How many pocasmellans does it take to crack a lobster?

The answer: All of them + one little Mainer.

Farmers for a day

Part of the SAHM gig, at least for me, has been getting the hell out of the house as much as possible.  Perhaps I should rename myself SAFHM...stay away from home mom.  It's best for everyone, and, luckily, Maine has no shortage of fabulous fresh air and fabulous people to visit. Kathleen moved away a few months ago, but, somehow, we're seeing each other just as frequently, if not more.  Yesterday was a field trip to our friend, Erin's, new farm.  I plan to write all kinds of stuff about Erin, her farm, her hot husband, and more about her adorable daughter, Charley.  Today, I'll just post a few pictures so you can get a taste of just how magical this place really is.

p.s. It's important to note that those cows scared the shit out of Eva.  She was super stoked to see them, especially the baby ones, but once she came face-to-face it was game over.  Thus, the last shot of us walking back to the farm house on the lonely dirt road...away from the cows. There's a country song in there somewhere.

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Opening day at Hadlock Field

Potato vs Lobster

I had a pretty sweet post planned for today wherein I was going to talk about a bunch of super cool stuff.  It was going to be epic. There were lots of frills and fleurs about the awesomeness of Maine, inspired by Anthony Bourdain's recent trip and subsequent episode of No Reservations that aired last night.  But, alas, the episode still sits unwatched on my TiVo, and so I have nothing educated to say about it.

But not being educated about something hasn't stopped me before, so what the hell.

I planned on watching the episode this morning, but then I looked outside and saw one of the most gorgeous days yet and decided we needed to hike our bitty tushes to Mackworth Island.  My post may not be epic, but our morning on Mackworth was.  I didn't bring my camera on purpose.  I just brought my eyes and my kids and my dog so I could take notes of inspiration to file away for another day. 

Half way around the Island, we parked on a lonely bench overlooking Casco Bay.  Eva noticed a white buoy not far from the shore, pointed it out, and started talking (fairly detailed) about trapping lobsters.  Wha? Where did that come from? How could my not-even-3-year-old know the ins and outs of lobstering?

Right.

She's a Mainer, that's why.  I know potatoes.  My kids know lobsters.  Got it.

Finding a place of one's own

I read Kathleen's post this morning and almost started to weep.  Perhaps it's the hormones but likely not.  I've been to her future 'place of her own' a few times.  Never inside, but I've seen the beautifully renovated exterior, the New England ell-shape that gives away the 19th century birth and subsequent additions to accommodate the ever-expanding American family.  I've seen the sloping backyard that leads to a babbling creek where, no doubt, Calder and Tessa will capture unsuspecting creatures in small glass canning jars. 

I've also seen the quaint, white country church directly across the street.  I have no idea if people still worship there or, if they do, what they worship there, but it has a distinct quality that makes you want to go inside.  It's totally New England, maybe even a little Wyeth, but, always and forever, completely Maine.