Notes from Maine - 2026/02/15
It might as well be spring here. We’ve had several days above freezing and there have even been some elusive 40s (5°C) in the forecast although they always disappear before the day arrives. February feels bright and hopeful this year.
Maybe it’s just me. I mentioned to a friend how fast this month is passing and their observation was the opposite. Perhaps it’s just because I feel like I’m getting stuff done and filling every day in a meaningful way. I’m behind on watching TV shows, behind on scrolling through the news, but waking up with clear intentions on what I want to get done that day. It’s a blessing.
Saturday, I was thrown a little bit of a curveball in the barn. The lights in the feed room stopped working. After a tiny amount of investigation, I found that the GFCI outlet was tripping. You’re probably familiar with those outlets from your kitchen or bathroom. They have miniature circuit breakers built into the outlet and they can protect downstream electrical appliances from shorts. In my case, the lights are downstream from the GFCI, so when the outlet tripped the lights went out.
They don’t last forever. I figured that the GFCI was at fault and I started by turning off the breaker and replacing the outlet. There was no difference. The next easiest thing to investigate was the switch—again, no dice. The issue turned out to be one of the recessed light fixtures. The barn has been really humid this winter (lots of horses breathing their damp, heavy breath all night) and I think that the moisture in our February thaw created a short. It’s good to know that the GFCI is protecting the me from the current but now I have to shop for another recessed light.
Standing on a ladder and working over my head all afternoon wore me out. I was ready for bed right after dinner, but instead I had to move a truckload of shavings around the garage.
I’m so excited for March. I’ve been keeping the attic of the barn sealed up since last fall when I filled it with hay. Anticipating spring shortages, I told myself that I wouldn’t touch my hay reserve until March. That required me to go to the feed store a couple times a week all winter, but I’m very close to the end now. They’re probably going to think I moved away when I stop going. They don’t even ask me anymore—they just start ringing up my usual order as soon as I walk through the door. Sometimes I think I’m their only customer.
At some point I’m going to have to find another feed store. This isn’t based on information I have, just a gut feeling. Maybe I’ll hunt around in March. I know there’s a place about twenty minutes north of me. I’ve never visited there, but perhaps they can be my emergency backup in case anything happens to my regular place.
If I do visit a new feed store next month, I’ll have to try really hard to put on a friendly face. I’m getting worse and worse at making a first impression as I’ve gotten older. People tend to assume that I’m cranky just by looking at me. It’s a fair assumption—I’m often cranky—but I really don’t want to present that way. Yesterday I practiced smiling at strangers. I didn’t get any weird looks so I must have done okay. I had a pleasant conversation with the guy who delivered oil on Friday. I’ve talked to that guy before so he probably doesn’t count as a first impression, but it was definitely my most friendly conversation with him so far. While the oil pumped, we discussed the nature of “success” and how one should measure it.
He looked at Albert on the other side of the fence gate and asked, “You think he could get past that?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure he could,” I said. I excused myself to put Albert inside. I think he made the oil guy uncomfortable even though he was holding a frisbee in his mouth (Albert, not the oil guy).
I guess Albert presents as a little cranky as well.
I should probably just let people think I’m a cranky old person, but I’ve found that it makes interactions harder. If they think I’m cranky, they’re likely to argue when I bring up a valid point. It’s like they’re expecting a fight from someone like me. I would rather have them think I’m nice so they would take my feedback and offer an alternative. I swear I’m not difficult. Really—it’s true. Although if someone else were commenting that everyone greeted them like they were difficult I would probably roll my eyes. If a person complains that the whole world seems difficult we all know where the finger should really be pointing.
I’ll work on it.
