Notes from Maine - 2026/03/01

I’m keeping to the promise I made myself. This week, Albert and I went to the dump on Tuesday with another load of stuff that I don’t need anymore. There was an old air compressor that needs work and a storage tank. I found a couple of ancient computer cases and a monitor that was probably last used on the Mayflower when the first pilgrims came across the Atlantic. When the bezel has nearly as much surface area as the screen, the monitor is old. 

I went up to the attic to see if I could find another easy item to part with. 

I found more than I bargained for.

Last Monday we had a little storm. South of us, people got a foot or more of snow. In my town it was just a couple of inches. In fact, the wind blew so hard that my deck was completely clean after the snowfall. Outside, it only accumulated on the south side of the house in protected drifts. 

In April of 2024, a tree came through the roof and I had to have the whole roof above the attic replaced. Thinking ahead to baffles and insulation, I had the roofers install a ridge vent down the length. The vent works a little too well in a nor’easter, it seems. The tiniest of silty flakes invaded through the ridge vent and drifted down into tiny piles in the center of the attic. I had to shovel it out.

It was a good thing that I made that resolution to go to the dump each week or I wouldn’t have found the snow upstairs. I don’t think it was enough to do any real damage, but better to clean it up than let it melt. There was someone at the dump picking through the big metal bins when I went to get rid of the broken compressor. He took it off my hands. I got rid of stuff, but nothing “valuable” was actually committed to the trash. It was a perfect dump run.

At the feed store this week I said my farewells. The next hay that the horses eat will be from the loft storage that I put up six months ago. They’re going to be shocked. Although the hay is old, the hay in the loft is of significantly higher quality than what I’ve been getting at the store lately. As predicted, the availability of hay has been decreasing. Although there haven’t been any real shortages yet, we’re definitely getting the bottom-of-the-barrel stuff.

I’m going to be a little embarrassed if the same people are working this afternoon. When I told them that they wouldn’t see me in a while, I forgot that I’m almost out of shavings. The horses get bagged shavings as bedding in their stalls. It turns out that Albert and I will go over today after all. 

At the feed store I generally keep quiet. There’s nothing better than the gossip that people will tell a familiar stranger to fill the silence. I don’t even like to talk about it here, for fear that some revealed detail will make it back to them and the flow of gossip will end. Over the years, I’ve heard about alliances and betrayals. I’ve heard personal details that people probably never meant to tell. I don’t bring up past conversations so they never have reason to suspect that I’ve been listening attentively to everything. 

A few years ago, in a Spanish class I was taking at night, I sat “reading” before class while others chatted around me. I was tuned into a conversation next to me where a woman was talking about her “client” and it became clear that the client was a dog. I put that together with a bumper sticker I had seen in the mostly-empty parking lot. The car I parked next to was that of a dog walker according to the sticker. During the class I strengthened my case that the person sitting next to me was the person who I had parked next to. At the end of class, she needed help carrying something out to her car. 

I said, “I can help you with that. I’m parked right next to you.”

She accepted my help but with a confused, suspicious look. This was our first class of the session. The implications of what I said were all bad. Had I watched her walk in and noted which car she drove? Was I stalking her? She was right to be weirded out. What I said was genuinely weird. 

After that, I still keep my ears open but I purposefully keep my mouth shut.

In Sherlock Holmes books, people never have the correct reaction to his revelations. They’re always shocked and amazed. They should feel insulted, angry, and violated by his intrusive deductions. He doesn’t just aim his surgical eyes at the bad guys. He often blurts out personal details of people in his presence just to show off. 

In my case, in Spanish class, I revealed a deduction that made me look like a potentially dangerous creep. I really don’t want the people at the feed store to think that I’m a dangerous creep, so although I keep my ears open, my mouth stays shut most of the time. I know that one of the warehouse workers there died briefly when she was eleven (almost twenty-eight years ago, by my math) at her grandmother’s house, on the second floor near the staircase. She was revived by paramedics and… I’ve already said too much. I’m showing off by revealing personal details for no reason. Maybe I should learn to not listen.