And the Tails under the Sea continue... theory # 4

guest contributor: Joanne "Ariel" Berens

This is also a well-documented series of events that led up to the terminology ‘Lobster Pound’ prevalent in Maine. The early settlers of the coastal region of Maine were mainly composed of fisherman (and hardy fisherwomen). It was a harsh environment, but one that kept their communities fed. Fishing nets were mainly used to capture the many and abundant varieties of fish and all were prosperous and well in coastal Maine. Until, of course, the nets became snagged and damaged by a strange creature in the deep. In modern times we know that there are certain migratory patterns that have been followed for centuries by certain animals. The settlers, however, were quite unsettled by this and concerned with their livelihood. Many meetings ensued and the angry settlers decided to round up these strange creatures that were entangled in the nets and burn them, similar to witch hunts and burning at the stake ceremonies. This would surely send the message to the powers who watched over the seas that they were making this offering in appeasement. Well, the net damage continued as well as the burnings until one very disastrous season when food was scarce after a very harsh winter, the ones that Maine is famous for. On the very next burn, the adult settlers were aghast as dozens of the hungry children risked physical danger by reaching into the fire to pull out what we now know as crustaceans, or lobsters, and commenced tearing the hard shells apart and eating what was now succulent meat. Adults, just as hungry, decided to partake as well and all left with full bellies and happy smiles. As word spread about this delicious, abundant new food source, the elders once again convened to discuss the events that were taking place. On the one hand, the new food named lobster was destroying the fisherman’s nets and supplies to repair and make new nets were running low. And on the other hand, they wanted to continue to capture this new sea creature that kept their hunger at bay. Many of these folks had visited out West where on the vast plains cattle grazed. When it came time for the cattle to become tomorrow’s food they were herded into confines while they awaited their fate. Well, the elders thought that this concept would work under the sea and put in place a plan to ‘herd’ the lobsters into a confined area. So the settlers collectively built a huge underwater holding pen built of scrap horseshoe material. They had several ideas on how to persuade the lobsters in the correct direction and into the trap. The one that they decided they could accomplish efficiently was to have all the fisherman’s boats loaded with long steel poles with a big plate on the end of it. Then they formed a line and ‘pounded’ the poles on the bottom of the sea thus making the lobsters scurry towards the pen that they had built. [insert: Kinda Oceanic Monster Mash] It was a huge success! It became a tradition long after the technology changed and today it is commonly known as going to the lobster ‘pound’.

Hhmmmmm.... It could happen.

PS. If this makes no sense to you... you may need to go back and read a blog or two. :)

Lobster Pound theory #3





by guest contributor: Rachel Gardiner

Grunt and Errrg, two cavemen, were picked up in a micro-burst during a storm about 16,000 b.c. Unceremoniously dumped on the rocky shore of the North Atlantic sea, they wandered for days without food or drinkable water. Frustrated by their hunger and lack of familiar landscape, they grew tired of one another and began to quarrel."Grunt" growled Grunt. "Errrg" uttered Errrg. Ultimately their verbal assaults became physical, and they wound up chest deep in the sea.Much thrashing about ensued, until Grunt held Errrg by the hair and shoved him underwater. Errrg was not going down without a fight, and grabbed at everything near him. In his struggle, he inadvertently wrapped his massive hand around a sea creature, and, thinking its hard body to be a handy weapon, burst out of the water and began to pound Grunt over the head with it. Many scrapes and cracked claws later,both men and crustacean were washed up on the shore. Noone is sure of the exact sequence of events that followed, but Paleolithic cave paintings show two cavemen alternately pounding a lobster-like creature against a rock, and subsequently picking its flesh out with small two-tined sticks and feasting. A millena later, Mainers found the rocks upon which the series of events were documented, and honored their ancient ancestors with the term "Lobster Pound."

Lobster Pound?

So I have been pondering the “Pound” question? You know… Why are Maine roadside restaurants that sell lobster called Lobster Pounds? I suppose I could look it up on Bing or Jeeves but that would not be half as fun.

While my (very cool) niece and nephew were visiting, late one night we were star gazing up near Cadillac Mountain. I suppose I should have been giving them some sage advice or contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As it turned out, we mused the origins of the name Lobster Pounds. Of course, “up here” in Down East Maine it is pronounce “lŏb'star”. So perhaps the topic was a cosmic star connection… or perhaps our train of thought was derailed by the altitude.

Whatever it was…, here is our version of NPRs: “Wait, wait, don’t tell me!”

• Lobster Pound theory #1:

Henry’s been out working in the cranberry bogs all day in hip-waders just like you see on the two guys in the Oceanspray commercial. (by the way, I’m not sure, but in my thinking any job that is located in a “bog” has gotta smell… don’t you think?) Anyway smelly Henry’s finishes his long hard day and now all he wants is a “Lŏb'star!” But it’s tourist season and the counter is 6 families deep. It’s gonna be a while before Henry can make his selection. He is not feeling particularly patient, but he’s a Mainer, so he suffers in silence. He is waiting, and waiting, and waiting when little Johnny throws a hissy fit because Dad wouldn’t let him have the biggest crustacean in the tank. Henry is still waiting when Johnny’s sister realized that Dad has replaced Johnny’s selection with the cute little lobster in the corner of the tank that she has named Lulu. And Johnny may now actually eat Lulu. A second round of hysteria breaks out. By the time Henry gets to the counter he is up to ears in tourist and he’s starving. He gonna blow… raises his fist and starts “Pounding” on the counter. “I want Lŏb'star… I want Lŏb'star and I want it now! ” And the term “Lobster Pound” was coin right then and there.

• Lobster Pound theory #2:

Brianna and Joel are sophomores at COA or the College of the Atlantic. It is an institution of higher education known for its many shades of green. Two of the most prevalent being its eco-centric marine left bent, as well as its students’ abundant bank accounts… I personally dubbed it the school of the “rich and amphibious.” Brianna and Joel are standing at the counter getting ready to order dinner.

“Whatever!” Brianna said brushing off Joel. “I don’t care how good they are in butter and garlic; I just can’t bring myself to eat him. He reminds me of Sebastian from Little Mermaid.”

“Wrong crustacean” smirked Joel.

Brianna “I don’t care, have you seen all the colored buoys in Frenchman’s Bay? They haven’t a chance. Have you seen all the boats going out to catch them and the tons of little cages stacked up?… they’re like dog catchers, rounding up all the free rooming lobsters… to take them to the Pound. And here we are, at the Pound… the Lobster Pound! Picking out which Lobster to take home with us… only… I don’t think he will sit up and beg…” Brianna’s voice trails off.

Joel: No but I am going to “Pot”ty train him. lol

Hence the term Lobster Pound was cooked up right then and there.

Well traditionally, there would be three stories to pick from on Wait, wait… but this blog is neither traditional nor on NPR. So rules be damned. And since I also have no callers, I will have to wait for your comments and/or emails in response to the blog and you’ll just have to wait until the next blog to discover the origins of the term “Lobster Pound”.

Until then…
Peace, Luv, and Nephropidaes, barbie

Run credits
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Concept Contributors – Dann and Em Herwerden, the niece and nephew whose conversation sparked this blog

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Producers – Karen and Rick Herwerden, conceivers of the afore mentioned contributors.
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Bouncer – Lobster Johnson previously employed by Dark Horse Comics
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Lunch provided by Red
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Accounting – Crayg “countem’ Fish
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Lunch Seasoner – C. Saltner
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Location Finder – Ocea N. O’Graffer
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Hair and Makeup – Clawdius Du

The Rain in Maine stays mainly in Maine

Ruth has been brushing up on her stalking skills. It had been a while and I was beginning to think her gaydar was malfunctioning. And then, and do I dare I use the analogy “raining” lesbos? Having set the record for wettest June in Maine’s history, even the locals are grumpy. And while I’m on the subject, I don’t get this “we” thing. I hear on TV that “we” set the record for the afore mentioned record. I’m not sure I should be included… I am only a seasonal resident or seasonal tourist (depending how you look at it) Is it just Mainers that are included in that “we”? Even if I am included… how did I influence the rain? Ruth didn’t do a dance or anything… I think Mother Nature may have a little more influence than I. I know, I know the global warning and all that. So what’s the action – reaction timing? If I throw away my Sunday paper will it rain on Monday? If I use it to start my campfire rather than a chemically induced starter do I get partial credit? Or are we paying for the sins of our fore-fathers? Like, all the Campbell’s soup cans your mother pitched during your childhood made it rain on my Birthday… Jeez, another thing to blame our parents for. Note to self: recycle more.

Once again I digress. Stalking lesbians was the original subject wasn’t it? It seems to have taken the 4rth of July to rain gyrls and Ruth was Johnny on the spot. Two by two they drove up to our registration office. I have to say, it does made it a little easier for Ruth when they come to you… to registration that is. Regardless, there were 3 couples that joined us for the holiday and the 10 percent rule seems to be in effect. That would be 3 out of 32 campsites rented. And the diversity is also evident. One couple was retired Wimbledon watching women from Florida. Another was a couple was of 30 somethings, city dwellers with all the camping toys and a four legged child in tow. The last was a young family unit with a young son from Maine eking out a family vacation in a tent.

As usual Ruth, she managed to befriend each of them before they made it to their campsite … kind of a dyke concierge. It’s fun to watch her work… and then I can just sit back and write about it later. Lol. That is not to say her customer service is any less to the hordes of heteros … it just doesn’t have quite have the same personal Lezbakistani touch.
And I suppose since this blog is public, I should make it clear. By the word stalk I don’t mean that that any inappropriate or unwanted attention was involved. Nor did she don camouflage darting from tree to tree following anyone, (although that’s a pretty cool picture in my head), and clearly as anyone that has tried to reach us knows, there could be no harassing cell calls cuz we don’t have fr@#%kin cell service. In this context, stalk is a euphemism for:

“Sistah! Come have a drink, we’re building a deck this afternoon - it’s byo_casserole dish and power tool”

or perhaps more appropriate to our current circumstance…

“Sistah! Martinis and Dos Equis are served fireside at dusk - byo_seating and Sapphire, limes provided.”

I hope as I write this that the spring rains may finally be over. It is July after all.

Sign of the day: On the lawn of a drug rehab center said: “Keep off the Grass.”

Peace, Luv, and Muck Shoes,

barbie

The Seasonal Tourist

We are considered seasonal residents, as such; we get a few seasonal perks. Like free admission to some of the tourist attractions… except the National Park. Each week I try to check out a different trap… I mean attraction. We are given this privilege in hopes that we will point the tourist in their direction. With that in mind, I would consider myself a seasonal tourist.

On a rainy day, there are not many directions to go, but the Oceanarium is one of them. It was… well… unique. First you have to know that this is not a fancy shamcy Aquarium like Boston. Second, this is Maine. It’s rough/tough around the edges with a big heart, raw honesty, and a wicked sense of humor. With that in mind, this place was either a lobster hatchery that does tours or a funky little roadside attraction that grows lobsters. Either way it was mildly interesting, a little dingy, and in need of a good spring cleaning.

The best part was the woman that was our guide at the Discovery Tank. The wife of a lobster man and self taught ecologist was a Birkenstock mama that face and hands had seen many Maine winters. Regardless, with a twinkle in her eyes the tuff old bird waded her arms in the cement pond over and over and came up with star fish, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, ocean snails as big as my fist, and few other spinney or squirmy sea creatures for us to handle, pet, and prod.

The Lobster hatchery was not as entertaining. The pudgy college interns’ monotone lecture was difficult to hear over the bored children tugging at their parents. But never fear, even with the distraction I managed a few tidbits of fun facts to share with you.

• The lady lobster can lay around 12K eggs a cycle but only less than one percent survive to adolescences.


• Although Maine lobster man are not required by law to throw females back unless they are carrying eggs, Maine lobster” people” (as there must be women too) know what’s good for them and voluntarily throw all females back.


• Even with that, over fishing threatened the industry, so the lobster hatchery supplements the survival rate and maintains a healthy balance in the Bay. Last year the Oceanarium released 30, 209 juveniles.


• A one pound lobster is 7-9 years old and considered an adult and about the perfect size for my plate. Lol.

The other seasonal perk I took part in this week was the consumption of freshly picked mussels from the Narrows of Western Bay. That is to say, off the beach at the camp ground. Wading out in the muck can be either ankle or knee deep depending on the tide. It is much easier at the ankle but watching the tourist get a mouthful of salt water reaching for mussels at knee deep is rather entertaining.

Anyway, our workamper mates dropped by about six dozen freshly gathered and cleaned mussels for us today. It is a shame Ruth won’t eat any… I suppose I will have to choke down her share… if I must.

Cooking mussels or clams is the easiest thing you’ll ever cook. My favorite is steamed. I had a bottle of dark ale left and added a tablespoon of minced garlic, any 3 dozen mussels in a pot on the grill. Bring to boil and steam until the shells open. Some people like to stir them up and continue until they are all open. I can’t wait… I guess I don’t have to wait. I eat them as they open… a little butter and lemon and I am in heaven. I am getting so spoiled on this fresh seafood I may never be able to order it at a restaurant off the coast again. Excuse me as I channel Frogger, “This is Yummer Dummers!”.

Lastly, some of the blog watchers have asked for pictures of our camp. I completely forget about that since we are “living” here rather than visiting for a few days. The Bar Harbor KOA has two locations a mile apart, Oceanside and Woodlands side. We reside on the Woodland side. I must admit that I was a little disappointed at first. I had visions of greeting each morning by stepping out onto the beach with my coffee and smelling the salt air. In the end, I am happier our little forest oasis. Our campers are mostly tenters and as such are the campfire / hiking’ type rather Fred and Ethel in the 40’ bus that complain endlessly about the mosquitoes. Anyway, I’ve included pictures of our seasonal neighborhood so to speak for your enjoyment.

Sign / Slogan of the day as heard on the weather radio: “Don’t Drown, Turn Around.” This was the public announcement urging people not to drive into flood waters. It doesn’t sound as funny to me right now but Ruth and I had a good chuckle. This would make sense to you when you realize that they have islands here that... rather than building a bridge, they wait until low tide and drive over… every day. Can you imagine your work or mail schedule being based on low tide. Only in Maine. Lol.

Until the next installment...

peace, luv, and sea creature (edible or otherwise),

barbie