"SapHouse Party Woes"

Maine Maple Sunday
25th of March, 2007

CAN’T GET THERE, FROM HERE. REALLY! Definitely From “Away”

SAP HOUSE PARTY

A nice Saturday, the early warm days that tell you, spring is here. In rural North-west Maine where I live, when the temperature breaks through 50° degrees, the number of layers of clothes that one has grown accustomed to (in my case never less than 3, usually 4) during the winter months, you notice this difference. It is not just a physical transformation but spiritual one.

The long lingering ache, a sort of all-the-time slight depression, is lifted. You feel a bit younger than when just a few weeks ago it was -17° degrees. What seemed bleak, or impossible now is so clearly possible.

I give you this background as the foundation or more likely to ease the pain and embarrassment of what surely will be my ‘Stupid Bowl’ entry for 2007.It was in the kind of silly, light-hearted state of mind that I dashed back from a day trip to the ‘big city’, which for those of us in North Franklin County, Maine; means Augusta. An easy drive both ways, I had lingered too long at the techie stores in the Market Place Mall. I was on my way to a real treat for me. A social outing and the chance to see maple syrup in the works.

My new friends Steve and Christi Mitman’s who have in addition to two delightful children and jobs as teachers, also are the owner-operators of a bone fide Maple syrup company, Maine Sugar Works (http://www.mainesugarworks.com/ for the digerati). They tap, collect the sap and boil to produce ‘the best tasting hardwood-fired pure maple syrup, ever!’

Now, as one of the few human beings actually born smack in the middle of Manhattan, New York, NY, maple syrup has long been an exotic treat. And like coffee in Kenya or bananas in Costa Rica most of Maine’s maple syrup gets exported elsewhere, and sure we can get it locally, but it is expensive. Like so many things I have learned about life in general and food in particular since I moved to Maine a few years ago, maple syrup is more than just the sum of its parts. There are many grades and types. It may be the stuff of breakfast dreams, past and present but there is a great deal that goes into this delicacy that the average user may not be aware of.

The best of the best is the result of a perfect blend of nature and man’s hard labour and ingenuity. Of course it is organic in the deepest and profoundest definition of that word. And here I was about to attend a “Sap House Party”. The celebration of the culmination of patience, hard work and cooking skills way beyond the ordinary. This is kind of outing that makes where I now live so special. People gathering in a social event, a get-together with some real meaning. Parties on a Saturday night are of course nothing special. But in a rural community where distances are great and terrain demanding (in my case at least) a gathering of more than 4 or 5 for dinner at our respective homes qualifies as the norm for a social outing. To gather with ten or twenty friends and neighbours at one time is unusual, except for school-house gatherings and the odd Church Supper; it is a real event.

Perhaps some background for those who have never visited the beautiful country-side here in Franklin County, Maine would be in order. We have the Rangeley Lakes, and resort Mountains of Sugarloaf and Saddleback and views of Mt. Abram and endless vistas, trails, streams and rivers. The area was carved by the receding ice of the last ‘Ice Age’. It is rural and rustic. We have in my town no chain stores or McDonalds. It is a community where most everyone knows everyone else or at least knows of them. The people who are born and bred in this kind of setting are a large part of what drew me here. This is a place where families cannot imagine not sitting at the table each night and sharing the intricate details of life along with sustenance.

Take out and order-in are not useful phrases around here for the most part. The nearest Police station is 20 miles away, as the crow flies. For the most part crime is minimal and almost always fueled by either alcohol or drugs. When I go to town, I not only leave my door unlocked but often leave the key in the ignition. And I am not alone in this. To me where I live represents the absolute very best of both the idea and reality of America. We have town meetings that are the very definition of democracy. When you vote, or as we do before a big election, caucus; it is a community activity. To be sure there can be profound disputes and disagreements that can arise.

For the most part, when you live in a community such as mine, well people will disagree and have strong feelings, but there is an underlying courtesy in almost all activities. People, who feud, do so in a respectful way for the most part. Civility is the word I am looking for. There is sense of family, community and shared responsibility. It is an unspoken truth that rights and freedoms of the individual are to be respected. What has become to me at least an increasing rare and unique in these United States. We can live in rural isolation; appreciate the awesome solitude of the natural nature of life but there is an underlying social cohesion.

When your closest neighbours are most likely moose or bear or coyotes, it gives you a firm appreciation of human cooperation. The winters are harsh, and can be dangerous even life-threatening. If you break down in your car or get stuck in a surprise blizzard, you must be able to call on your neighbour. I am not saying that people are nice just because they realise they need one-another, because it is more than that; there is a decency aspect where I live that belies that simple explanation. Perhaps it is just the awareness that people need people in general, not just to survive but thrive.

What I am talking about is not just the basic social needs and desires. It is an appreciation of life and the little gestures that combine to bring out a sense of security in the old meaning of the word. Security is the knowledge and comfort in knowing that when you are in a jam you are not alone. Add decency and respect and the awareness that to live so close to nature is a real treat and you have something that I call civility with a sense of belonging.

In the world where information moves closer and closer to the speed of life, and an economy where everyone must work to make enough to scrounge for a bit of the ‘dream’, owned homes and opportunities for the coming generations, social fabric gets frayed, tattered and delicate. Economic ‘security’ is tenuous. This is a world apart from a society where consuming for the sake of consumption, shopping not for needs but for distraction and rationed time is increasingly allotted as part of endless multi-tasking.

Increasingly I find in 'other America', you never really get more than a slice of someone. Social interaction is done with a weird combination of inattention and lacking the depth and understanding thus relegated to a series of second places and almost there’s. There is a price of course to be paid to live in a community such as mine. Even as the cherished fundamental rights of individuals and freedom for the most part to do as one pleases within clear yet loose boundaries, are respected and accepted, privacy of the unimportant kind can be lost a bit. Gossip, after all is part of the glue of any society. Not always welcome if you had too much to drink or did something just plain stupid.

In fact, the fundamental aspect of shared lives and shared responsibility combined with the privilege or the rights of the individual and the meaning of freedom and liberty have the effect of checks and balances that our Constitution holds so dear. But to me increasingly in our society at large, freedom has lost the meaning I originally intuitively knew growing up. Any society must have some rules and regulations. There is no right to cry “Fire” in a crowded theatre and causing chaos and harm unnecessarily. Perhaps it is because in a rural community we need one another in the best sense of the word there is a shared cohesion.

Our security is the knowledge that we can depend on one-another if things get out of hand or if we find we made some simple error that may have serious or profound consequences it will not be fatal. Or take for example when you just did something stupid like I did tonight. So, now back to what got this all started. I was on my way to the “Sap house Party”. I had received an email reminder from Steve a day or two ago. He mentioned that his driveway was not wide, and asked us invitees to park on the road rather than create a jam up by the house.

A quarter mile stroll up the drive, unless one was handicapped or otherwise unable to make such a walk. He mentioned as well that if you had a snowmobile or ATV to go ahead and use them. He was specific about there being a snowmobile access road just before the Ivy Road turn around. All this, mind you was in my brain, not necessarily in an ordered part of my mind. He mentioned mud, and the need for boots.

Now, I had never been to the Mitman homestead before and as such was only vaguely aware of exactly where they were. I had a rough idea. I had intended to call and get specific directions but as I was now running late, I decided to ask along the way when I got near-by. So, depending on Google Maps on my Blackberry, I plotted a course. You can see the inherent danger at this crucial point. Maps in this part of the world particularly computer-generated maps, are often inaccurate, and frequently will list a path as a road. It would have taken me ten minutes to go by my house and pick up the Delorme Maine Guide (as essential guide to how to go from here to there in rural Maine - our local Guide Michelin) and retrieve the Mitman phone number, just in case.

Also, it was getting colder and I thought ‘you should have your parka’. But I decided I would be late for the party and miss some of the fun, it should not be a problem. Well, I asked someone walking beside the road where I ‘sort of knew’ where the Mitman homestead was near. It was near where my Google Maps told me I should be. I asked if they knew where Ivy Road was and the best way to get there. They gave me directions, but in retrospect they did look somewhat askance when I said “Thank you.” And drove off.

Diligently I went up the designated road, followed to the left. “Church Hill will turn into Dickey and Ivy is just at the end.” The road names were right, but then the road became less and less a road, more and more like a path turning into a trail. I know better, but.. Muddy as all get out, then narrowing more and more, no longer the classic definition of road. I felt unsure, but thought ‘ah, well this is sort of what I remember from Steve’s note. And he had indicated snow-mobile or ATV would be OK.

The path then turned into a trail of sorts of well packed snow. Now, the next major distraction; my cell phone rang. Always thrilled and astonished when it works, I was concentrating on the conversation not where I was going. It was a call from dear friends in Florida. Distracted by my conversation, I remember thinking to myself, “this looks like a snowmobile trail. Gosh those Mitman’s are really off the beaten path.” It was about this point; I became aware that my brother’s trusty all-wheel drive Honda was bogging down. That unique combination in near perfect balance of being distracted, in a hurry, not really thinking or paying attention had resulted in my plight for the night. Then, I was suddenly not bogged down, I was completely stuck.

OK, I know. For those who might like me be from ‘away’, I will explain. With my carelessness and hurry, I had driven full speed ahead onto a snowmobile trail. What I had fancied a few minutes before was a snow-covered ‘back road’ was not a road at all. Meant for snowmobiles or cross-country skiers not cars, groomed beautifully in fact for specific use, driving a car on it was never an intended use. The rough equivalent of trying to drive down a stream. Worse, there was no where I could possibly turn around. Now stopped I tried to reverse. The car was struggling. I now fully realised the danger my idiocy, laziness and my naïve ways had wrought.

I was hopelessly stuck. I got out and look around; I could see this was not some small problem. The car was up to the axle in snow. Remember, my glee earlier at the 50° degree temperature? Melting snow, a groomed snowmobile trail and the weight of a car are not a good combination. I was stuck in the wilderness, and night was falling fast. It was at this point my phone rang, again. Now, mobile phones are handy in emergencies. In Franklin County it certainly has few places it actually works and as noted above is always something of a pleasant surprise.

There is something about receiving a phone call when you are in a dead hopeless situation. It was a call from my brother, Lloyd. A sensible man not given to emotional hysteria. He listened as I told him my woes. He wished me luck, suggesting perhaps this was not a time for idle chat. We hung up. I was keenly aware that I was unbelievably fortunate to have a phone that was working. I called my friend Terry. A real man, real Mainer someone who could no doubt provide some solution perhaps even affect a rescue.

He listened and said, “My god, I know where you are, that’s a snowmobile trail, chief, how’d you get on that, where were you going?” Unsaid but I could hear in the silence a “what were you thinking”? Well, with a series of calls, the fellow who owns the local garage was located, at home ready to sit down with his wife for a quiet dinner. This is what I mean about the people around where I live. Many places, you might be told what an idiot you were and either drawn into a not so transparent extortion plot or simply left to fend for yourself. He did give me some not so good news. Apparently where I was, in addition to not being a road, was smack in the middle of a huge legal battle.

One of those ‘local’ disputes that was neither neighbourly nor civil. Effie Toothaker is something of a local legend. He owns the local Main Street Garage, in Strong, Maine. An inspired mechanic. He even has the Sheriffs Department as a customer. Well-connected, born local, respected, in fact and in reputation. Then the not-so-good news. He might have a problem even getting somewhat near-by. Between the land dispute, and my location, he was not very optimistic. He would have to make calls get permission (on top of everything else, I had stayed on to private land – one of the real no-no’s in this part of the world).

In the end he came. I was sitting inside my car, in full comprehension of the serious nature of my ‘situation’. With growing discomfort, heading in the direction of near-panic I was damning my stupidity and with limited resources to resolve my plight on my own. An “Oh, My God, moment”. The snow was so deep when I got out of the car that I kept ‘falling in up to my waist’. Then I saw in the rear-view mirror, of the car, a bobbing light. I got out and would have run, had the ground not been so squishy and the fact that every 3rd or 4th step, I would sink down into the ever abundant snow.

Effie Toothaker had found me. He looked at my over-all plight and told me the facts. He could not get his truck, a large 4x4, anywhere near my car. The only chance was to try and use a snowmobile to see if ”we can move you enough to get rolling”. "But then you will have to back up (for almost a mile) through your own tracks." So, off he walked into the night to get a snowmobile. Again the alone time. It gives one pause. I had been in a hurry; too busy rushing to do the prudent or smart thing. And now, I had all this free time. I was absolutely furious with myself. I had moved here to this beautiful place over 2-years ago; that I have come to call home. I have learned so many things about life and living here; from friends and my brother Lloyd and his wife Hope.

It is the combination of little things that make up life. Now, I found myself in the type of predicament that was dangerous, serious and perhaps most galling totally preventable. Had I followed what I have learned and been taught rather than relapsing into a ‘city rush-rush’ mentality, well I would not be stuck. It is one thing when you are ignorant, quite another when you know better. I was stuck in a very precarious place, and I had only myself to blame. Then a hopeful thought popped into my head. “How providential my phone worked. How lucky I was able to connect with Effie.” I realised that under other circumstances, I could have been in a much more serious dangerous situation. My car might be stuck a long way away from anything resembling a road. It would probably have to over-night it where it lay. But, I would not freeze to death trying to walk out alone in the dark along a difficult and dangerous path.

As I sat in the car, waiting for what I knew would be a long time, I suddenly was aware I felt secure. That knowledge that a man I barely knew would be coming back for me. As certain as the sun will rise in the morning. The adventure continued, at one point Effie’s snow-mobile and the Honda were inextricably intertwined. We both almost had to walk out. But after some diligent shoveling, hard lifting, grunting and those words that seem to flow at times like these, we broke free. Muddied to my knees from shoving, lifting falling and walking; I got a thrilling snow-mobile ride home.

My image as “Maine-Mountain Man” shattered and for sure the butt of local humour, I entered into local legend and not for reasons I might have hoped. The key though, is I am humbled not humiliated. I missed my “Sap Party”, maybe next year. But I got important gift; I was given the chance to slow down. To appreciate and be grateful for all that I have. How many people could say that; when they are miles from the nearest road in a truly rural area.

Knowing that they could count on a near stranger with such a degree of absolute certainty. I guess I needed this reminder to realise how lucky I am. How truly fortunate. To live near where sap gets turned into delicious syrup, and where there are people, who when they say they will do something, you feel it in your soul. That is my idea of security. The combination of nature, hard work, strong values and where doing the right thing is done for all the right reasons…

By Guy A. Griscom ©2007