Simply Economical

While there has been much emphasis of late on the ideas of recycling, restoring, and re-using a lot of our "stuff" in the name of sustainability, sometimes it just happens naturally.   Especially here in the North Woods of Maine since the mill closures forced a lot of people in the area to use their creativity to sustain a livlihood.

Eight years ago when I bought my "camp" on South Twin Lake I discovered a need for few essential maintenance tools and pieces of equipment including a lawn mower.  The new friends I had made area pointed me in the direction of the supermarket bulletin boards and a couple of local guys who liked to fix stuff like mowers.  With very little effort I soon found and purchased a rather old mower in good running order for the sum of fifteen dollars cash.  I had half expected it to fail on the first or second use but to my surprise it performed well for the whole first summer I used it.  At the end of the season I put it away in one of my sheds and forgot about it until the following spring when the lawn needed to be cut.  Again, I had my doubts about the mower ever starting again, and again I was surprised when it burst into life on the first pull.  This cycle continued for another seven years so this year when for the first time it failed to start I was a little surprised.  I had come to depend on it's unfailing reliability.  

I pondered my small dilemma - should I pay to have a fifteen dollar mower fixed or just take it to the dump and get a new one.  It owed me nothing and paying $160 for a new one after seven years did not seem too bad an idea.  But then.... maybe I should give it one last chance before casting it off the the junk metal heap.  By now I had my list of "go to guys" for just about everything.  I had my plummer, my construction guy, my garage mechanic, and the guy who fixed my boat, all of whom could be depended upon to do whatever it took to get something working again when it failed.   My "boat guy" had really surprised me when the transom on my old 1985 Crestliner cracked and began to come adrift from the rest of the boat.  I was ready to call it quits with the boat but thought I'd take it to Lou anyway to take a look at it but feeling pretty sure he would tell me that it was beyond repair.  He didn't.  Instead he said he could fix it for about four hundred bucks which would include a reinforcing the transom with steel plates and caulking all the cracks.  I invested in his belief and today the boat is still running serving it's purpose.

So I threw the lawn mower in the back of my truck and took it in to town for Lou to see what he thought.  Lou has the reputation of being able to fix just about anything that has an engine, that floats, or that travels on snow.   And sure enough, Lou said he could fix the mower.  "Just leave it here and come back tomorrow" was about all he had to say.  So I did.  He cleaned out the carburettor and rebuilt it and put in a new filter and the old mower was back to starting on first pull again.  The cost - forty bucks.  As I drove home with the mower I couldn't help but smile knowing that I'd clearly done my part to keep equipment working instead of trashing it.  The fact is that people around here do it for one simple reason - it makes a lot of economic sense.  Not only that it serves the local economy.  People like Lou have a purpose and an income.  People like me save money and get stuff working again.  Its simply economical.

Fly, Fish, Feast!

Why would you fly for four hours, drive for three, hike for another three, just to fish for one hour?   For me this past weekend,  the answer is clear - a good catch of native brook trout.

First though, lets clear up some misconceptions.  Native brook trout found in northern Maine are not "trout" like you think of trout.  In fact they are a salmonoid with reddish colored flesh, a legacy of the last ice age.  They are closely related to arctic char but are much much smaller, sweeter, and ever more succulent.  The first time you taste one you will immediately recognize the difference.  These fish will only survive in pristine waters.  Pollution will kill them.  And no, in the ponds we fish, they are not stocked.  These fish spawn and engage their life cycle right there in the clear cold mountain pond fed by natural springs and snow melt. 

Heading to our secret pond last weekend (a lot of Mainers don't even tell their best friends where they fish), we hiked in to find the single campsite there occupied and the canoe that goes with it, spoken for by the campers.  After we chatted a while around their breakfast campfire, they generously offered us the use of the canoe until we got our bag limit.  From past experience that could take anything from  an hour to a full day but our campers assured us it would not take long today.

They were right.  We paddled to the middle of the pond and let the canoe drift down towards the end while we fished.  In Maine a pond is usually big enough to be called a lake in most other parts of the world, and this pond is like that.  It took us about an hour to drift from one end to the other and in that time we had nine fish.  Several small ones were released as it was clear from the outset that this was going to be a good day and fish of 10 to 12 inches (large for native brook trout in this area), were in abundance and easy to catch.   We paddled back a little to get one more fish and have our bag limit of 5 fish each.

We returned the canoe, hiked out to our truck, and got back to camp (aka "house on the lake") just after lunch.  This gave us the afternoon to relax, clean our catch, and prepare for our traditional evening feast of pan fried whole brook trout, fiddleheads, and potatoes accompanied by a bottle of Oyster Bay (NZ) Sauvignon Blanc.  Once more we had achieved what we had come for and toasted our success - fishing, friendship, and feasting on one of the most edible species of fish I've ever tasted.  Priceless!

A Most Memorable Meal

It was back in the early eighties. I was between jobs and had taken a year off from all work. One connection led to another and I found myself living on the Greek island of Lesvos in the village of Molivos.

 In those days, well before the Euro, it was a very inexpensive place to live and the lifestyle was just what I needed at the time. From early spring until late into the summer the climate was idyllic. It rarely rained, the wind rarely increased too much above a soft breeze, and the sun on the blue water of the Aegean Sea contrasting the many white buildings perched on the village hillside, made for a very relaxed and sensuous vibe. At night, at one of the three tavernas in the village, there was always good food and wine.

Dining out every night of the week didn’t seem to strain the budget in any way at all and was the main event of the day. I’d also leaned to speak and understand enough Greek to get by and enjoyed conversing with my new found Greek friends as well as the dozen or so long-term expats mostly from northern Europe. There were very few short term visitors in those days and the village life was as intriguing as the backdrop was appealing.

My daily routine was pretty simple. I would sleep until I was awakened by the smell of fresh pastries coming from the village bakery just below the window of my little two story Turkish style house. After a pastry or cheese pie from the bakery with a glass of water and a couple of cups of Greek coffee it would be time to head for one of the nearby beaches. My favorite was Eftalou about 4 kilometers away, and with the whole day at my disposal, it was a pleasant walk. If anyone passed in a vehicle on the narrow one lane dirt road they would always offer a ride.

On one such day at Eftalou I found myself in conversation John and Arianna. John came from England and although he’d lived in the village for several years spoke very little Greek. His friend Arianna came from Athens and probably because of her education and wealth had more in common with the foreigners than the local Greeks and was of great help to John as an interpreter and mouthpiece. A little later we were joined by Heinz who was a house painter from Munich who came to Molivos between jobs and had a residence there. He was a master of simple living and could often be found walking among the rocks with a hand spear looking for an octopus for dinner. Eating was important to Heinz and he was often a great resource in that department.

“Hey, you all want to join me for lunch?” he asked.
It was already past noon, none of us had brought food with us, and we were thinking of heading back to the village.
“Where?” asked John.
“Have you been to the little outdoor taverna down towards Skala Skimania out on the point?” asked Heinz.
None of us had.
“How do we get there, Heinz?” asked Arianna.
“We can walk along the beach and there is a road near the beach further along. It’s probably 4 or 5 kilometers.”
“Sounds too far for my legs” said John.
With a little urging John soon gave way and we were all strolling down the beach. An hour later we were sitting at one of two outdoor tables next to a small shack that served as a kitchen next to an outdoor fire pit that made up the complete taverna. Janni, the owner,  greeted us as profusely. A jug of cold local retsina was placed on the table as we sat and admired the view.

We were surrounded by the sea on three sides and across a small bay could see a small fishing village. The coast of Turkey was clearly visible some twelve kilometers across to the East. Two umbrellas in the blue and white colors of the Greek flag shaded the long table and much of our bodies from the strong rays of the early afternoon sun. A small ginger cat fed on the scraps in a large fry pan beside the fire pit.

Janni asked if we were hungry. As each of us responded in some way he took mental notes of how much food he might need to prepare. There was no menu. Janni and his wife would decide what to bring to the table, when to bring it, and in what quantity. This was not new to me and was a custom practiced in several of the smaller tavernas on the island. Heinz who had been here before asked Janni if he had any “marides” to start with. A smile and a head gesture from Janni told us he had some. “Marides” are small fish something similar to what many of us might know as smelts although they taste so much better. The Greeks roll them in flour and fry them whole in virgin olive oil.

Janni’s wife came out the fire pit, shooed away the cat, picked up the large frying pan and banged it twice on a nearby rock before placing it over the grate on the fire pit and pouring oil into it. I looked at John who also noticed what was happening and who despite his three years on the island seemed to hold on to many of his English ways. He squirmed a little but then shrugged and chugged down half a glass of his retsina. Heinz and Arianna also noticed but were obviously unaffected. I looked at the cat, now in the distance. It appeared to be in good health and free of any lethal diseases so I raised my glass shouting “Iassos!” and downed some retsina too.

I’m not sure if it was the sun, the seascape, the company, or the retsina, but those marides were the best I’d ever tasted. And that was just the beginning of a most memorable meal.  A day I will remember as the one when I didn't really care that a cat had cleaned the frying pan before it was used to cook my meal.