Look North

Maine.  Pretty far north.

Garrison Keillor, in a long ago News From Lake Wobegone segment on Prairie Home Companion, made the comforting observation that the further north you go, the smarter people get. There are certainly abundant examples to support and disprove that statement but having now returned to the north after five years away, I think I have acquired a level of gravitas appropriate to truly appreciate the wisdom of that wit. In other words, we’ve been in Maine two months now and have yet to slap our foreheads in disbelief over the idiocy of our new land.  In Austin, our pates were frequently black and blue.  In Florida, we resorted to wearing head gear.  For now, we are enjoying the clear thinking.  Mind you, we had a close encounter in Hannaford’s supermarket a few weeks ago that reminded us nothing lasts forever.

It all started with chocolate milk.

The state of Texas has a lot of things to be proud of but one of my most treasured jewels is Promised Land Dairy’s MidnightChocolate milk.  It is the stuff of epiphanies and has set the standard by which all other chocolate milks shall forever be judged. When we left Austin for Florida, we lamented leaving some dear friends, Mandola’s Italian Market, Salt Lick Barbecue, HEB’s Central Market and Midnight Chocolate Milk. Nothing in Florida was even remotely close, though what was surely a gift from the universe was a lone bottle of Promised Land at a posh grocery store in Sarasota. We only ever saw it there that once.

It was in the spirit of that eternal quest that I found myself standing in front of the Smiling Hill Farm cooler at the grocery store. Smiling Hill Farm is a 12^th generation dairy farm in Westbrook that provides its milk in glass bottles similar to those of bygone days when your dairy products were delivered to your door.  I had tried their chocolate milk years ago and remembered it was pretty tasty.  I also remembered that I’d been surprised at the checkout to find out there was a one- dollar deposit on that bottle.  Back then, I had intended to keep the bottle to use for a vase so I just factored the deposit into the price and thought no more about it.

But now here I was contemplating Smiling Hill under slightly different circumstances.  I was making a conscious decision to support a local business along with hoping for a super bottle of brown moo.  Vaguely remembering a deposit, I started to investigate.  There is no sign on the special Smiling Hill cooler stating there is a required deposit, let alone the hefty dollar amount.  There is no sticker on the bottle nor on the lid.  What there is is miniscule print at the bottom of the bottle’s silk screened label that says “Wash and return for deposit.” It might show up as readable with regular milk in the bottle but with chocolate milk, or devoid of liquid, you’ve got to do some serious looking with young eyes to see that.  Despite the fact that the product was already a bit more expensive than the standard brands available, Jamie encouraged me to grab a bottle in the spirit of exploration. I did so and we headed up front to check out.

The cashier was a gal I recognized as a long-time fixture at the Yarmouth store.  As she busily scanned our items, I watched the display for the bottle of milk.  The deposit had gone up to $1.50 and as I had no plans to make this bottle a vase, I asked with a smile how to go about getting my deposit back. And that’s when the fight broke out.

Or shall I call it an informational incident.

First I was told that all bottles and cans in Maine have deposits but that most redemption centers won’t take Smiling Hill Farm bottles.  I’m quite familiar with Maine’s Bottle Bill, my father having worked for Seltzer & Rhydholm, bottlers of Pepsi Cola in Portland, for 42 years and myself an avid roadside collector of tossed bottles and cans which I’ve parlayed into tanks of gas and plane tickets to Europe. I was pretty sure that milk was something that didn’t require a state deposit regardless of how it was packaged.

When I asked if I could bring the bottle back to Hannaford I was told no, they didn’t refund Smiling Hill deposits.  I would have to join the CLYNK program. When I asked what the CLYNK program was, I got a look of incredulity and the fateful branding-iron comment of dismissal plied with disdain upon those unfortunate enough to not have been born, raised, and lived their entire lives in the obvious center of the universe:

Oh, you’re not from around here.

I was tempted to let her know that I was from around here for 42 of my 47 years but I couldn’t argue with the fact that I didn’t know what the hell CLYNK was and how it stood between me and my $1.50 refund so I kept my mouth shut and let the maelstrom descend.  The young woman who was the shift leader and bagging at the next register described in non-linear sentences at breakneck speed something about signing up, getting bags, first bags free then you pay, there’s an account, it might not register deposits for 48 hours and more that was simply unintelligible.  Then she stopped talking, drew breath, and offered:

Or you could just drive out to the farm.  It’s not that far.

Well, on a global scale, she’s right. But according to Google Maps, it’s between 23 and 28 miles one-way to Smiling Hill Farm from our house in Pownal.  Given that gas is $3.80 a gallon as I write this, and our Ford Tardis, Traveller, gets about 26 miles to the gallon, I’m looking at $7.60 in gas to get my $1.50 refund. Heck, even to go home, enjoy my milk and drive back to Hannaford, sign up for CLYNK and toss my bio-degradable CLYNK bag in the bin is a 12-mile trip at $1.90 to eventually get my refund, which I’ll have to drive back to Hannaford after 48-hours to retrieve, bringing me back to still a loss of $3.80 in gas.

At this point at the check-out, the ball was again in my court.  Jamie sweetly paid for our groceries as I commented to the cashier and bagger that considering the hefty amount of the deposit, and the effort required to return the bottle for refund, it sure would be helpful if there was some sort of signage on the Smiling Hill Farm cooler stating at the very least that there was a $1.50 deposit required on the bottle because it’s a bit of a shocker to see how much you actually end up paying, especially if you’re not prepared for it. 

The cashier commented that the larger bottles have a $3.00 deposit.  The bagger began her spiel again about CLYNK or driving to Westbrook.  Neither was smiling and it was clear the content of my suggestion was a non-issue to them.  Also clear was the unsaid words just at the tips of their tongues:

No one is making you buy this stuff, lady.

I said thank you for explaining things and as I turned to leave noticed that all the open check-out lanes were quiet and everyone within mooing distance was giving Jamie and me the once over as we walked out.  Golly.  I’d become “one of those pushy people from away.”

Getting in the car we immediately popped the top on that expensive little jug of milk and do you know what?  It was just ok. 

In the weeks that have followed, I’ve kept my eyes open for Smiling Hill Farm products.  Shaw’s in Freeport carries it with no information on the deposit and evidently no on-site refund options of any kind.  Morning Glory Natural Foods in Brunswick carries it with no signage about the price of deposit but there is a sign on the front door saying you must return Smiling Hill Farms bottles to the farm for deposit. Royal River Natural Foods in Freeport also carries the milk and kindly has a sign about the deposit, though I don’t believe they provide refunds there either.

It’s ironic that in an attempt to support a local business, one that is priding itself on being careful caretakers of their land and cattle, and bottling in glass for its benefits of taste and environmental impact, I am actually increasing my dreaded carbon footprint, as are the many folks who trek it out to Westbrook for their deposits. It’s also less ironic and more, dare I say opportunistic, that the dairy is making a point to not advertise the price of the deposit on their coolers nor urging their retailers to be pro-active with the information.  In fact, if you go to the dairy’s website, as of this Sunday morning as I write, the link on where to return your bottles does not work. Nowhere on the site does it even mention paying deposits. What they do point out is that their glass bottles are sturdy investments, some currently in circulation being over 40 years old.  That in itself  is really cool but still, why not just be open about the deposit?  By the way, you can only return six Smiling Hill Farm bottles at a time and here’s why.

That same deposit has also created an unexpected investigation by the Feds. As reported in this 2006 article from the Lewiston Sun Journal, a clever little scam by some industrious folks on food stamps involved buying Smiling Hill Farm milk, which is eligible under the Food Stamp program, then returning the bottles for the cash deposit which they then allegedly spent on booze and cigarettes, both of which are not eligible food stamp purchases .  Which just goes to prove Garrison Keillor right.  The further north you go, the smarter people get.

As for me, I’m drinking Silk Chocolate Soymilk these days.  It’s yummy, there’s no deposit and the empty container goes right into the recycle bin that gets picked up at the end of my country driveway.  And that Smiling Hill Farm bottle is still sitting on the counter collecting pennies. When I’ve saved up enough coins, I’ll buy some flowers to put in it.

(All images courtesy of Google Images searches!)

The Adventures of Guinea

The Adventures of Guinea in "Turkeys in the Hood"

Click on the link and the follow the story attached to each photo

Remembered

It's hard to feel abandonned by life when you have rose bushes....

For Whom the Bell Tolls



Photo from Google Images

 On my way to find portabella mushrooms and a bottle of wine for a surprise dinner for Mr. Pearson, I found myself at an intersection waiting for the light to change when the sound of church bells drifted over the car.  It was 3pm and the bells of a nearby church were announcing the hour. (click on these links throughout the blog to hear some lovely bells)  The sound caught me by surprise and made me wonder how many actual church bells and clock chimes were still ringing across the world these days. Many, I hope.

Photo from Google Images

I have only a handful of memories of bells.  We had a bell  at the farm that Mum had unearthed from who knows where, perhaps from the hulking ark of the barn where so many moldy treasures lived out their last forgotten days.  It hung from a bracket outside the door to the ell.  I think only my Uncle Miles and my friend Brent ever rang it and that was mostly as an introduction to something quite silly that they would then say or do.



Winchester Cathedral  (Photo from Google Images)



My months in Winchester, England, as an exchange student at King Alfred’s College came and went with the ringing of the bells at Winchester Cathedral.  The first time I heard them from our rooms just a block from the cathedral I was filled with that sort of joy that erupts when something you have read about or seen in movies actually happens to you.  I was in England, I was in Winchester and the cathedral bells  were ringing on a Sunday morning in August. A few months later I was in London in a red phone box, looking up at Big Ben while excitedly dialing the long international number to the farm back in Maine.  No one was home to take the call and hear the famous sound around me.

Gram Mallory, my mother’s mum, had a grandmother clock that rang Westminster Chimes on the quarter hour.  The clock had to be wound every few days.  Gram kept the keys on a piece of string in a tiny drawer in the kitchen.  When she went into the nursing home, Uncle Miles, who lived with her, couldn’t find the keys anywhere. The clock sat silent near Gram’s little library no longer ticking down the days of its mistress’s life. 



Harold Sutherland of Sutherland Auctions

 The clock was given to me but as we had no way to wind it, I didn’t hurry to get it moved from Scarborough to Pownal.  Sadly, when Uncle Miles died suddenly, the contents of the house were put up for auction according to the will for the estate.  In an odd twist of fate, the clock and everything else in the house that had not been squirreled away by relatives with keys to Gram’s ended up in an auction hall in North Yarmouth just miles from my home.  I would often go for an hour or two of deals and laughter on those Thursday nights and it wasn’t until I picked up an odd lots box and found a grade school photograph of my brother that I realized what filled the hall.  For the next few hours I watched item after item of my childhood bid on and taken away.  I had enough cash on me to buy a little chest of drawers but the clock went for far over my funds.  The next day I called my Mum in Florida and told her what had happened. As far as we could tell, no one in the family had been told where and when the auction would be held.



Jamie ringing the bell for us

 

To be sure the happiest bells of my life reside at Chapel Dulcinea, in Driftwood, Texas, where Jamie and I were married.  It was one bell, actually, and it is a request from the benefactor of the chapel that all who marry there ring the chapel bell at the end of their ceremony. Our wedding was at sunset with a nearly full moon looking down upon us. Jamie reached high for the rope-thank goodness he is tall! The peal of the bell spread over the  

cedars and stony soil of the hill country valley below us.  What a beautiful night.

 Without a doubt the saddest bell thus far in my life was the mournful toll of the chapel bell at the Maine Veterans Cemetery at the conclusion of Dad’s funeral service.  It was the final sound after the lonesome notes of “Taps” from the bugler’s horn.  A solemn reverberation.  We drove to Belfast after the service looking for some food and distraction.  Stepping out of the car, I could hear a buoy bell on the Penobscot tolling through the fog.


Belfast Harbor   (Photo from Google Images)



(It seems no small feat in these days of constant, plugged-in noise that something as simple as a bell or a chime can still capture our attention. If you find yourself wanting a beautiful bell of your own, I highly recommend US Bells, in Prospect Harbor, Maine. They are exquisite works of art and sound. All videos in this post come from YouTube and various websites and contain sounds similar to the bells mentioned.)