly legs, and very hairy abdomens. Also, they have a blood sac that is in their stomach, because they suck blood they have a syringe type needle they stick into you. You won’t notice at first but after a while the numbing poison they use wears off, and then you feel the pain.
   Mosquitos are really easy to kill though, while their sucking your blood, they are to busy to notice that you swat them, but sometimes their sickly bodies smudge all over your skin. But the bugs aren’t all bad, by the time it gets really cold they go hibernate or die off, but they aren’t finished so easily, as long as there is some source of stagnant water, they will always return.

By (P.H.)

Feeding The Fire

    Thud! Another load of wood fell onto the rack. Bringing in wood is one of my least favorite things about living in Maine. It’s boring and hard, but if I don’t want to be an icicle by the morning I have to bring in the fire’s favorite food. I stepped back outside into the polar air, and walked over the slippery surface of my deck, and trekked down the stairs to were the woodpile awaited me. I crouched down in front of the pile and started to grab pieces of wood. My arms quivered underneath the massive weight of the wood. Soon sweat started to form on my brow, freezing almost instantly. Back up the stairs and over the deck which seemed a hundred times longer now that I needed desperately to relieve my arms of the dense pile. As I was going to drop yet another load of wood onto the rack my dog sprang in front of me. CRASH! Wood tumbled all over the icy ground. It wasn’t alone, I smashed against the ground as well, just barely escaping a falling piece of wood. My mom came rushing towards me to make sure I was ok, I nodded my head saying I was, slowly getting to my feet. “All right get back to work.” my mom said.
    “What!” I cried. “Well that’s Maine for you the work is never done!”
The rest of the day went pretty uneventful, however it showed me that
nothing in Maine is EVER boring!

By (Z.B.)

"Bladed Grace"

    As the soft, sturdy, white leather closes tightly around my feet, I think of the scars and redness that these very skates had caused on previous occasions that we'd met. The long laces clench at my ankles, fixing them at a ninety degree angle, creating an almost painful feeling. The laces tie around my calves, pulling them close as a thick, white, second skin. I feel an ebbing numbness as I pull a tight, limp, bow; cutting the circulation off from my feet. The familiarity of it is all very creepy.
    The icy mud sticks to the blades under my boots. I grip the base of a tree, the only thing not either coated in ice or dirt, to lift myself onto the ice. My light jacket crinkles softly as I push myself from the rock I was seated on.
    The first feeling of the ice under my blades as I glide across the bumpy ice is breathless. The whole fire-pond is silent, with the one exception of the shining metal under my soles and the shush, shush of the breathing. My breathe creates small gray clouds in front of my face.
    The air is cold and clean as it brushes past my face. Free flakes of white snow fall on my lashes in a light dusting from the skies above. The pond is so peaceful, even the fallen tree limbs standing, wrecked, out of the pond seems to be listening to what can't be heard.
    Small white lines are left in the perfect ice, as I glide gracefully forward in small curves. Like a ballet dancer, even my klutzy self has an aura of elegance. Small scrapes as I push thrust myself forward into the darkness of the tree surrounded, frozen waters. I feel so alone, but it doesn't bother me, because I also feel so alive.    
    As I near the centre of the fire pond, I come to a quick stop. I listen to the snow falling off of its home in the bows. The ice settles with a low moan, like large wire cables snapping. It is an unsettling settling, for it sounds just as it wound if the ice were to crack beneath me. This happens several times before I decide to be on my way and head towards the edge, since the ice beneath me could give way any moment, forcing me down into a cold, icy, muddy darkness, for which there would be no return from on my part.
    Being here on the ice is not a safe feat to do by myself. But the rush I get as I fly effortlessly forward, is worth all the risk involved. I think about this as I gently slow to a stop some time later. I flow through a patch of slushy water as the surface of the pond, where my shoes lay in a mangled heap in a dry area on the path above.
    The sun is low over the trees behind me. I stepped up from the low, steep bank. My skate dug into the frozen mud, leaving wet amounts on the jagged edge of the toe pick. I hefted myself off of the ground up onto the dry grass covered path.
    I seated myself on the pebbles. They were freezing cold, and my legs soaked it up. The sudden chill sent goosebumps up my spine and a quivered as I reached for the tight laces. They were coated in wet snow and froze together. I scratched at the snow and ice until I'd let away enough snow so I could relieve myself of the knots. It was a tedious task; my fingers were stiff and numb, making the process unbearably slow.
    At last the knots pulled loose and I anxiously pulled the skate from my foot. But I don't know which was worse; the slow constant pain from wearing the skates, which was slowly numbing from the cold, or the sudden, horribly rush of feeling in my feet. It was so cold that it almost felt hot for some reason. I, unfortunately, felt the rubbing, and chaffing, and crushing the skates had caused upon my feet. I pulled my other skate off in the same, long, droning process.  
    I didn't dare touch them , since it hurt to even think about it. I put on my dry sneakers to shield my toes from the blistering cold. I tied the laces of my skates together, and held the icy white knot in my benumbed hands. I stood up, but my knees felt awkward.
    Walking down the path, to anyone else, I would have looked completely out of it. My legs wobbled from one side to the other, since they'd become adapted to the gentle glide of the skates, flowing freely. My skates swung at my knees from a frigid fist. My hand had turned a gray purple as I ventured to the empty road.
    The cold, hard pavement felt unusually rough under my pained feet. My shoes tipped up and down from my heels, their laces pulling out of the holes slowly.
    I felt frigid cold reach my neck as I walked up the road to my home. The clean icy wind pushed me forward at my back. Moving so freely just as I had when the supple, white skates were on my feet, and I was moved forward by even the slightest of movement. The grace of which was incomparable, even in a fantasy.

By (G.H.)