Howie Motenko suggests a location for a light painter while Tom Lawrence checks equipment.

Voices softly call greetings as we approach Waterfall Bridge in Acadia National Park. People arrive in pairs, alone, or in small groups. It is dusk, and we have come to paint the bridge with light.

As day fades to dark shadowed figures are positioned below the bridge, perched in the snow bank behind it, and off in the woods facing it. There is chatter. A woman across the stream asks if she is in a good spot while another describes the sweet and tart Key Lime bars everyone had after the last shoot. “Four” the shout comes, and all conversation ends. “Four” we all answer. Then “Three-two-one” and finally “Open shutter!” We turn our flashlights on and rhythmically wave the light across the face of the granite stonework and into the arch of the bridge. Silent now, intent and working together, our beams swing back and forth. Warm yellows intersect with cool blues. It is perhaps thirty seconds, but it seems infinite. There is no sound. I can see the ray of light from my flashlight. I direct it in vertical sweeps, then in circular motions across the stonework. I don’t want this to end. My beam is distinct, and then merges with the light from others. I lose myself in the whole, too. We are one, creating a light painting.

A curious hiker chats with Howie Motenko before the Jordon Pond Road Bridge shoot.

“Close shutter!” is called and we turn off our lights and let out a collective sigh. It seems as though we have been holding our breath for an eternity. The shadow and light we created are captured in a time exposure by Howie Motenko, who orchestrates this light play.

Howie,his wife Brenda Beckett, and photographer Tom Lawrence took the first nighttime bridge photo in July 2012 with help from seven friends and light painters. There are 16 bridges on the carriage roads of Acadia National Park, and they have just photographed the last one, as well as two carriage houses.

Howie heard about time exposures with moving light at a workshop at College of the Atlantic in Bar Harbor. One of the subjects was The Big Shot, an annual photo shoot with community members shining lights on buildings, boats, and landscapes. Started in 1987, this event is organized by the Rochester Institute of Technology. Howie had the vision to transfer this concept to the sculptured bridges of Acadia, and the project Painting Bridges, Uniting Community with Art and art was born.

Light painters socialize as the shoot gets set up. This was the last bridge, and there were twenty light painters.

Waterfall Bridge, shot on February 23, was the fifteenth bridge. The mile walk along the carriage road was icy, creepers were worn by most, a few skied in, the regulars greeted each other and chatted, and newcomers were welcomed by Howie and Brenda. A couple, John and Mary Whetstone drive half an hour from Trenton. “We wouldn’t miss one,” John says. Mary adds. “We love getting to hike into the park, at a time of year we wouldn’t have thought of hiking.”

The small group gathered at the bridge is growing. A sixteen by twenty-four inch print of the previous shoot is pulled out of a plastic bin. It is a photo, but the wash of light brings out the spirit of the bridge in a way a natural light picture does not. At the end of the shoot, there will be a drawing, and one lucky person will go home with it. The final images will be printed on metal, and the silvery reflective surface enhances the slightly surreal light-soaked photographs. The before shot of these bridges show a lovely view of these large stone structures, each one unique. The after shots dazzle. Going back to a before shot, it suddenly becomes drab and lifeless.

Waterfall Bridge, daylight.

Waterfall Bridge, illuminated by 23 light painters.

Matt Bratzler and Nancy Sawyer of Bar Harbor have each won a print in the raffle, but the reason they come every two weeks, regardless of weather, is to get out of the house. “We’d be home in front of the TV if it wasn’t for this.” Matt says. He talks about a shot a few weeks back that was bitter cold. Matt is wearing mittens with battery-powered heaters he bought after that night. Others show high-powered flashlights they purchased just for the light painting. The group is a mix of devoted followers and those who have just been able to go a few times. But everyone I asked said they came as often as they could.

To stand around in the dark on a cold night in the middle of the park waving flashlights about with a bunch of people you barely know doesn’t seem like something one would want to do again and again. But it wasn’t really about the process. And it wasn’t really about the art. It was a sense of being part of a group that had a joint purpose and worked together.

Howie Motenko brought light painting to Acadia National Park, with help from Brenda Beckett and Tom Lawrence.

When we arrived, Brenda was helping people find places to stand, and handed out strobes and flashlights. Howie was checking his position and he and Tom were getting all the equipment ready. These three pull this project together. They spend hours before and after each shoot making it work. They scout the site early in the week to choose the angle, and decide where the light sources should be. Then there is Photoshop work to bring out the best of each image, writing details of the event in a blog, producing the print to be given away, and baking the tasty treats. Howie is the maestro, though, and his gentle leadership is what creates the sense of oneness.

There is no ego, just a warm sharing that it takes the entire group to create these glowing images of the stone bridges. For that hour, or a bit more, random members of the community were together, creating art.

All 18 images can be seen at the Painting Bridges website www.paintingbridges.com and will be on display at the Northeast Harbor Library during May (more information below the recipe).

Recipe for the brownies Brenda baked for the Waterfall Bridge shoot
Cheesecake-Swirled Brownies
Makes 16 2-inch square, thick brownies
Brownie batter
1 stick (1/2 cup or 4 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
Cheesecake batter
8 ounces cream cheese, well softened
1/3 cup sugar
1 large egg yolk
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Plus
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips
Make brownie batter: Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Butter an 8-inch square baking pan. Heat butter and chocolate in a 3-quart heavy saucepan or double-boiler over moderately low heat, whisking occasionally, just until melted. Remove from heat and whisk in sugar, eggs, vanilla, and a pinch of salt until well combined. Whisk in flour until just combined and spread in baking pan.
Make cheesecake batter: Whisk together cheesecake batter ingredients in a small bowl until smooth. Dollop over brownie batter, then swirl in with a knife or spatula.
Sprinkle chocolate chips over cheesecake/brownie batter swirl.
Bake brownies: Bake until edges are slightly puffed and center is just set, about 35 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

The stats: 150 Volunteers, 18 Images, 9 Months, 1 Exhibit

The metal prints will be on view and for sale for the month of May at the Northeast Harbor Library, and there will be two receptions where you can meet the photographers and light painters.

Northeast Harbor Library Exhibit
Exhibit of all 18 images, prints available for purchase.
100% of the profits from the exhibit will be donated to Friends of Acadia.
Opening Reception:  Saturday, May 4, 2013 – 5:00 to 7:00 pm
Closing Reception:  Sunday, May 26, 2013 – 4:00 to 6:00 pm
Location:
Northeast Harbor Library, Mellon Room
1 Joy Road
Northeast Harbor, ME 04662
207-276-3333
www.nehlibrary.org <http://www.nehlibrary.org/>

Clear amber syrup made by Greg Sanner

Maple syrup is made in the short span when winter is over, but it is not quite spring. In between times—the soft colors of dusk when it is no longer day, but not yet night, or those awkward years when a child is turning into an adult—are passages and celebrations of change. The annual rite of boiling sap on a bonfire shifts us from dark, drowsy winter days to the freshening and greening ahead.

It is time to let go of winter, and what a sweet way to do it. March is the month for making maple syrup, and in Maine, the fourth Sunday is Maple Syrup Sunday. Sugarhouses throughout the state open their doors and serve pancakes with syrup, or drizzle it on snow, or offer tiny cones of maple cream. Streams of families get outside and trudge through snow and mud to watch the clear sap drip from a hose and to see vats of amber syrup boiling and billowing steam. They sample and savor, then buy their yearly supply of the sweet amber liquid. Sugarbush tours and tapping demonstrations inspire future tappers and boilers. A sugarbush is simply a stand of sugar or other maple tees that are tapped for syrup.

In the shade, spring snow is grainy and crunches underfoot, a lingering reminder of the white frozen winter we leave behind. Overhead buds have ripened unnoticed, and the dormant trees feel the thaw in their veins. It is the cold nights, with below freezing temperatures, and warm days that cause the sap to run. The process of turning sap to syrup can be a simple production with a few taps and buckets, boiling over a bonfire, or a vast commercial venture. Large scale or small, syruping is frequently a family adventure.

The taps and other tools of the trade get more sophisticated every year. The metal spouts once driven into bark have been replaced with small plastic tips and a short hose that drips into a bucket, or connects to a long blue tube leading to a stainless steel vat. Maine Maple Products, Maine’s largest syrup producer, has been in the same family for generations, and taps over 80,000 trees. Kinney’s Sugarhouse in Knox is also family-run; owner Lee Kinney remembers tapping and making sap when he was a child. They now tap close to 9000 trees.

Tim Littlefield of Lucerne Maple Products has been tapping for forty-five years. He used to go with his uncles when he was ten or eleven and says he was probably not much help, but it got him hooked. “It’s a sickness,” he says, “it gets into your blood. My daughter asks me how much longer I’m going to be doing it. My answer is, ‘As long as I can.’” When Tim was thirteen he was allowed to drive the sleigh through the woods. In those days it was horse-drawn sleighs, metal buckets and taps, and boiling over wood. Today he has a sugarhouse with an evaporator, the trees are tapped with small plastic tips, and the sap drips into tubing draped through the woods into a stainless vat. He says the spirit is the same, though. It is his rite of spring, and after eight hours of replacing tips, repairing drop-lines and cutting up fallen trees, he takes a brief rest, outside, because being outdoors is one of the things he likes about syruping.

Tim Littlefield, of Lucerne Maple Products

Tim has a truck fitted out with a large plastic tank to transport the syrup, and then there are bottles and labels. It is a big investment for a short season. “I don’t do it for a profit,” Tim says, “most of the profits go into new equipment.” He attends workshops, goes to seminars and what he calls Maple School every year. “It’s a better product than when I first started. The filters are better, we know more about bacteria, and keeping things clean, and we have better ways to measure. We all use hydrometers now. Forty-five years ago it was hard to even find one.”

Tim Littlefield in the sugarbush

Tim started with twenty-five taps as soon as he had property and maple trees of his own, and has expanded every year since. It is a family affair; his daughter helps bottle, and can run the evaporator, and come Maple Sunday his kids will be helping at the sugarshack. He takes special pleasure in sharing his passion with youngsters. “School groups come for tours, and I always tell them if they want to tap, I’m here to answer questions. Years later I’ll hear from kids who saw their first tap right here, and got hooked just like I did. They may have twenty-five taps, or a hundred.” Tim doesn’t know how many people he has helped get started. He also says each year folks ask him what the syrup season is going to be like. “Mother Nature hasn’t told me yet,” is his reply, or “Call me in six weeks and I’ll tell you.”

Tim turned backyard syruping into a full-scale business, but many families tap trees and keep it on a small scale, making enough for themselves and for gifts, or perhaps selling some to cover supplies. Greg Sanner of Town Hill has been syruping for four years, but said he has wanted to tap ever since he had a job hauling sap twenty-five years ago. He has expanded from a small wood burner behind the house to a converted goat shed with a gas stove and drip-feed boiling pan. He loves syrup, and making sure the family has a good supply comes first. He also has a strong Yankee ethic, and reuse, recycle figures strongly in his syrup operation. He made his first boiling pan from an old refrigerator door, and the lamp hanging beside the stove was being discarded at a tennis court. But the newer plastic tips get his approval. “They are much easier on the trees,” he says. “They don’t have to go deeper than a sapsucker hole.” Greg taps seven sugar maples, and has collected up to 900 gallons in a season. This boils down to enough extra syrup to sell at local markets or through word of mouth. The amber syrup in old-fashioned mason jars is clear and beautiful.

Greg Sanner adds sap to the boiling pan

Both Greg and his partner Patti Savoie have full-time jobs, this is just a sideline, and Patti says she really just helps bottling and labeling. Still, it is a family affair. Their daughter likes to help collect, and their son helps gather wood for the bonfires—they herald spring and maple syrup season with all day-bonfire parties. Families, friends, kids, and dogs all congregate at the sugarhouse, eating, working and playing. “It is just so great to finally be outside again,” Patti says.

Getting outside, love of maple syrup, a family project; these are reasons given for maple syruping each spring. But the drive so many Maine families feel to tap trees and get their hair smoky tending bonfires, and backs aching hauling heavy buckets goes beyond reason. The call to change our focus from winter sports, or winter boredom, pulls us as if with strings out of the house to seek the sun, and see, and feel, and taste the return of spring. That taste is maple.

For a list of sugarhouses open on Maine Maple Syrup Sunday go to: http://www.mainemapleproducers.com/

Maple producers mentioned:

Lucerne Maple Products
352 Lower Dedham Road
Holden, ME 04429-9605
Tel: (207)843-5738
Email: lucernemp@gmail.com

Maine Maple Products
www.mainemapleproductsinc.com

Kinney’s Sugarhouse Knox, Maine www.mapleconfections.com

Maple Syrup Recipes

Maple Dessert

The simplest, and for many, the best.

A scoop of Maine-made vanilla ice cream with Maine maple syrup drizzled over the top.

Maple, Dried Fruit and Nut Salad

Ingredients

10 oz baby spinach
1/4 pound blue cheese, crumbled
¼ cup walnut bits, toasted and tossed with nutmeg
½  cup mixed dried fruit: apricots, cranberries, cherries, figs

1/4 cup maple syrup

1 1/2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper

Directions

Warm maple syrup in a small saucepan. Pour vinegar into a bowl and slowly whisk in olive oil. Drizzle in the warm syrup, stirring constantly. Place clean spinach on a large plate, pour warm dressing over and toss lightly. Top with cheese, nuts and fruit, give one more gentle toss, and serve.

If you enjoyed this, please sample stories at www.fromthecreek.com

Anna’s daughter helps in the kitchen

“The light is changing, dear winter people, and the owls are chatting at night,” is the lyrical beginning of the weekly menu at Acacia House Inn. On a side street in Bar Harbor, Acacia House is a busy B&B during the height of the season. Unlike many other innkeepers, though, instead of closing the doors and heading south for a much deserved rest, Anna Durand and Ralph McDonnell open the doors to the public three days a week for a breakfast only the winter folk can savor.

The weekly online postings are poetry, written with food love seasoning every word. The entry continues: “The sap isn’t running yet, but soon…this weekend’s specials will include smoked salmon hash with eggs, hollandaise, and herbed toast points; French toast with homemade quince marmalade filling and cardamom custard; roasted vegetable and Parmesan tart served with fennel salad; and big love and Happy Birthday to Carrie Cross, a winter person wintering in North Carolina.”

“I love the food of winter; root vegetables, apples, pears, nuts, meats, and dairy.” Anna is squeezing limes for lime curd as she says this, and adds, “I don’t use much that isn’t local, but lemons and limes are in season now, they are at their prime. They bring a zing and a balance.” The breakfasts at Acacia House are intense with winter flavor, and just an occasional accent of the tropical. It is rich food, and redolent of the earth. “I am always trying to find the thing that tastes like dirt, earth.” That is the taste from a root cellar, slightly musty, a combination of beets, dried mushrooms, and potatoes. It is a deeply satisfying taste.

Limes add contrast to the earth tones of winter

Anna’s heritage is French, Russian and English, and may account for her affinity for the deep, rich flavors of winter. Her fascination with earth flavors deepened when she was pregnant with her first daughter, and she vividly recalls a craving to eat dirt. Like pickles and ice cream, this is not an uncommon desire among mothers-to-be.

Pregnant or not, dark, concentrated root vegetables and cured meats have a taste many find comforting in the cold months. Anna says in the summer fresh basil and perfect garden tomatoes are delightful, but she just does not connect with them the way she does with winter fare. “In March I get the summer dread,” she says. “I know I’ll love summer when it is here, but I do not want to see winter go.”

Dirt is not on the menu, but a celebration of earth is. Another post reads: “Welcome winter! This weekend we will have spicy sausage hash with sage-fried toast and eggs; cardamom-date French toast; Swedish style pancakes with cranberry jam and rum custard, as well as our usual pancakes, local, organic eggs and bacon, bagel plates, and Dirk’s delish Crooked Porch coffee.” And Winter Board.

Fire, water, and earth grace Winter Board.

Winter Board is a celebration of the elements. A round plank of wood is the base, akin to a medieval trencher, which was a piece of stale bread used as a plate. Diners at Acacia House do not eat the wooden plate, but it is a nod to the past, and laden with flavors suggesting earth, water and fire. A mound of shaved cabbage and beets, topped with horseradish cream is a snow-capped mountain, representing the earth. Smoked salmon and mussels suggest the fire that preserved them. Fish eggs from fish pulled through the ice of a local cold lake represents water. This work of flavor and art is embellished with a small candle, and a thimble of aquavit—fire and water. Aquavit for breakfast? Anna concedes it is her sense of rightness that requires this, and guests obligingly hoist the small glass and drink the tiny drops that blast them with crisp, clean winter flavor.

A stack of chocolate pancakes brings smiles

The breakfast rooms are vibrant with color, rich deep egg yolk yellow, paprika red-orange, and crisp, clean white trim, a bright contrast to the muted tones of root hash or French toast stuffed with apples and almond paste. Alder twigs drip with twinkling white lights and straw stars. An antique sideboard has fresh coffee and a basket of pastries. The tables are filled with separate parties, but conversation moves from one table to another. These are the Winter People. While not friends or family, somehow everyone feels familiar—if not, they soon will. There is no pressure or expectancy to mingle. A few tables have people staying at the inn. Some are focused on each other, others look around and join the chat. “Are those the pancakes?” someone asks, looking at a stack of Russian ricotta-filled pancakes with tart cherries gracing the top. “Oh, you have to have the pear tart with warm cheese,” someone else advises.

Anna and Ralph have been told they should include food photos with their posts, but that would add yet more time marketing, less working with food. It would also take away from the beauty of the word painting. The presentation of each entrée is artistic; a shredded celeriac basket has a sunny poached egg nestled in a bed of spring green spinach, and the entire nest is balanced on a small branching twig. A photo would show that, but the words Anna writes evoke the flavor and the spirit as well as the vision.

Ralph is the front man at the Inn, arranging chairs, taking orders, offering suggestions and seeing that Edith Piaf is on the playlist. He is calm, but never stops moving to see that everyone is taken care of. He and the tiny staff keep the coffee pot full, tables neat, and people smiling. He is the visible partner. Anna usually remains in the kitchen, but is present in every plate that goes out. Recently she took a minute to visit a table, and pulled a soft blue egg from her apron pocket. Gently cupped in her hands, she showed it to a seated diner, who cooed and stroked it.

For both Ralph and Anna, breakfast is a way to stay in touch with the community. “Ralph will come into the kitchen with an order, and tell me what news a guest has shared. I may have time to go out and talk, but if I don’t, Ralph keeps me connected,” Anna says. She also says he is the practical one, who keeps an eye on business and cash flow. Their decision to offer breakfast to the public was part Anna’s love of winter food, and part simply good business. Most Mainers know closing a house down is hard on a building. Plaster freezes then crumbles, woodwork cracks, floors become uneven. Ralph and Anna kept Acacia House heated through the first winter, as low as possible, and the heating bill still had them surprised. Staying open year-round was a common sense decision.  “I missed the year-round community. We meet great people visiting and staying with us in the summer, but we were not seeing the year round folk we always connected with at the bakery,” Anna says. “And, it paid the fuel bill.”

Open year-round is good for the building, and, hopefully, the bottom line. The goal is to have Acacia House support the family, without the need of outside jobs. The real gain, however, is the chance to cook winter food for the winter people, a term they may not have coined, but have made their own. Every week Ralph, Anna, and their kids hot glue a strip of birch bark, a tiny alder catkin, or a dried hemlock twig to the top of the menu. Regulars greet each other, and continue conversations left off a week ago. Every diner feels like more than a customer, they are one of the Winter People, and special. It is this combination of food and spirit that keeps the winter people coming back.

Tables are full and neighbors greet and eat at Acacia house

Acacia House Inn is serving Winter People until March 24. Reservations suggested.

For Bed and Breakfast accommodations go to www.acaciahouseinn.com

Winter People fare will start again in December 2013, checkout their Facebook page.

More posts from Acacia House ( recipes follow)

“If music be the food of love, play on…Breakfast for Twelfth Night this weekend will include King Cakes: almond meal pancakes with winter fruit compote, cider glaze and whipped cream; turkey hash with onion gravy, eggs and biscuit; and English Breakfast: eggs, bacon, grilled tomato, mushrooms and toast; and Lamb’s Wool punch. Enjoy the snow!

Welcome March Lion! Cabin fever specials this weekend: bittersweet chocolate pancakes with raspberry sauce and white chocolate fool; shallot and mushroom frittata with smoked blue cheese and homemade toast; Beech Hill Farm spinach salad with hard cooked egg, pickled onions, marinated fennel, rye points, and dried chile chèvre with lemony mustard seed dressing.

Skates sharpened and ready for the wind to die down….this weekend’s specials will include lemon ricotta pancakes with ginger curd and candied lemon peel; moose hash with eggs and white pine beurre blanc; and eggs Benedict with shittakes and Caleb’s arugula. See you at Little Long Pond, stay warm!

Welcome Mom, to the inn, and Buttercup to our family. This weekend’s menu will include bittersweet chocolate pancakes with coffee butter and hazelnut praline; a savory galette with leeks, greens, and smoked blue cheese; and a Hangtown Fry if I can track down the oyster guy.

Happy Valentine’s, beloveds. This weekend we shall have chocolate pancakes with orange coffee butter and hazelnut praline; a frittata with leeks, Chris Brown’s bacon, arugula and blue cheese; another round of bubble and squeak; and creamy horseradish polenta with poached eggs, grilled greens, and buttered crumbs in addition to our usual menu.

Recipes

Bittersweet Pancakes

Melt together 10 Tablespoons butter and 2 oz bittersweet chocolate and let it cool slightly.

Whisk together 4 large eggs
2 cups whole milk
1/2 Tbls. salt
2 Tbls. sugar
1 Tbls. brewed coffee
Whisk in the melted chocolate and butter until completely combined

Combine 1 cup cocoa powder and 1 3/4 cups unbleached white flour in a smaller bowl
Add 2 1/2 Tbls. baking powder

Add the dry ingredients to the wet, then whisk using a back and forth motion – DO NOT STIR!  You whisk it back and forth around the bowl, just until thoroughly combined, then take out the whisk and let it puff.  Heat a cast iron griddle or skillet to medium/high heat, brush with butter and gently deflate the batter by lifting out spoonfuls of it to cook.  You have to spread it to make an even thickness on the griddle.  Serve with syrup, whipped cream or orange -coffee butter: mash together 8 Tbls. of unsalted butter, a pinch of salt, the grated rind of an orange, a small handful of instant espresso powder and half a handful of sugar.

Homemade Gravlax (cured salmon):
This takes two days to cure, so you can make it on Friday for Sunday brunch

Use a 1/2 pound filet of salmon, skin on.
Combine: 3 Tbls. chopped fresh dill
1 Tbls. fresh ground pepper – pre-ground doesn’t work well
2 Tbls. kosher salt
2 Tbls. sugar

Put the salmon skin side down in a cake pan or ceramic plate with a lip on it.  Splash a tablespoon or so of Aquavit or white wine on the salmon, then spread the combined ingredients all over the salmon.  Lay a piece of plastic wrap over top of the fish, weight it with another plate and a small weight such as a small frying pan or piece of granite, then refrigerate for two days.  When you want to eat it, slice it very thin with a sharp knife at an angle and lift it off the skin.

Little Bug gets some attention from an admirer at Hirundo Wildlife Refuge.

“Biscuit Break!” Stephen Madera calls to his team, and all thirteen dogs turn his way. Teddy, Raven, Rigel, Dove, Snow, Roy, Dove Two, Kealy, Little Bug, Gizzy, Camey, Digger and North are harnessed together and have spent the morning pulling a sled around the Hirundo Wildlife Refuge in Alton, Maine.

Stephen starts at the back and works his way to the head of the line, giving each dog a biscuit, a few words and a pat. The dogs all wait their turn, patient and confident their biscuit will arrive.

This does not strike me as doggish behavior. I would have expected clamoring, or competition to get a biscuit first, but these dogs are relaxed. “The two-year olds get amped up once in a while,” Stephen says, “but that is very rare. They just have no interest in fighting.”

Having been brought up with Jack London and Call of the Wild, where dogs fight to the death, I realize preconceptions need to go. The dogs settle down for a brief rest. Some are close to each other, others alone, just as people would be. These dogs are socialized, that is part of their job. They are sled dogs, and they want to pull sleds. Dogs are domesticated—man has created breeds to suit his needs. Dachshunds were bred to chase badgers, Newfoundlands hauled nets and wood for fishermen, and Golden Retrievers were bred to retrieve the waterfowl their owners shot. Today most of these dogs are pets; they no longer have the job they were raised for. They are loved, pampered, and give their owners pleasure, but no longer have to work for food. I have met many happy pets, but rarely have I seen dogs as content as Stephen Madera’s sled dogs. They are fit, pleased to get a pat and a hug, but not needy. They have work to do, and nothing makes them happier than doing their job, and doing it well.

Stephen Madera checks Dove while Gizzy stands by.

After break the dogs are led back into the sled harness. There are two sleds, and Zach Talmadge, who works with Stephen, offers some kids the chance to lead the dogs over and snap them into their traces.  A young girl looks at her mom and gets approval. She leads Snow and is told how to hook the cords up, one at front, and one at back. She then can’t help herself and wraps her arms around Snow, burying her face in the clean, thick fur. The sweet smell of these dog’s fur and their fresh breath was unexpected, and a testament to their healthiness and good care. Snow leaned gently against the girl and gave her a nudge with her nose.

Snow is a Siberian husky. Stephen has mostly Siberian huskies, and a couple of Yukons. He does not breed them. “There are enough dogs in the world,” he says. He gets his dogs as rescues, or from people who can no longer care for them. They are welcomed into the team at Song in the Woods, which is Stephen’s business offering dogsled adventures in Abbot, Maine.  Wherever they come from, with Steve they find a home, have a job and companions, and life is good.

Zach gets Teddy ready to go.

Life is good for Stephen, too. Twice a day he feeds the dogs. The dog yard is across a field from his house, but it is never a chore. Some people would see this as a lot of work but for Stephen it is grounding, “I look forward to it,” he says. “I’ve been doing it for fifteen years, twice a day, and I still look forward to it. It is therapeutic for me, and I learn from them. Huskies don’t always do what you want. It is a challenge to work with their personalities and I can transfer those skills.” When he gets a new dog as a pup, he gives them time to be puppies, and time to see their older team members at work. When he puts them in the traces, they are ready, more than ready, to get going.

Stephen Madera introduces Hirundo Wildlife Refuge visitors to dogsledding

At the other end of life is Rigel. She is fourteen, and pulls her fair share with pride and dignity. Stephen makes sure all his dogs have everything they need, but for a friend who has been at his side for so many years he admits to going beyond that. “She sleeps in the house every night, and when we go on trips, she rides in the cab with us.” The other dogs have no problem with that Stephen says, and remarks on their ability to accept whatever they get. When Stephen and Zach led their teams around the reserve, there was always one dog left behind. That was the unhappy one. He would give brief howl as he watched his companions head off to work, gazing after them until they were out of sight, and then curl up resignedly. “Humans could learn that lesson,” Stephen says, “to just accept things they can’t change.”

Riders helped with the dogs, which deepened the connection with the animals that pulled them through the snow.

Stephen also works at the Charlotte White Center in the Batterer’s Intervention Program, and the same non-judgmental calm that he brings to working with his team must be a comfort to the men he helps to accept their past, and make a better future. Leading dog sled adventures and counseling men with control issues have a clear connection for Stephen. They both help him fulfill his vision of life. “When I was in my thirties I decided I wanted work with a meaning, not just a job and a paycheck,” he says.

Before starting Song in the Woods Stephen spent many years working for Outward Bound in Canada, Minnesota and Texas. He once went ten years without a car. When he was a site manager for Outward Bound he lived two and a half years forty-five miles from the nearest neighbor. Tall and sinewy, with a weathered and angular face, Stephen exudes calmness not unlike that of his team. At home with his furry friends, as he calls them, he is a bit shy with the growing group that has come out for the day and a sled ride. He talks about the afterschool group he leads every week. “These kids get a taste of the outdoors, it feels good to pull them away from video games. They learn survival skills, tracking, how to look at the real world, not a TV screen.” He pulls a brush out of a pocket and dusts the snow from his canvas mukluks as he goes on. “The group is called the Lifejackets, because we teach them skills to lead a better life. And it’s not just practical skills, but how to make informed decisions, how to evaluate situations. We all have dinner together once a month, the kids help make it. Many of them never have the chance to sit down to a group meal. It’s like a family dinner.” A rare smile flashes out. “Our favorite meal is Cow Spit Stew.” He describes the green noodles and cheese.

A couple approaches for a ride, and the dogs are led back to their traces. They are ready, muscles tense, quivering with intent as they wait to hear the words, “Let’s go!” These are not race dogs; there is no competition, no winners or losers. They are just here to do a hard day’s work. They lean forward, the runners of the sled are loosened from the snow and the two teams race away, dogs grinning, their plumed tails waving a cheery good-bye.

Cow Spit Stew

1 package spinach fettuccine
½ stick butter
1 onions, minced
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
½ cup grated cheese of choice
½ cup medium cream
(Milk and ½ cup cottage cheese, optional)

Cook and strain fettuccine
Melt butter in saucepan, sauté onions and garlic until translucent
Add cheese and cream, stir until smooth. If it gets too thick, add a bit of milk.
Pour cheese sauce over noodles and serve.
For added effect, stir in ½ cup of cottage cheese just before serving.

On the snow trail with Song in the Woods

Stephen Madera and Song in the Woods can be contacted at 207 876 4736, www.songinthewoods.com

Holly Masterson and Molly Damon on a bed of scallops
Photo courtesy Holly Masterson

Holly Masterson’s neat shingled home has nautical charts pinned to the wall, a barnacle-encrusted glass bottle on the front step, and a lobster buoy hanging from the porch roof.  Painted white, blue and DayGlo yellow, the pattern on the buoy is registered with the state of Maine for Jennifer Lynn, the 35-foot Mitchell Cove that Holly lobsters on with her stepdad Dave Horner. Near the house a six-foot tall sign is propped by the garage advertising Maine shrimp for sale, and you get the idea that Holly’s life is wrapped up in the sea.

Holly makes her living fishing. She lobsters, scallops, shrimps, and has dragged for haddock, monkfish, cod and other ground fish. It is not an occupation for those who aren’t willing to work long hours, and hard hours. Holly is a woman who sees the sunny side of life, however, and hauling traps, shucking scallops, and marketing the catch offers her the chance to be outside, with variety and challenge as well as income.

Holly, about fifteen years old, helping her step-father David Horner
Courtesy Holly Masterson

When she was fifteen, her stepfather hired her to clean his fishing boat and get in provisions for the next day’s run. She would drive down in a small red pick-up, hose down the boat, grab the list left by the fishermen, and get in their supplies. Jim was stern man, and Dave’s right-hand man back then. Holly’s job included cleaning his working station and fishing gear. While Holly loved the grown-up feeling of driving a truck with her worker’s license, and restocking the boat, she never once thought someday she would be doing what Jim did.

“I’m now the crew,” Holly says, “using all the equipment and working with all the tools that I used to keep clean, but never imagined I’d be operating.” She also went out on the boat when she was young, but claims, “When I was fourteen, I wanted nothing to do with it. It was interesting to watch, but that is all. Nothing I ever contemplated as a career.” Fishing and being on the water is now Holly’s life, and it turns out she comes by this naturally. During a recent visit to family she learned that her great-great-grandfather Charles Beshong, a fisherman out of Gloucester, Massachusetts, was lost at sea in 1893, leaving Holly’s great-great-grandmother a widow and seven months pregnant. This tough lady, named Lena, also lost her next husband at sea.  She went on to remarry, raise her family and pass on to Holly a love of the water and a resilience that is just can’t be quenched.

Holly Masterson, at home on the water Courtesy Holly Masterson

Growing up in Southwest Harbor, Holly spent a lot of time on the water. Her family had a fish market, and she used to watch her great-aunt Connie cut fish and learned how to look for freshness and quality. Her bedroom looked out over the harbor, and she recalls many happy years waking to the sound of wormers and clammers, and watching the sun rise on the sea. “Now I see the sunrise out on the boat, “ she says. “I can’t imagine a job where I couldn’t see that.” Standing on the commercial dock in Southwest Harbor, her old family home is just across the way. She points to a white-frame building close to the shore, now a seasonal rental. “If that house ever goes on the market, I’m going to try to get it,” she says. “It would be great to be back there, and with Eden.” Eden is Holly’s three and a half year-old daughter. Waterfront property is a big dream, but does not seem impossible for this hardworking woman.

Tanned, with sun-blonde hair and sea-blue eyes, Holly exudes competence as she moves around on the Luke and Grace, a 45-foot Dixon that she, Dave, and another family member, Molly Damon, have been shrimping with. The boat is docked at Great Harbor Marina in Southwest Harbor. Holly points to the net that hauls up as much as nine hundred pounds of shrimp at a time and spills them into the boat.  She refers to the shrimp as red gold. “Dave yells ‘Touch down!’ when we haul in a full net,” Holly says. There is excitement in her voice as she recalls the heavy net swinging overhead and brimming with wriggling shrimp, water pouring from them in streams.

Dave Horner and Holly in Southwest Harbor

“The shrimp season is going to be reduced by almost seventy percent next year,“ she says, referring to new state legislation. “While there are plenty of shrimp north of the Penobscot River, samples taken south of that show smaller shrimp populations, and that is what they based their decisions on. But they are the ones that make the rules, we just follow them,” and she shrugs philosophically.

Today the boat is rigged for scalloping, and for the past few weeks they have been dragging near Newberry Neck. “Oh my God, it is ridiculous,“ Holly exclaims, “sixty boats in a one mile area.” She describes how hard it is to maneuver in crowded waters, and refers, as she does frequently, to the skill and judgment of Dave. “He is amazing, he always knows what to do. He can steer this boat through anything. We keep our distance, but I have heard of fistfights, and chaos at the docks when it got crowded there.”

Dave has gotten back into scalloping to offset the future reduction of shrimp. He has invested in the specialized gear this fishery requires, which includes heavy mesh nets with four-inch openings so that scallops below the legal limit do not get pulled up. The first day with the new rigging a retired scalloper came along as extra crew. Like most fisherman, he has his own style and method, and showed Holly some of his scallop shucking tricks. “Dave was impressed when I showed him my cleaned scallops. It’s tricky to get the guts off, and not slice or tear the meat. After hours and hours of cleaning scallops I began to see them in my sleep, an endless pile of scallops to clean.” She says that she now has her own tricks for shucking them, though knows if one scallop is missed, Dave’s eagle eye will see it all the way from the cabin.

Holly works on lobster traps with her daughter Eden in tow
Courtesy Holly Masterson

She gazes around the Luke and Grace, loaded with heavy equipment, solid and well built. “I love this boat,” she says. “People ask if I’m not cold, all day out on the water, but I am never cold. I wear Under Armor, and it is a thousand degrees in there,” she laughs as she shows off the berths with two kerosene heaters. She describes taking the Master Gardener Volunteers Program, and doing all her homework in her bunk, “It is such a great place to focus, we would be steaming from one spot to another and no matter the weather, I was cozy and warm.” The Luke and Grace also has a microwave, coffee maker, computer, and internet access, so in addition to being comfortable, they are always in touch.

Holly leads the way across the dock to another smaller boat, the Jennifer Lynn which Dave and his wife, Jennifer, built. “This is perfect for lobstering, and it doesn’t use as much fuel. “What a mess,” and she shakes her head, picking up a stray rag and putting in away. The boat is actually very neat and clean. Smaller than Luke and Grace, it appears efficient and well planned. “It looks spacious now, but imagine when we are coming in with a full load of lobster,” she says. “There are crates everywhere, we have to move side ways to get around.” Holly talks about how when she was young Dave was always calling, “Get your hands off the rails!” That is something she no longer has to think about, and already her daughter is picking it up. “She has boat savvy,” Holly says proudly. She picks up a bucket containing sand dollar, mussel and clam shells. “These are for Eden, we are going to make decorations out of them.”

With a boat, two boats, there is always plenty to do, to fix, clean, or change. Dave schedules one boat being out of the water for repairs and improvements while they fish from the other. Right now both boats are in because the fall lobstering was so good. “The lobsters shed late, we were still pulling five hundred traps in December. Most people have their traps out by Thanksgiving. This year I saw people putting them back in!” Holly laughs. In the height of the season, they have eight hundred traps out. “We’ve been lucky this year. You always hear so much crying, but the truth is we are all in a good time.”

Dave stops by, and he and Holly talk schedules, equipment, and plan the next few days of work. Dave started fishing at thirteen, and is one of the most successful fishermen around. He fished many years with his stern man Jim, then with his brother-in-law. “Those were good years, but I have a family now, and don’t do any more overnights.” The respect he and Holly have for each other is apparent, and they work together well as a team. Holly remembers tagging along behind him at the fish market, helping Dave put up signs, or haul fish. “This is what I do now, same yard, same things as when I was a kid. I’m there to do whatever he needs, hand him tools, do what he says.”

Dave says, “People ask me how Holly likes fishing, I say, ‘Well, she keeps coming back.’” He smiles at her, and adds, “Look what she has done, a single mom. She owns her own house, and is making a good living.”

Holly quickly counters, “It was you who told me to set aside for the IRS, and not to spend all the money I made. It wasn’t easy.”

“We talk a lot out here about the mindset of success,” Dave says. “Making money is just half of it, doing something smart with that money is the other half.” Holly and Dave enter into a discussion they have probably had many times, about the phenomenon of being shedder rich. Fishermen get paid, but do not have taxes withheld. If they spend all the cash in their wallets they will not have enough to pay their taxes come April. “The government expects these eighteen and nineteen year-olds to know they have to set aside, but that is asking a lot of someone with ready money in their pockets for the first time.” He would like to see a system where money gets withheld. “I have seen kids, good fishermen, have to get menial jobs just to keep out of range of the IRS. They owe so much they will never get out from under. It is a shame to have their lives go so off track.”

Dave is a man who cares deeply about the fishing industry, and gives a lot of thought to ways to make it better. His approach is always sensible, and this includes judging the weather. If it looks bad, he calls it a day. Holly considers these weather days one of the many good things about her job, and says, “Dave pays attention to conditions, and knows when we should stay in. For me, I get unexpected time to be with Eden. It is a gift.”

Even with weather days, Holly puts in long hours. “I get annoyed when people say, ‘You work so much, that sucks.’ They are wrong. I am making money, I have family time, I love what I do. I really don’t know what else I’d rather do. My mom worries about me, and even she says ‘Can’t you find something else to do?’ But why would I?” She goes on to say, “The only hard part of my day is getting out of bed. In the morning Eden comes and cuddles with me, and it is warm and sweet and toasty. But once up, I’m ready. Happy to be on the water making money, learning, and being with Dave, who has been such a positive influence in my life.”

Holly on the Jennifer Lynn at Great Harbor Marina

It is because of Dave that Holly has the job she loves.

“When my mother and Dave separated, he and I stayed really tight, he was, and still is, a mentor to me.” She explains that in 2004 Dave was in a bind, he had lost his crew and needed help to haul traps. “Of course I helped him,” Holly says, ”but it was a terrible day. It was cold, and my hands were frozen. I was crying, and just wanted to go home. My fingers got stiff, and it hurt to put the rubber bands on the lobsters’ claws. I was so glad when we got back to shore, there was no way I was going to do that again.” Back on the dock she was warmed and getting ready to leave when Dave told her what her share of the day’s catch was. “It was a truck payment!” The astonishment of that moment is still in her voice. “I signed on, and have been at it ever since.”

In the beginning it was simply a job that paid well, but Dave’s passion has rubbed off on her. “I love it, I love putting fresh seafood on people’s tables, I love being on the water, and I love how well it works for me to spend time with my daughter.” When Holly became pregnant she had been working full time, but after Eden was born she began job sharing with Molly, working three to four long days, then having three to four days with her daughter.

“When I am on the water, all my attention is there, I am surrounded by nature and air. It’s stimulating and I appreciate it. Then we steam back in, and I call restaurants, and people who said they wanted seafood. Many like to meet us at the dock.” That is her transition time, connecting with people, getting back on land. Dave says, “If they show up with a bucket and money, we’ll sell right off the boat, not care about a profit. It feels good to feed people.”

Holly with Eden by the sign advertising Maine shrimp for sale

Holly handles marketing and contacting restaurants and other buyers. She sells from her garage, and is tuned in to requests on Bar Harbor Barter and Swap, a local Facebook trade group. Someone posted an entry looking for scallops at 4:38pm one day. A short while later Holly posted, “I have them, $105/gallon $12/lb. We have them fresh when we can get out and also frozen. We have been bagging them up in one and two pound bags and put in the freezer same day they are caught!” She offers to meet people, or stay up for them, or do whatever is necessary to make it easy for her customers. Fishing is her job, but it has become her passion, and she is always willing to go an extra step.

Then comes the final portion of her day, when she picks up her daughter. “When I get Eden, I am done with work, all my time and energy are for her. We have so much fun together.”

Holly’s home reflects the love she has for her little girl. Side by side with nautical charts and high tech tools for marketing fish are fuzzy stuffed animals, a shelf full of kids books and games, and a child’s desk where Eden neatly arranges toy cars by size and color. Family and work fit well together for Holly Masterson. Anyone who thinks she works too hard or should get another job hasn’t seen the smile that blazes forth when talking about Eden, and or heading out to sea for another catch.

Shrimp with Feta and Ouzo on Angel Hair Pasta

Easy, quick, and a great combination of flavors. The licorice-flavored ouzo brings out the sweetness of the shrimp.

1 medium yellow onion, sliced thin

1 T olive oil

3 medium tomatoes, diced

One pound of Maine shrimp, cleaned

¼ cup Ouzo ( if you prefer no alcohol, try anise-flavored Italian soda syrup)

½ pound of crumbled Feta cheese

1 package off Angel Hair pasta

Use a pan that can also go under broiler. Sauté onion in olive oil until translucent. Add tomatoes and shrimp. When shrimp becomes opaque, stir in ¼ cup Ouzo, and sprinkle cheese over top.

Prepare pasta and keep warm.

Place pan with shrimp into broiler, and broil until cheese begins to bubble. There will be a few browned spots.

Slide shrimp onto pasta and serve.

Bob and Jeff Dolliver, around 1999

Bob Dolliver, of Dolliver’s Court in Bar Harbor, grew up on Northeast Creek. The creek has numerous small tributaries, forming a bog thick with sphagnum moss and a dense growth of wild Maine cranberries. Covering over one hundred acres, forty or more acres of the bog were owned by the Dolliver family. There was a landfill there, and plenty of cranberries. Bob was generous in allowing people to gather berries each fall.

I met Bob when he and his son Jeff were painting the building where I rented office space. I saw him out the window, wearing worn blue work pants, a plaid wool shirt, a paint-splashed cap, and with his son at his heels. I had never met this man, and to this day do not know why I did this, but I hid behind my door and jumped out when they passed. He was my dad’s age. I should have been respectful. “Crimeny, girl,” he shouted as I giggled. He stared at me. It was touch and go, but that was the start of a long friendship.

Bob was gruff, barked when he spoke, and made no bones about expressing his opinion. “Geez, they should nevera put that there,” he protested about a new stop sign in town, or “aaa– they’re all a bunch of jerks,” when what he considered was a perfectly good building was torn down. When he says jerks it rolls slowly off his tongue, three syllables, Ja-eeer-ks

His grouchy outside was pretty thin, however. I was one of many he helped and surprised with flowers and gifts. Every year he would stretch strings and grow a seemingly solid wall of pastel sweet peas, make tiny bouquets, and deliver them to the tellers where he banked. I had never been to a public supper, and so we went. I was used to his work clothes, and as he lived with all the cats he could rescue, the not so subtle scent of feline. He arrived that night spruced up and dapper and grinned at my face, “Clean up pretty good, don’t I?” he asked. All the cats he found, or had dropped off at his door, he had spayed or neutered with his own funds.

“It’s not right,” he said. “The way people treat cats and dogs, lettin’ em run wild, or just dumping them on the side of the road, that just is not right.”

Bob’s wife died of cancer, and left him to raise two small boys. When I met him, perhaps thirty years after her death, he casually mentioned that he visited her grave every day. I knew it was nearby, but still found this hard to believe. “Ayuh,” he confirmed. He was one of the few Mainers I heard actually use that word, but he it did it naturally. His accent was classic Maine, and could be pretty thick. We drove to Schoodic Point one summer evening and had a picnic at Blueberry Hill. A couple passed us with a small dog on a leash. “Ain’t he cunning,” he said to them. They stopped and looked at us. He repeated it. I was expecting them to say something, and then realized they did not understand him. “He said your dog is cute,” I said, and they broke into smiles. “I had to translate!” I laughed as we drove home, and he gave me a mock swat.

We both loved to talk, and shared many a tale. One day in his basement, buried in a pile of sawdust, I saw an old sign. Black with gold letters, it read Shack Secrety Gross. He was cleaning out the house it belonged to, he liked it, and he brought it home. It had been gathering sawdust for years when I spotted it. For Christmas it arrived, cleaned and oiled, and together we hung it in my dining area where it continues to generate questions and stories.

He also told me a story that clearly still troubled him. The fire of ’47 is well known as a devastating fire that burned much of Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park. Many sources claim it started in Dolliver’s dump. Bob would get worked up over this. “It started near the dump. My dad burned at the dump, but was always careful, always in control. People used to camp on our land, we didn’t mind. That night, cigarettes, or a bonfire, we don’t know, the fire started. It was not my dad and our dump, and our not being careful that started the fire.” He goes on to say how hard they worked to stop the fire, and that when the fire department was leaving, his dad asked them to stay, saying it was not completely out. At that point it was small, just half an acre of bog that had burned. The fire department left anyway. Three days later the fire, which has smoldered for days, erupted, and became unstoppable. Over half of Mount Desert Island burned. His family was, and still is, blamed for the fire. His frustration, years later, is understandable.

Bob and his son worked for many businesses and people over the years. Together they were Robert Dolliver and Son, Painters, although they would also do small carpentry jobs. Their business card read, “Need a job done? Dial a Dolliver–odd jobs, regular guys.”

After a freeze, cranberries become bright red, and the leaves turn burgundy.

The cranberries I gathered from his bog, at Dolliver’s dump, were not the uniform red of commercial berries, but red and white, almost striped. I gathered before the freeze from my kayak, drifting into tight narrow channels, leaning against the bank of the stream, and filling bags in my cockpit with the tart fruit. These were used in fresh, uncooked cranberry sauce and cranberry bread. Ice skating the creek I would see the red berries frozen into the surface of the ice, or still on the branch. Those were consumed then and there. Eating a raw cranberry is not unlike munching tart cardboard. But those rare few berries that freeze are different, and deserve to be savored just as they are. In my mouth they warmed, my teeth bit through the skin, and a tart-sweet intensely cranberry liquid oozed out. Heaven. Especially when you are on skates in the middle of a vast tundra.

The cranberry bog has been sold, and Bob does not deliver flowers to the bank any longer, but when I called to ask about cranberries he answered in his inimitable style, “Who’s it, whatcha want?” before he invited me over and said I was always fine lady. Still tart, and still sweet.

Raw cranberries have an intense bright flavor.

Fresh Cranberry Sauce

This recipe is based on a long lost Gourmet magazine recipe, from around 1995. Super simple.

Two cups fresh cranberries

One whole orange

One clove garlic

1 T maple syrup

Process raw cranberries until just small bits, dump in bowl. Process orange, after removing peel and seeds. Add to bowl. Process garlic. Add to bowl. Stir in 1 tablespoon of Maine maple syrup. We make our own, but Maine has many wonderful syrup makers.

Meld, and let mingle overnight.

Seriously Cranberry Pie

Preheat oven to 425 degrees

Make your own crust, or buy one.

Place in 9” pie pan, and add two cups raw cranberries.

Beat one egg white until stiff.

In medium bowl stir 2/3 cup sugar with 1 T flour.

Add the beaten egg white to flour and sugar mixture, then stir in one cup of heavy cream.

Pour this over cranberries in pie shell; bake ten minutes, lower temperature to 350 degrees and bake 40 more minutes.

Very cranberry delicious.