Notes from Maine - 2025/12/28

This is all conjecture, but I think I can guess what happened…

Brunswick would be of unremarkable size in a lot of states, but in Maine it’s the seventh-largest city with 22,000 residents. I imagine there’s a child who lives in Brunswick, Maine—good marks in school, but not a try-hard know-it-all who sits in the front row and shoots up a hand every time the teacher asks a question. This child considers themselves cursed, in a way, because their birthday is December 19, less than a week before Christmas.

Every year they receive “combined” gifts—meant to celebrate both the anniversary of their own birth and the birth of Christ. Their parties can’t be outdoors with fun activities, but instead are always in a living room that’s decorated for someone else. 

This year, thinking day and night for a week, the kid finally thinks of a way to capitalize on their misfortune. We’ve already had a ton of snow, and winter break will be a FULL TWO WEEKS because of the way the holidays land. With a new set of snow pants and a brand new sled, the vacation will be perfect. Sleep late, sled until lunch, and then sled again in the afternoon until it’s time to come in for dinner and hot cocoa. The snow sparkles in the sun, affirming the idea.

Then, disaster hits.

Friday the 19th, the day of their birthday, the skies open up. Instead of more snow, the gift that nature gives the child is rain. Chilly, dismal rain falls all day, washing away everything except for the berm next to the driveway. The sled they unwrap is useless. They don’t even pull the tags from the new snow pants. The vacation that starts that day will be marred by views of nothing but frozen mud outside. By the time it snows again, school will have started and there will be no time for sledding at all.

The child has one last hope—Santa. They rip up the note they intended to mail in the morning. None of those gifts matter anymore. There’s only one thing they want, and it’s going to have to come quick.

“Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is snow. I’ve been more than good, as you know. Please bring more snow than anyone can imagine. More than we got all last winter. That’s all I want for Christmas. Just snow. (And peace on Earth, end hunger and wars, good will, etc., etc.) Thank you.”

By Tuesday, still nothing. Vacation is flying away. The sled is gathering dust. And then the miracle of the tense music during the 6 o’clock news. The newscasters are all wearing sweaters. Turning on the porch light, they see that Santa is on the job—flakes are falling! By morning, the dream has come true. There’s a foot and a half (45 cm) of beautiful soft powder outside and it’s still coming down! They squeeze into the snow pants, ripping off the tag and throwing it toward the trash, and then grab the brand new birthday sled.

“Wait!” a parent says.

The kid freezes with one hand on the doorknob.

“Gloves,” the parent says.

With that, the day is perfect. The sled is perfect. The vacation is perfect…  

That’s what I think happened. 

I hate that kid. 

We got a month’s worth of snow here in one night and I spent all day on Wednesday trying to dig out. Albert loved it. Every time I threw the frisbee he would disappear under the snow and then emerge several seconds later, sugar coated and smiling. My neighbors are kind enough to plow my driveway, but I have to shovel from the driveway to the door, shovel a path for the oil delivery, shovel from the driveway around the garage and to the barn, and then shovel access for the manure pit. The horses help a bit with the pasture. I lay out hay in a straight line between the barn and the fence. They stomp and eat the snow until I can manage with the cart. 

By noon, the power went out. I was able to drag the generator into the driveway and hook it up to the new outlet. It’s a blessing having a new outlet right next to the garage so I don’t have to cart the generator all the way around the house anymore. Before dinner the power came back and I was able to put everything away. Christmas was uneventful, but full of the mild aches and pains of all that effort. 

We weren’t supposed to be the epicenter of the storm, but we were. Well, technically Brunswick, just across the river, got the worst of it. I have a snowblower. Actually, I have at least two that I fixed up and now I never use. By the time I get it out, add fresh gas, get it going, and then muscle it all around I could have shoveled. So I shovel. I went through many pairs of socks during the day. The snow was deep enough to run up my pants legs and fall down into my boots. 

At least it’s pretty outside. It’s very, very bright, but pretty.