Harvest Maine

Autumn Traditions & Fall Flavors

Crystal Ward Kent

• Éditeur: Arcadia Publishing
• Année: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781625849632
• Sujet: Desarrollo personal
• Sous-sujet: Viajes

Experience the fairs, feasts and foliage that herald harvest time in the Pine Tree State. Autumn traditions and flavors come alive in this nostalgic journey through New England's favorite season. Nature lore follows the ways of moose and bear and the great fall migrations of hawks and Monarch butterflies. Old-time fairs still feature horse-pulling, handcrafts and pie-baking contests. Apples, pumpkins and potatoes offer a delectable bounty for the table. Classic recipes for Indian pudding, apple pie, baked beans and brown bread round out this harvest-time sampler. Author Crystal Ward Kent serves up a slice of Maine at its finest.

Chapter 1

AUTUMN COMES TO MAINE

You see the first signs in August—a touch of red on a maple, a bit of flame edging the leaves of a sumac. The nights take on a chillier feel, hinting at cooler times ahead, while in the fields, the whir of summer insects rises to a crescendo as they pour out one last song before their final sleep.

By September, there is no denying that summer is on the wane. Apple trees and sickle pears hang heavy with fruit. Deer and other wildlife steal into the orchards at dawn and dusk, seeking the drops. Along the old stone walls, grapevines burst with deep purple bounty, and birds, squirrels and chipmunks race to see who can devour the most.

Mornings are quiet now, as summer’s trilling birdsong is replaced by the winter calls of blue jays and nuthatches, chickadees and titmice. Gone are the colorful birds of summer, already wending their way to warmer climes. Instead, flocks of sparrows in endless patterns of brown and gray huddle in the bushes. These hardy species will ride out the snow and cold, feeding on winter berries and seeds.

For some time now, the call of wild geese has been heard in the evening. As moonlight floods the cold, clear skies, long skeins can be seen embarking on their ageless journey to southern fields. Their haunting call has a sadness to it—a farewell to summer, to the year nearly spent.

As September deepens, the trees begin their color show. Maples put on the most vibrant display, with leaves that turn scarlet and orange, gold and yellow, sometimes all in one leaf. Oaks add flair with tones ranging from the vibrant red of scrub oaks to yellows and rich browns. Beeches, birches, aspens and ashes bring splashes of gold, while bushes and shrubs such as sumac, blueberry and barberry provide a riot of red.

A stormy autumn sky forms a dramatic backdrop to a windy Maine hillside. Marcia Peverly photo.

Maine is two-thirds forested, and much of the state’s woodlands include conifers such as pine, spruce and balsam, but the evergreens only enhance the hardwoods’ colorful display, their dark green foliage adding dramatic contrast to the flaming tones around them. The state’s abundant lakes and ponds create numerous picturesque views as autumn’s colors are mirrored in the dark blue waters.

Even along the coast, brilliant foliage is seen, and the autumn panorama is enhanced by the amber waves of the marsh grasses that stretch to the ocean beyond. The coast casts a different spell in fall. Gone are the tourists with their colorful umbrellas, beach towels and coolers. Now, the shore belongs to wind and water, sand and rock. Offshore storms send strong winds and surging tides sweeping in. The beaches become a treasure-trove of shells and sea glass polished by the pounding waves. A few hardy souls stroll the shore, invigorated by the wind, the ocean’s roar and having this wild world to themselves.

Fall brings not only storms but also cold air sweeping down from Canada. Nothing is more striking than the dramatic skyscapes formed by an arriving cold front. Row upon row of dark blue clouds reach back to the northern mountains. They float in low and ominous, their shadowed undersides promising cold and wind and hinting of the winter to come. Suddenly, a shaft of sunlight breaks through the dark ranks, burnishing the foliage below and backlighting the landscape so gilded trees glow against the slate blue of cloud. It is dramatic and beautiful, the juxtaposition of one season on the wane against another’s advent.

As October progresses, early morning frost is already riming the fields. The harvest is well in, save for a few late root crops, and farm festivals are in full swing. Much of Maine is farmland, although not the large-scale ventures of the Midwest. Maine farming tends to be smaller scale—apple farms and dairies, vegetable farms or a bit of everything. Up north, in the broad, flat land known as “the County,” large tracts are devoted to potato farming, one of the state’s major industries, but smaller growers are found everywhere. On a crisp fall weekend, families need not travel far to come upon a farm stand or pick-your-own operation. Here, they take a hayride into the fields, eager to gather pumpkins or apples. Later, back at the farm, they may sample homemade cider and doughnuts, enjoy some fiddle music or simply relish being out on a brisk fall day. They know the days of being able to sit and linger are drawing to an end. Winter is closing in, and every picnic and excursion is savored.

By late October, snow will already have brushed the mountains and sometimes even the entire state. Many of the leaves will be down, but the rusty brown foliage of certain oaks will cling well into the winter. Halloween will bring costumed children to the door, although often with ski jackets over their attire. More than once, a light snowstorm has brought a trick instead of a treat!

Night falls early now, with the last gleam of sunset fading around suppertime. A cool wind rises, rustling the last leaves and rattling the tree branches. The smell of wood smoke floats on the air, and somewhere an owl hoots as it soars off on its nightly hunt. A night like this calls for hearty, comforting food—chowders and stews, a plate of baked beans with homemade bread, a cheesy casserole. Surely there will be pie for dessert—apple or pumpkin, mincemeat or squash—something that reflects the season’s bounty. With the last sweet bite lingering on the tongue, families welcome the evening to come. How good to be snug inside, full and warm, savoring the season as autumn comes to Maine.

Chapter 2

FAIR SEASON

As August fades into September, the bounty of Maine’s harvest begins. Fields are ripe with late corn; pumpkins, squash and gourds fatten on the vines. The last of the tomatoes, cucumbers and pole beans are ready for canning, capturing those juicy bites of summer in a jar. Fruit crops are ready, too. Late blueberries and raspberries are quickly gathered, and the orchards are heavy with fruit.

After a summer of grazing on good grass, livestock are sleek and handsome. The morning chill gives friskiness to their step, or maybe it is excitement for the season ahead—not just the season of autumn but also fair season.

There are not as many farmers in Maine as there once were, but the state is still largely rural, and farmer or not, everyone welcomes fair season. A country fair brings a touch of magic to Maine’s small towns. There is the excitement of the setup crews arriving and then the big trucks bringing the rides, followed by the parade of food vendors—French fries and fried dough, corn dogs and sausages. The farmers come soon after, trundling in horses and cattle of every shape and size, along with pigs, chicken, sheep and goats, with maybe a burro or alpaca or two. The fairground barns are suddenly full of animals and tack, food and buckets, with families bustling about making their hoofed charges beautiful. The fields around the fairground become a city of RVs and pickup trucks. Lawn chairs and tables appear; a radio plays. People sit outside and play cards or eat supper. A little community forms. Finally, all is ready. The tents are up, their colorful pennants flying in the wind. The lights are strung, a switch is thrown and presto! Magic appears in the warm autumn night. Everything is color and sound, from the swirling lights of the amusement rides to the tinny music of the merry-go-round. The cry of the barkers on the Midway mingles with the roar of the crowd from the competition rings and the low of cattle in nearby barns. Even the air has a unique aroma as the tempting smells of popcorn and fried dough blend with the earthier ones of manure and hay.

The harvest is celebrated across the length and breadth of Maine—from the small Acton Fair in York County to Presque Isle’s State Fair in Maine’s far north. The Skowhegan Fair claims to be Maine’s oldest continuously running fair, having begun in 1818, but perhaps the state’s most famous fair is Fryeburg, which typically runs the last weekend in September through the first weekend in October. More than 300,000 visitors flock to the Fryeburg Fair during its run. Set in a region of unparalleled beauty high in Maine’s western mountains, the fair rewards visitors with spectacular foliage as well as a good time. Fairgoers have been flocking to the Fryeburg region for well over a century. The West Oxford Agricultural Society, which presents the Fryeburg Fair, was incorporated on June 3, 1851. Originally, only nine Maine towns were included, but six New Hampshire towns later joined in 1888. After moving the fair from town to town for the first few years, the society purchased the 26-acre location for $133 in 1885. Over the last one hundred years, the fair site has expanded to 180 acres and includes one hundred permanent buildings with more than three thousand camping sites. During the fair’s run, these will quickly fill up.

The parking area is rimmed by tall pine trees, which are also sprinkled throughout the fairgrounds proper. Inside the gate, the Ferris wheel rises over a sea of tents, trailers, buildings and corrals. The fair offers something for all ages, including the livestock shows. From miniature horses to the giant draft breeds, from dairy cows to beef stock and from sheep to goats, the best and brightest of each species will parade into the ring, brushed and ribboned, sometimes led by small children and other times by teens or adults. Today, there is a contest to evaluate good breeding stock. Lithe young women in dark slacks and crisp white shirts wrangle horses four times their size as a group of Shires is brought into the ring. Shires are an English draft horse breed dating back to the tenth century; knights of old rode these mighty steeds, and they retain a royal look with their fine arched necks and shiny coats. Although Shires come in gray and bay colors, the classic Shires are black with white blazes and fetlocks, and it is this type that is being judged now.

The judges are looking to see how well the breed’s notable characteristics are being passed from dam to foal. As a result, both mothers and foals are shepherded in for review. The foals are nervous, not used to the crowds. They try to duck behind their mothers. When the pair is asked to demonstrate their gait, several foals try to break into exuberant gallops. But in each case, their young female handlers, undaunted at dealing with animals the size of small cars (Shires can weigh over a ton), quickly calm them down, restoring their conformation as they pass in review.

Outside, Belted Galloways, nicknamed the “Oreo cows” because they are black on the head, shoulders and rump but banded with white around their middles, await their turn to be shown. They are wrapped in cellophane to protect them from any stray mud splatters, making them appear to have just come from a bovine spa.

Meanwhile, in the far outside show ring, show jumping has commenced. The crowd is hushed as each long-limbed hunter enters the arena and the rider begins guiding the horse over the myriad jumps. Horse and rider move as one; just a touch on the neck or a press on the flank tells the horse where to go and at what pace. Pole jumps, low walls, open pits, brush jumps—the pair flies over each obstacle, receiving applause for a job well done after a clean round.

A miniature horse, mascot of its owner’s farm, waits his turn to be shown at the Fryeburg Fair. Crystal Kent photo.

Show jumpers are masters of precision, and in a different sense, so are border collies. At the sheep-herding demonstrations, they are blurs of movement as they expertly dart in and around the wayward flock, directing them where the shepherd wants with well-placed nips and nudges. At times, the dogs are almost belly to the ground as they creep up on laggards and then, with a quick nip or burst of speed, urge them back to the flock. Sometimes, the shepherd asks the dog to cut out just one or two sheep and bring them round, and the dog does so, deftly separating his target(s) from the group. The entire exercise is done in near silence, save for the baas of the sheep. The dog neither yips nor barks, and the shepherd communicates with the dog with hand signals or a few pipes on his whistle. The dogs are equally adept at herding goats and cows, and it is clear that they love to work.

Sheep farmers will tell you that it takes about two years for a herding dog to be able to competently work a flock of adult animals. Shepherds start the puppies with small, easier-to-manage animals such as ducklings. The young dogs then work up to adult birds, then lambs and then adult sheep. Putting a puppy in with a large animal is a recipe for disaster, as the dog may be terrified for life if he has a bad experience. Herding can be dangerous work for an inexperienced dog, as sheep and cattle can kick and butt, and real injury is possible. Phased-in training allows the dog to learn how animals react before adult livestock are being worked. Training sessions may take place every day and are kept short so the dog does not feel overwhelmed. At the end of each session, the shepherd rewards the dog with playtime—fetching a ball or some other activity he enjoys. The dogs are not taught how to herd—this is instinctive. Instead, they are taught how to use that instinct to do what the shepherd wants: bring the flock to the fields or back to the shepherd, drive the flock through obstacles such as gates and urge the flock into pens. When the shepherd wants the dog to stop herding, he tells it to lie down. The dog does so but never takes his eyes off the flock. Herding dogs, especially border collies, have laser-like focus when it comes to watching the flocks. They will not move a muscle while on the job.

One shepherd told me that the secret to a good herding dog is in the stare: “A good dog can make those sheep behave with a look!”

At the other end of the fair entertainment spectrum is the pig scramble. There are no deft maneuvers here, just every child—and pig—for himself! Controlled mayhem is what happens when squealing young pigs and eager children are turned loose in a corral. The goal is for the children to catch the pigs; if they catch one, they can raise it to show at the next year’s fair. However, grabbing a fast, agile, slippery piglet is much easier said then done. Pigs are racing, darting, oinking; children are running, falling, laughing, hollering; and the crowd is roaring at the antics. Eventually, by some minor miracle, bedraggled, dusty children will emerge with piglets in tow, but only after several minutes of complete chaos.

Among the more esoteric events featured at the fair is the skillet toss. Every woman who has had to cook for a demanding family has probably at one time had the urge to heave her frying pan across the room. After the umpteenth query of “What’s for dinner?” or complaints about what is being served, what joy to take that fry pan and toss it out the window! Well, at the Fryeburg Fair, women can throw their skillets as far as they want—and maybe win a prize for doing so. Contestants compete by age group, and skillets are provided by the fair. Would-be competitors are urged to start practicing now, and next fall could see their frying pans flying the farthest!

Nearby, the big draft horses get ready to pull sledges of ever-increasing weight as they vie for the top prize. Their manes and tails are done up with braids and plumes, and the just-brushed feathers around their big hooves flutter with each movement. The horses know they are on display and prance a little as they come into the shoot. Their harnesses jingle, and they give little huffs of excitement. Their handler quickly hooks them to the sledge, then instantly urges them to “Get up! Get up!” They do, haunches straining, necks arched, pulling the massive load as far as they can down the stretch. Many are matched pairs—handsome Percherons, Clydesdales and Shires with coats of burnished gold, chestnut or black. These are time-honored breeds whose work was once essential to the hard chores of farm life—the planting, the hauling of timber, the moving of huge wagons of goods. Today, as they compete, they pay tribute to this heritage, to the days when man and horse worked as one.

A Belgian draft horse is led across the Fryeburg fairgrounds. Draft horses are judged on conformation and breeding, and some also compete at pulling sledges. Marcia Peverly photo.

Not all the fair competition takes place in the show ring; much of it is of the quieter variety as crafters, growers and bakers are judged on everything from the quality of their pies to the size of their squashes, the sweetness of their jams and the deftness of the stitches on their quilts. The quality of these items highlights the depth of Maine’s rural roots. There is still pride in doing things by hand, in taking the time to roll out pie crust, piece a quilt, plant a garden. Doing by hand is also still a necessity in much of Maine, as incomes are often strained, and “making do” is as much a way of life as lobstering, farming, fishing or logging.

After rounds of rides and activities, it is time for a look at exhibits and items for sale, as well as mouth-watering fair food...

Table des matières

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• 1. Autumn Comes to Maine
• 2. Fair Season
• 3. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!
• 4. Maine Outdoors
• 5. The Time of the Hunt
• 6. Maine’s Bounty
• 7. A Taste of Downeast
• 8. Season’s End
• Bibliography
• About the Author