Podcasts about aroostook county

In this episode of the On Track Podcast, President & COO Eric Ritchie welcomes ESOP retirees Chip Laite and Dennis Bernard for a conversation about their far-flung careers—from Aroostook County, Maine, to Mid-Atlantic landfills—the mentors who shaped them, and how employee-ownership has boosted their post-Sargent lives. Along the way, Eric, CEO Herb Sargent, and VP-Finance & CFO Tasha swap stock-price reveal reactions, and Tasha tees up more Sargent ESOP Month contests!If you liked this week's episode and are interested in becoming an Employee-Owner at Sargent, please visit our careers page on the Sargent website. https://sargent.us/apply/If you have an episode suggestion, please send your idea to:sbennage@sargent.us

This Day in Maine for Tuesday, February 18, 2025.

This podcast hit paid subscribers' inboxes on Jan. 22. It dropped for free subscribers on Jan. 29. To receive future episodes as soon as they're live, and to support independent ski journalism, please consider an upgrade to a paid subscription. You can also subscribe to the free tier below:Who* Travis Kearney, General Manager* Aaron Damon, Assistant General Manager, Marketing Director* Mike Chasse, member of Bigrock Board of Directors* Conrad Brown, long-time ski patroller* Neal Grass, Maintenance ManagerRecorded onDecember 2, 2024About BigrockOwned by: A 501c(3) community nonprofit overseen by a local board of directorsLocated in: Mars Hill, MainePass affiliations: Indy Base Pass, Indy Plus Pass – 2 days, no blackoutsClosest neighboring ski areas: Quoggy Jo (:26), Lonesome Pine (1:08)Base elevation: 670 feetSummit elevation: 1,590 feetVertical drop: 920 feetSkiable acres: 90Average annual snowfall: 94 inchesTrail count: 29 (10% beginner, 66% intermediate, 24% advanced)Lift count: 4 (1 fixed-grip quad, 1 triple, 1 double, 1 surface lift – view Lift Blog's inventory of Bigrock's lift fleet)Why I interviewed themWelcome to the tip-top of America, where Saddleback is a ski area “down south” and $60 is considered an expensive lift ticket. Have you ever been to Sugarloaf, stationed four hours north of Boston at what feels like the planet's end? Bigrock is four hours past that, 26 miles north of the end of I-95, a surveyor's whim from Canadian citizenship. New England is small, but Maine is big, and Aroostook County is enormous, nearly the size of Vermont, larger than Connecticut, the second-largest county east of the Mississippi, 6,828 square miles of mostly rivers and trees and mountains and moose, but also 67,105 people, all of whom need something to do in the winter.That something is Bigrock. Ramble this far north and you probably expect ascent-by-donkey or centerpole double chairs powered by butter churns. But here we have a sparkling new Doppelmayr fixed quad summiting at a windfarm. Shimmering new snowguns hammering across the night. America's eastern-most ski area, facing west across the continent, a white-laced arena edging the endless wilderness.Bigrock is a fantastic thing, but also a curious one. Its origin story is a New England yarn that echoes all the rest – a guy named Wendell, shirtsleeves-in-the-summertime hustle and surface lifts, let's hope the snow comes, finally some snowguns and a chairlift just in time. But most such stories end with “and that's how it became a housing development.” Not this one. The residents of this state-sized county can ski Bigrock in 2025 because the folks in charge of the bump made a few crucial decisions at a few opportune times. In that way, the ski area is a case study not only of the improbable survivor, but a blueprint for how today's on-the-knife-edge independent bumps can keep spinning lifts in the uncertain decades to come.What we talked aboutHuge snowmaking upgrades; a new summit quad for the 2024-25 ski season; why the new lift follows a different line from the old summit double; why the Gemini summit double remains in place; how the new chair opens up the mountain's advanced terrain; why the lift is called “Sunrise”; a brief history of moving the Gemini double from Maine's now-defunct Evergreen ski area; the “backyard engineering degree”; how this small, remote ski area could afford a brand-new $4 million Doppelmayr quad; why Bigrock considered, but ultimately decided against, repurposing a used lift to replace Gemini; why the new lift is a fixed-grip, rather than a detachable, machine; the windfarm at Bigrock's summit; Bigrock in the 1960s; the Pierce family legacy; how Covid drove certain skiers to Bigrock while keeping other groups away; how and why Bigrock became a nonprofit; what nearly shuttered the ski area; “I think there was a period in the late ‘70s, early ‘80s where it became not profitable to own a ski area of this size”; why Bigrock's nonprofit board of directors works; the problem with volunteers; “every kid in town, if they wanted to ski, they were going to ski”; the decline of meatloaf culture; and where and when Bigrock could expand the trail footprint.Why now was a good time for this interviewIn our high-speed, jet-setting, megapass-driven, name-brand, social-media-fueled ski moment, it is fair to ask this question of any ski area that does not run multiple lifts equipped with tanning beds and bottle service: why do you still exist, and how?I often profile ski areas that have no business being in business in 2025: Plattekill, Magic Mountain, Holiday Mountain, Norway Mountain, Bluewood, Teton Pass, Great Bear, Timberline, Mt. Baldy, Whitecap, Black Mountain of Maine. They are, in most cases, surrounded both by far more modernized facilities and numerous failed peers. Some of them died and punched their way out of the grave. How? Why are these hills the ones who made it?I keep telling these stories because each is distinct, though common elements persist: great natural ski terrain, stubborn owners, available local skiers, and persistent story-building that welds a skier's self-image to the tale of mountain-as-noble-kingdom. But those elements alone are not enough. Every improbably successful ski area has a secret weapon. Black Mountain of Maine has the Angry Beavers, a group of chainsaw-wielding volunteers who have quietly orchestrated one of New England's largest ski area expansions over the past decade, making it an attractive busy-day alternative to nearby Sunday River. Great Bear, South Dakota is a Sioux Falls city park, insulating the business from macro-economic pressures and enabling it to buy things like new quad chairlifts. Magic, surrounded by Epkon megaships, is the benefactor of marketing and social-media mastermind Geoff Hatheway, who has crafted a rowdy downhome story that people want to be a part of.And Bigrock? Well, that's what we're here for. How on earth did this little ski area teetering on the edge of the continental U.S. afford a brand-new $4 million chairlift? And a bunch of new snowmaking? And how did it not just go splat-I'm-dead years ago as destination ski areas to the north and south added spiderwebs of fast lifts and joined national mass-market passes? And how is it weathering the increasing costs of labor, utilities, infrastructure, and everything else?The answer lies, in part, in Bigrock's shift, 25 years or so ago, to a nonprofit model, which I believe many more community ski areas will have to adopt to survive this century. But that is just the foundation. What the people running the bump do with it matters. And the folks running Bigrock have found a way to make a modern ski area far from the places where you'd expect to find one.What I got wrongI said that “hundreds of lifts” had “come out in America over the past couple of years.” That's certainly an overcount. But I really had in mind the post-Covid period that began in 2021, so the past three to four years, which has seen a significant number of lift replacements. The best place to track these is Lift Blog's year-by-year new lifts databases: 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024, 2025 (anticipated).I noted that there were two “nearby” ski areas in New Brunswick, the Canadian province bordering Maine. I was referring to 800-vertical-foot Crabbe Mountain, an hour and 20 minutes southeast of Bigrock, and Mont Farlagne, a 600-ish-footer an hour and a half north (neither travel time considers border-crossing delays). Whether these are “near” Bigrock is subjective, I suppose. Here are their trailmaps:Why you should ski BigrockFirst, ski Maine. Because it's gorgeous and remote and, because it takes work to get there, relatively uncrowded on the runs (Sunday River and Pleasant Mountain peak days excepted). Because the people are largely good and wholesome and kind. And because it's winter the way we all think winter should be, violently and unapologetically cold, bitter and endless, overcast and ornery, fierce in that way that invigorates and tortures the soul.“OK,” you say. “Saddleback and Sugarloaf look great.” And they are. But to drive four hours past them for something smaller? Unlikely. I'm a certain kind of skier that I know most others are not. I like to ramble and always have. I relish, rather than endure, long drives. Particularly in unknown and distant parts. I thrive on newness and novelty. Bigrock, nearly a thousand feet of vert nine hours north of my apartment by car, presents to me a chance for no liftlines and long, empty runs; uncrowded highways for the last half of the drive; probably heaping diner plates on the way out of town. My mission is to hit every lift-served ski area in America and this is one of them, so it will happen at some point.But what of you, Otherskier? Yes, an NYC-based skier can drive 30 to 45 minutes past Hunter and Belleayre and Windham to try Plattekill for a change-up, but that equation fails for remote Bigrock. Like Pluto, it orbits too far from the sun of New England's cities to merit inclusion among the roster of viable planets. So this appeal, I suppose, ought to be directed at those skiers who live in Presque Isle (population 8,797), Caribou (7,396), and Houlton (6,055). Maybe you live there but don't ski Bigrock, shuttling on weekends to the cabin near Sugarloaf or taking a week each year to the Wasatch. But I'm a big proponent of the local, of five runs after work on a Thursday, of an early-morning Sunday banger to wake up on the weekend. To have such a place in your backyard – even if it isn't Alta-Snowbird (because nothing is) or Stowe or Killington – is a hell of an asset.But even that is likely a small group of people. What Bigrock is for – or should be for – is every kid growing up along US 1 north of I-95. Every single school district along this thoroughfare ought to be running weekly buses to the base of the lifts from December through March, for beginner lessons, for race programs, for freeride teams. There are trad-offs to remoteness, to growing up far from things. Yes, the kids are six or seven hours away from a Patriots game or Fenway. But they have big skiing, good skiing, modern skiing, reliable skiing, right freaking there, and they should all be able to check it out.Podcast notesOn Evergreen Valley ski areaBigrock's longtime, still-standing-but-now-mothballed Mueller summit double lift came from the short-lived Evergreen Valley, which operated from around 1972 to 1982.The mountain stood in the ski-dense Conway region along the Maine-New Hampshire border, encircled by present-day Mt. Abram, Sunday River, Wildcat, Black Mountain NH, Bretton Woods, Cranmore, and Pleasant Mountain. Given that competition, it may seem logical that Evergreen failed, but Sunday River wasn't much larger than this in 1982.On Saddleback's Rangeley doubleSaddleback's 2020 renaissance relied in large part on the installation of a new high-speed quad to replace the ancient Rangeley Mueller double. Here's an awesome video of a snowcat tugging the entire lift down in one movement.On Libra Foundation and Maine Winter SportsBacked with Libra Foundation grants, the Maine Winter Sports Center briefly played an important role in keeping Bigrock, Quoggy Jo, and Black Mountain of Maine ski areas operational. All three managed to survive the organization's abrupt exit from the Alpine ski business in 2013, a story that I covered in previous podcasts with Saddleback executive and onetime Maine Winter Sports head Andy Shepard, and with the leadership of Black Mountain of Maine.On Bigrock's masterplanWe discuss a potential future expansion that would substantially build out Bigrock's beginner terrain. Here's where that new terrain - and an additional lift - could sit in relation to the existing trails (labeled “A01” and A03”):On Maine ski areas on IndyIndy has built a stellar Indy Pass roster, which includes every thousand-ish-footer in the state that's not owned by Boyne: This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.stormskiing.com/subscribe

Send us a textThe Regional Meetings Podcast Episode:At the taping of this podcast MMA's Advocacy Team had conducted 10 regional meetings with municipal and county officials around the state to discuss pressures on local government, possible solutions and meet with candidates for State office to understand better the needs of local government. From Presque Isle to Alfred, some issues are the same with a significant difference in the ability for local government to address them. It is abundantly clear that not all communities have access to regional planning resources, grant writers, or even full time staff but are using what few tools they have to try to answer the biggest challenges facing local government. What can legislators do better to understand capacity? Can they work more closely with local government to provide tools not rules and achieve their goals?One thing is certain, all legislators need local government to deliver on their most desired policies and many legislators need to understand that efforts with a view from York County  have more available resources than Franklin or Aroostook County but are no less important to those communities and the people they serve. Hopefully, these local conversations will generate a lot more local voices providing comments on policy in Augusta! The conversations and interactions between local and state government leaders are more important than ever and we appreciate the time you took to make these recent conversations meaningful. Whether it's tax policy, education funding, mandates or public safety, local contributions only strengthen the discussions and help to inform the decisions being made in Augusta. In the following months, MMA's Legislative Policy Committee (LPC) and Advocacy Team will be shaping the association's legislative platform. Your local LPC members are a valuable resource for both giving and receiving information. Count on them when you need information about a bill the LPC has up for debate, or if you have information about how a measure will impact your community.Find the full list of LPC members HERE Learn more about MMA's 5-Member Advocacy Team HERE Additional resources can be found at the Advocacy & Communications tab on MMA's website. There you can access past editions of the Maine Town & City magazine, read the latest issues of the Legislative Bulletin, or stream the latest episode of the Potholes & Politics podcast.  If you would like to receive an electronic version of the Legislative Bulletin, Maine Town & City magazine or subscribe to the monthly e-newsletter please contact MMA's Personify database team at: PersonifyRequests@memun.org . 

Today in 1912, high honors for William Walker, who saved the UK's famous Winchester Cathedral from partial collapse through five years of foundation work… all of which he did underwater. Plus: this week in Aroostook County, Maine, it's the Maine Potato Blossom Festival.  Saving the Cathedral (BBC) Maine Potato Blossom Festival   You can help shore up the future of this podcast as a backer on Patreon --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/coolweirdawesome/support

David Fidler, senior fellow for global health and cybersecurity at CFR, discusses the factors shaping U.S. health and climate policy included in his Council Special Report, A New U.S. Foreign Policy for Global Health. Penelope Overton, climate reporter at the Portland Press Herald, speaks about her experiences reporting on climate and environment stories in Maine and their intersection with public health outcomes. The host of the webinar is Carla Anne Robbins, senior fellow at CFR and former deputy editorial page editor at the New York Times.  TRANSCRIPT FASKIANOS: Thank you. Welcome to the Council on Foreign Relations Local Journalists Webinar. I'm Irina Faskianos, vice president for the National Program and Outreach here at CFR. CFR is an independent and nonpartisan membership organization, think tank, and publisher focused on U.S. foreign policy. CFR is also the publisher of Foreign Affairs magazine. As always, CFR takes no institutional positions on matters of policy. This webinar is part of CFR's Local Journalists Initiative, created to help you draw connections between the local issues you cover and national and international dynamics. Our programming puts you in touch with CFR resources and expertise on international issues and provides a forum for sharing best practices. We're delighted to have over thirty-five participants from twenty-two states and U.S. territories with us today, so thank you for joining this discussion, which is on the record. The video and transcript will be posted on our website after the fact at CFR.org/localjournalists. So we are pleased to have David Fidler, Penelope Overton, and host Carla Anne Robbins to lead today's discussion on “Climate Change and Public Health Policy.” David Fidler is a senior fellow for global health and cybersecurity at CFR. He is the author of the Council special report A New U.S. Foreign Policy for Global Health. Professor Fidler has served as an international legal consultant to the World Bank, the U.S. Department of Defense, the World Health Organization, and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. And his other publications include The Snowden Reader, Responding to National Security Letters: A Practical Guide for Legal Counsel, and Biosecurity in the Global Age: Biological Weapons, Public Health, and the Rule of Law. Penelope Overton is the Portland Press Herald's first climate reporter. She's written extensively on Maine's lobster and cannabis industries. She also covers Maine state politics and other health and environmental topics. In 2021, she spent a year as a spotlight fellow with the Boston Globe exploring the impact of climate change on the U.S. lobster fishery. And before moving to Maine, Ms. Overton covered politics, environment, casino gambling, and tribal issues in Florida, Connecticut, and Arizona. And, finally, Carla Anne Robbins is a senior fellow at CFR and cohost of the CFR podcast The World Next Week. She also serves as the faculty director of the Master of International Affairs Program and clinical professor of national security studies at Baruch College's Marxe School of Public and International Affairs. And previously, she was deputy editorial page editor at the New York Times and chief diplomatic correspondent at the Wall Street Journal. So thank you all for being with us. I'm going to turn the conversation over to Carla to run it, and then we're going to open up to all of you for your questions, which you can either write in the Q&A box but we would actually prefer you to raise your hand so we can hear your voice, and really open up this forum to share best practices and hear what you're doing in your communities. So with that, Carla, over to you. ROBBINS: Thank you, Irina. And I'm glad you're feeling better, although your voice still sounds scratchy. (Laughs.) Welcome back. So, David and Penny, thank you for doing this. And thank you, everybody, for joining us here today. This is—Penny, at some point I want to get into the notion of covering cannabis and lobsters because they seem to go very well together, but—(laughs)—and how you got that beat. But, David, if we can start with you, can you talk about the relationship between the climate and public health threats like the COVID pandemic? I think people would tend to see these as somewhat separate. They're both global threats. But you know, why would rising temperatures increase, you know, the emergence or spread of pathogens? I mean, are they directly driving—one driving the other? FIDLER: Yes. I'll just give a quick public health snapshot of climate change as an issue. In public health, the most important thing you can do is to prevent disease threats or other types of threats to human health. In the climate world, that's mitigation of greenhouse gas emissions. That hasn't gone so well. That creates, then, the second problem: If you have—if you're not preventing problems from emerging, threatening human health and the infrastructure that supports human health, then you have to respond. And that's climate adaptation. And in climate adaptation, we deal—public health officials and experts are going to have to deal with a range of issues. Close to if not at the top of the list is the way in which the changing nature of the global climate through global warming could increase—and some experts would argue is increasing—the threat of pathogenic infections and diseases within countries and then being transmitted internationally. And this leads to a concern about what's called a one health approach because you have to combine environmental health, animal health, and human health to be able to understand what threats are coming. And climate change plays—is playing a role in that, and the fear is that it will play an even bigger role. Coming out of the problems that we had with dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic, this also fills public health officials with alarm because we didn't do so well on that pathogenic threat. Are we ready to deal with potential pathogenic threats that global warming exacerbates in addition to all the other health threats that are going to come with climate change? ROBBINS: So can we just drill down a little bit more on that, as well as a variety of other health threats from climate change? So, like, with malaria, like, more water; water, you know, pools; mosquitoes; malaria spreads itself. With COVID, there was this whole question about, you know, loss of jungles, and maybe animals come in closer to humans, and things spread that way. Can you talk some more about what changes happen to the world around us that—with climate change that could increase the possibility of people getting sick, as well as other stresses on our bodies? FIDLER: Yes. In terms of vector-borne diseases such as malaria or dengue fever, the concern is that as global warming happens the area in which the vectors that carry these diseases will expand. So if you have malaria-carrying mosquitoes, if global warming is expanding the range of possibilities for those mosquitoes to inhabit, then there's a(n) increased public health threat from those vector-borne diseases. If you have a situation in which that global warming is also happening in connection with waterborne diseases, it's both the excess amount of water that you might have with flooding as well as potential shortages of water that you have could also increase the threat of waterborne diseases. So global warming has these effects on potential pathogenic threats. Deforestation is a concern in connection also with humans coming more into contact with pathogens that we haven't experienced before. Unfortunately, we still don't really know what the origin of the COVID-19 virus was, largely because of geopolitical problems. But also, as global warming affects forested areas or other types of ecosystems, the possibility for pathogens to emerge and effect public health increases. ROBBINS: And then there are other effects, like loss of access to water, and rising heat, and all these other things which are part of—because I would suppose that in a lot of places, you know, people would think, well, you know, I live in Kansas; I'm not going to be really worried about loss of a jungle or something of that sort. So in the United States, if you're a public health official, and you haven't thought about climate change as a—as a public health issue, and you want to go make the pitch, what would you say that—how climate is already potentially affecting people's health? FIDLER: Yes, and this is one of the most interesting policy challenges about climate adaptation. Different areas of every country are going to experience climate change differently. So in some parts it might be wildfires. In another part it might be extreme heat. In another part it might be the spread of vector-borne diseases. And in other—in coastal areas, you know, sea level rise. In other areas, shortage of water because of drought. And so for any given locality, right, there could be diverse and different effects of climate change on public health from even a neighboring state or certainly a state, you know, across the country. City and county public health officials and state public health officials are already trying to start to get their head around the types of threats that their communities are going to face. And that's what's going to be interesting to me about today's conversation, is how those types of effects are being discussed at the local level. A critical principle that's usually put in—on the table for any policy discussion, whether it's foreign policy or local policy, is that if you don't have community buy-in, you don't have community commitment to dealing with some of these problems, the policy solutions are going to be far more difficult. ROBBINS: So, Penny, you are new—reasonably new to this beat, and your newspaper created this beat, which is—you know, which is a sort of extraordinary thing. I mean, how big is your newsroom? OVERTON: I think it's about fifty people— ROBBINS: And the notion— OVERTON: —if you include, you know, sports reporters and everybody. ROBBINS: So the notion that they would—maybe your newspaper's the rare local newspaper that's doing really well, but most local newspapers are, you know—(laughs)—are battling these days. Why did they decide that they wanted to create a climate beat? OVERTON: I think that our readers were asking for it. I mean, everybody—I think you find that every newspaper is writing climate stories, you know, in some way, even if it's just running wire—like, national wire stories. And of course, papers are and every news outlet is obsessed with metrics, and we know what readers are looking for. Sometimes the stories aren't necessarily labeled climate, but they are, you know, climate-related. And so in trying to sort out during a general newsroom kind of reshuffle about what readers, especially what our online readers—since that's where everything is kind of moving towards—what they were really looking for, climate was one of the topics that kind of rose to the top. And then also we're part of a newspaper family in Maine where there's a—you know, every—a lot of weeklies, several dailies that all belong under one ownership. It's actually a nonprofit ownership now, as of about a year ago. So I don't think it's a coincidence that it went nonprofit at the same time that they decided to do a climate beat. But one of the topics that unite all of the papers across a really, you know, far-flung state with the areas where you have really well-off people that live along the shore, people who aren't so well-off in the interior, there's not a lot that sometimes unites our state, but everybody was interested in this from the fishermen—who may not want to call it climate change, but they know that things are changing and it's impacting their bottom line; to the loggers up north who can't get into their—you know, their forest roads are now basically mud season for much longer than they used to be, they're not frozen anymore for as long as they were so they can't get in and harvest the way that they were; farmers. I mean, the three Fs in Maine—forestry, farming, and fishing—are, you know, pretty big, and they all care immensely about climate because they know it's affecting their bottom line. So I think that that really united all of our newsrooms. ROBBINS: So can you talk a little bit more about that? Because I—you know, you've lived in places other than Maine, right? I mean, I used to live in Miami, and it's really hot in Miami these days. And the New York Times had this really interesting interactive a couple of years ago in which you could put in the year you were born and your hometown, and it would tell you how many more days of the year would be over 90 degrees. And it was just wild how many more days in Miami it would be. I mean, it's pretty hot in Miami, but many more days now than it was. And you've seen already this spring how bad it is in Miami. So I think to myself, Maine. I mean, Maine—I went to school in Massachusetts; I know what Maine is like. So I would think that Maine would be—it's going to take a while for—you know, for it to come to Maine, but what you're saying is it's already in Maine. So can you talk about how—you know, how it is? And, obviously, it's affecting Maine for them to create a beat like that. So what sort of stories are you writing? OVERTON: Well, I mean, Maine is definitely—you know, its impacts are going to be different. The actual climate threats are different in Maine than they are, say, like in Arizona where I used to live and report. You know, but contrary to what you might think, we actually do have heatwaves—(laughs)—and we have marine heatwaves. The Gulf of Maine is warming faster than 99 percent of the, you know, world's ocean bodies, and so the warming is definitely occurring here. But what we're seeing is that just because it's not—the summer highs are not as high as, like, you know, Nevada, Arizona, Southern California, the Midwest, we also are completely unprepared for what's actually happening because nobody here has ever really had to worry about it. Our temperate climate just didn't make air conditioning a big, you know, high-level priority. So the increasing temperatures that are occurring even now are—we don't have the same ability to roll with it. Warming stations in the winter? Yes, we have those. Cooling stations in the summer? No, we don't have those. And I mean, there are a few cities that are now developing that, but if you don't have a large homeless population in your city in Maine you probably don't have a public cooling station. It's really just the public library is your cooling station. So some of those—that kind of illustrates how sometimes it's not the public health threat; it's actually the public health vulnerability that a local reporter might want to be focusing in on. So you can go to the National Climate Assessment and you can pull up, like, exactly what, you know—even if you don't have a state climate office or a climate action plan, you can go to one of those National Climate Assessments, drill down, and you can get the data on how, you know, the projected temperature increases, and precipitation increases, and the extreme weather that's projected for 2050 and 2100 in your area. And those might not be, you know, nightmare stuff the way that it would be for other parts of the country, but then you'd want to be focusing in on how—what the infrastructure in your state is like. Are you prepared for what will be happening? And I think the air conditioning thing is a really good example. Maine also happens to be, you know—Florida will love this, but Maine's actually the oldest state as far as demographics go. And so you have a lot of seniors here that have been identified as a vulnerable population, and so with the combination of a lot of seniors, with housing stock that's old and doesn't have air conditioning, and that they're a long distance from hospitals, you know, don't always—they don't have a lot of emergency responder capability, that's kind of a recipe for disaster when you start talking to your local public health officers who are going to start focusing in on what happens when we have extreme weather, and the power goes out, and these people who need—are reliant on electricity-fed medical devices, they don't have access, they can't get into the hospital. You can see kind of where I'm going with the vulnerability issue. ROBBINS: David, Penny has just identified the sort of things that one hopes a public health official on a state, or county, or local town or city level is thinking about. But in your report, it says the United States faces a domestic climate adaptation crisis. And when we think about climate and adaptation, and when we look at the COP meetings, the international climate change meetings, the Paris meetings, we usually think about adaptation as something that we're going to pay for for other countries to deal with, or something of the sort. But can you talk about the concerns of our, you know, adaptation policies, and particularly state-level weaknesses? FIDLER: Yes, and I think Penny gave a nice overview of what, you know, the jurisdiction in Maine, you know, faces, and public health officials and experts are beginning to think about how do we respond to these new types of threats, which for most public health agencies and authorities across the United States is a new issue. The data is getting better, the research is getting better. The problems that public health agencies face sort of a across the United States are, one, they were never really built to deal with this problem. Some of it overlaps, so for example, if you have increased ferocity of, you know, extreme weather events—tornados, hurricanes—public health officials in those jurisdictions that are vulnerable know how to respond to those. They work with emergency management. As the scale of those types of events increases, however, there is a stress on their capabilities and their resources. Other things are new—air pollution from wildfire, the extreme heat of that; sea level rise, salination of drinking water from that; or even sinking in places where groundwater is being drawn out because of a lack of rainfall. Part of the problem that we have, that I talk about in my report coming out of COVID, is that among many issues today, the authority that public health agencies have at the federal and state level is polarized. We don't have national consensus about public health as an issue. So unfortunately, coming out of COVID, we're even less prepared for a pandemic as well as climate change adaptation. And that's something that we need to have better federal, state, local cooperation and coordination on going forward. Again, it's going to be very different from dealing with a pandemic, or even dealing with a non-communicable disease like tobacco consumption or, you know, hypertension because of the diversity—geographic—as well as the particular problem itself. So this is going to be a real challenge for federal and public health agencies, which at the moment are in some of the weakest conditions that I've seen in decades. ROBBINS: Penny, how much do you have to deal with your local public health, state public health agencies? And do they have a climate action plan? How developed are they on this? You talked about going to a particular website. Do you want to talk a little bit about that, as well? The assessments that you are making, is that information that you've gotten from your local public health agencies or from your state, or is this something that you yourself have come up with? OVERTON: Well, the state is—I think that the state of Maine is actually pretty far down the road for its size. It's like punching above its weight, I guess, when it comes to climate. They have—they published their first climate action plan in 2020, and they updated it with a—kind of like how close are we coming to our goals in 2022, and then they're in the process of developing the next four-year kind of installment, which will be due out in December. So the first one was kind of like—to me as an outsider, it felt like a “climate change is happening, folks” kind of report. In Maine we definitely—we have a split. We have an urban, you know, core that's kind of—it's liberal, and you don't have to convince those people. We have a lot of rural parts of the state where, if you ask, you know, is climate change real, you're still going to get a pretty good discussion, if not an outright fight. (Laughs.) But one of the things that I've found in this latest update is that, as they are focusing in on impacts, you get a different discussion. You don't have to discuss with people about why the change is happening; you can just agree to discuss the changes, and that pulls in more communities that might have not applied for any type of, you know, federal ARPA funds or even—Maine makes a lot of state grants available for communities that want to do adaptation. So if you can get away from talking about, you know, the man-made contributions, which, I mean, I still include in every one of my stories because it's just—you know, that's actually not really debatable, but as far as the policy viewpoint goes, if you can just focus in on the impact that's already occurring in Maine, you get a lot of people pulled into the process, and they actually want to participate. And I also have found that the two—the two impacts in Maine of climate change that are most successful at pulling in readers—(laughs)—as well as communities into planning processes are public health and extreme weather. I don't know if it's, you know, all the Mainers love their Farmers' Almanacs—I'm not sure. I mean, I'm originally from West Virginia. I still have a Farmers' Almanac every year, but I just kind of feel like extreme weather has been a wakeup call in Maine. We got hammered with three bad storms in December and January that washed a lot of our coastal infrastructure away. And, I mean, privately owned docks that fishermen rely on in order to bring in the lobster catch every year, and that's a $1.5 billion industry in Maine. Maine is small—1.5 billion (dollars), that dwarves everything, so anything the messes with the lobster industry is going to have people—even in interior Maine—very concerned. And everybody could agree that the extreme storms, the not just sea level rise, but sea level rise and storm surge, nobody was prepared for that, even in places like Maine, where I think that they are ahead of a lot of other states. So you start pulling people in around the resiliency discussion. I think you kind of have them at that point. You've got their attention and they are willing to talk, and they're willing to accept adaptations that they might not be if you were sitting there still debating whether or not climate change is real. The public health has been something that has really helped bring interior Maine into the discussion. Everybody does care. Nobody wants to lose the lobster industry because that's an income, like a tax revenue that you just wouldn't be able to make up any other way, even if you are in a Rumford or a Lewiston that have nothing to do with the shoreline. But public health, that unites—that's everybody's problem, and asthma, and, you know, all of our natural resource employees who are out working in the forests, and the blueberry fields, and whatnot, extreme heat and heat stroke—those things really do matter to them. They may disagree with you about what's causing them, but they want to make sure that they are taking steps to adapt and prepare for them. So I just have found public health to be a real rallying point. And I also think that, for local reporters, if you don't have a state action plan—because even though Maine has one—we're a lean government state—they don't—you know, they're still gathering data, and it can be pretty slim pickings. But you can go to certain things like the U.S. Climate Vulnerability Index, and you can start looking for—drilling down into your local Census tract even. So you don't need something at your state. Even if you're in a state that, say, politically doesn't want to touch climate change with a ten-foot pole, you can still use those national tools to drill down and find out where your community is both vulnerable to climate threats, but then also the areas that are least prepared to deal with it. And then you can start reporting on what nobody else wants to write about or talk about even. And isn't that the best kind of reporting—is you kind of get the discussion going? So I think public health is a real opportunity for reporters to do that, and also your medical—the medical associations. If you talk to doctors here at the Maine Medical Association, they may not want to talk about humanity's contribution to climate change, but they already know that climate change is posing an existing health risks to their patients, whether that be, you know, asthma, allergies, heat stroke, Lyme disease, or just mental health issues; whether you're a lobsterman worried that you're not going to be able to pay off that million-dollar boat because the lobsters are moving north, or if you are a young person who has climate fatigue. We don't have enough mental health providers as it is. Anything that's going to exacerbate a mental health issue in Maine, I mean, we don't have the tools to deal with what's already here. That's a gap that reporters feast on, right? We write about those gaps to try and point them out, and hopefully somebody steps in to resolve them. So I rambled a bit, but there's—I feel like this bee— ROBBINS: No, no, no, you— OVERTON: —it's like never like what stories—boy, what stories can I write; it's more like how am I going to get to them all, you know, because I feel like everybody out there, even if you are not a climate reporter, I guarantee you there is a climate aspect to your beat, and there is probably a public health climate aspect to your beat. I mean, if you are a crime reporter, are your prisons—(laughs)—I mean, most prisons aren't air conditioned. Just think about the amount of money that's being spent to deal with heat stroke, and think about the amount of—I mean, I'm making this up as you go, but I guarantee you if you are a prison reporter, that you're going to find, if you drill down, you're going to see disciplinary issues go through the roof when you have a heat wave. That's what I mean by, like, you can find a climate story in any beat at a newsroom. ROBBINS: That's great. I always loved the editors who had story ideas if they gave me the time to do them. David, can we go back to this—the United States faces a domestic climate adaptation crisis? If I wanted to assess the level of preparation in my state to deal with some of the problems that Penny is doing, how do I do that? What do I look for—climate action plans? Where do I start? FIDLER: Well, I think you would start at the—you've got to start both at the federal level, so what is the federal government willing to do to help jurisdictions—local, county, state—deal with the different kinds of climate adaptation problems that they're facing. And even as a domestic policy issue, this is relatively new. I think Penny gave a great description of how that has unfolded in one state. This is happening also in other jurisdictions. But again, because of the polarization about climate change, as well as fiscal constraints on any federal spending, how the federal government is going to interface with the jurisdictions that are going to handle adaptation on the ground is important—state government planning, thinking, how they talk about it, how they frame the issue, do they have a plan, is it integrated with emergency management, is it part of the authority that public health officials are supposed to have, how is that drilling down to the county, municipal, and local level. Again, it's going to be different if it's a big urban area or if it's a rural community, and so, as the impacts—and Penny is right about it—it's the impacts on human lives, direct and indirect, including damage to economic infrastructure, which supports jobs, supports economic well-being. That's a social determinant of health. And as I indicated, there are efforts underway, not only in individual states, but also in terms of networks of county and city health officials, tribal health officials, as well, for Native American areas—that they're beginning to pool best practices. They're beginning to share information. So I would look not only at those governmental levels, but I would look at the networks that are developing to try to create coordination, cooperation and sharing of best practices for how to deal with different issues. So if you have a situation where you are like Penny described in Maine, you know, you really haven't had to have air conditioning before; now you've got a problem. What are the most efficient and effective ways of dealing with that problem? Share information. Research, I think, is also ongoing in that context. And so there is a level of activism and excitement about this as a new, emerging area in public health. Again, there are lots of constraints on that that have to be taken seriously. At some point, it's just also a core principle of public health and epidemiology that you need to address the cause of these problems. And if we still can't talk about climate change and causes for that, this problem is only going to metastasize in our country as well as the rest of the world. And there are not enough public health officials at the state, county, local level, and there's not enough money if we don't try to bring this more under control. That's mitigation. We've squandered four decades on this issue. We have no consensus nationally about that question, and so that just darkens the shadow in, you know, looking forward in terms of what public health officials are going to have to handle. ROBBINS: So I want to throw it open to our group, and if you could raise your hand. We do have a question already from Aparna Zalani. Do you want to ask your question yourself, or shall I read it? Q: Can you guys hear? ROBBINS: I will—I'm sorry. Yes, please. Q: OK, yeah, basically I just wanted to know if you guys know if anybody is collecting good heat-related death data—data on heat-related deaths. ROBBINS: And Aparna, where do you work? Q: I work for CBS News. ROBBINS: Thank you. OVERTON: I'm just looking through my bookmarks because, yes—(laughs)—there are. I know that those are factored into Maine's climate action plan, and I can guarantee you that is not a Maine-only stat. That would be coming from a federal—there's just not enough—the government here is not big enough to be tracking that on its own. It is definitely pulling that down from a federal database. And I'm just trying to see if I can find the right bookmark for you. If you—and I'm not going to because, of course, I'm on the spot—but if you add your contact information to the chat, or you can send it, you know, to me somehow, I will—I'll send that to you because there is, and it's a great—there's emergency room visits, and there are other ways. They actually break it down to heatstroke versus exacerbating other existing problems. It's not necessarily just—you don't have to have heatstroke to have, like, say, a pregnancy complication related to heat illness, or an asthma situation that's made far worse. So they do have, even broken down to that level. FIDLER: And when I'm often looking for aggregate data that gives me a picture of what's happening in the United States, I often turn to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, CDC. And so they're often collecting that kind of data to build into their own models and their research, also in terms of the assistance that provide state and local governments on all sorts of issues. And because adaptation is now on the radar screen of the federal public health enterprise, there might be data on the CDC website. And then you can identify where they are getting their sources of information, and then build out a constellation of possible sources. Again, it's something—there's the National Association of City and County Health Officers—NACCHO is the acronym—that, again, it's one of those networks where you could probably see those health officers that are having to deal with extreme heat and the morbidity and mortality associated with that. There could be data that they are generating and sharing through that sort of network. And on the— OVERTON: And one thing I would add— FIDLER: Sorry. Drilling at the global level, WHO would be another place to think about looking if you wanted a global snapshot at data. OVERTON: I was going to add that will probably be underreported, as well, because in talking to, like, say—because, I mean, we're just ultra-local, right—talking to the emergency room directors at our hospitals, there are—the number of cases that might come in and really should be classified as heatstroke, but then end up being listed instead in the data, you know, in the documentation as, like, a cardiac problem. You know, it's—I think you are limited to how quickly someone on the ground might identify what's coming in as actually being heat-related versus like just whatever the underlying problem was. They might list that instead. And the other thing, too, is to make sure that—this is the hardest part about climate reporting is the correlation aspect versus causation. You're going to mostly be finding, look, heat waves are—when we have heat waves, you see this spike. You have to be really careful because it could be that the spike that's coming in emergency rooms is actually because there was also a power outage. Now I would argue extreme weather still adds that—you know, makes that linked, but you have to be careful about making sure you don't jump from correlation to causation. I'm sure you know this, but it's the same thing with every statistic, but sometimes my first draft of a story I'm like, oh, look at that. I just made climate change responsible for everything. (Laughter.) And I have to go back and like, you know, really check myself because the minute you overstep in any way is the minute that you, like, lose all credibility with the people out there who are already skeptical. FIDLER: And this is sort of—it's often where adaptation becomes a much more complicated problem for public health officials because there are underlying health problems that have nothing to do with climate change, that when you meet, you know, warming, extreme temperatures or even, you know, problems with, you know, sanitation, or water, or jobs, it can manifest itself in very dangerous diseases or health conditions that then lead to hospitalization and to biased statistics. So what Penny is saying is absolutely right, and there needs to be care here, but from a public health point of view, this is why this is going to be a monster problem. ROBBINS: Can we just—because we have other questions, but talking about bookmarks, Penny, you had—when you were talking before, you went through some other places that you go to for data and information. Can you just repeat some of those you were talking about? OVERTON: Yeah, the National Climate Assessment, the U.S. Climate Vulnerability Index, good old Census Bureau. (Laughs.) I mean, there are a couple of—the other thing, too, I would say that if you are in a state that doesn't have—say that public health officers are under intense pressure not to talk about climate change, still go to your local university because I guarantee you that there are grad students, you know, coming in from the blue states someplace that might be going to school in a red state, but they're going to be studying those topics, and they are going to be collecting data. I, you know—geez, countless stories based on grad student work. So I would keep those folks in mind, as well. And the other thing is that, if we're talking about public health, I always think of public health and climate in three ways. It's the threat, you know, the actual increase, something like tick-borne illness if you are Mainer because we never had ticks here really before because our winters were so awful, and the ticks couldn't last. Well, now they're here, and Lyme disease has gone through the roof. So I think about it—that's like a threat. And then there's the vulnerability issue that I was mentioning. But there's also the accountability issue—is that you want to make sure as a reporter that you are following the infrastructure money that's coming through, and that they are actually going to the places that need it the most. And public health is something that I think is a good lens to look at that. If all your money is going into the shoreline communities in Maine because they're the ones with grant officers that are writing the grant applications to get the infrastructure money, do they really need it, or is it that town in the middle of the state with no grant officer, and huge public health needs and vulnerabilities that really need it. So I would think about public health as being an important accountability tool, as well, because if you've got public health data, you can easily point out the communities that need that money the most, and then find out who is actually getting the cash. ROBBINS: So Debra Krol from the—environmental reporter from the Arizona Republic, you had your hand up. OVERTON: I love your stories, Deb. Q: Thank you very much. Just a brief aside before I ask the question because I know we're running short on time. We did a story here a few months ago about a nonprofit group that's helping these underserved communities obtain grants and do the grant reporting, and I remembered something that we learned at a local journalist get-together at CFR, so that's what influenced me to do that. So kudos to our friends over there. But my question is, is data sharing between agencies—you know, we're always trying to get statistics out of the Indian Health Service, and every other state that has tribal communities or tribal health has the same problem. So how much of these stats do you think are actually coming from tribal health departments? OVERTON: I know in Maine they are coming. In fact, Maine's five federally recognized tribes are kind of blazing a path as far as looking for grant applications. And of course, once they apply for a grant, you could go through all that data when they're looking to justify the need, right? And that will help you in just getting the, you know, situation on the ground. But I—yes, I mean, I don't know about whether there may be certain parts of the country where that's not leading the way, but also—I would also urge you to look at—go through the Veterans Administration, as well, just because I'm sure that, you know, that there's a large overlap between Indian Health Services, BIA, and the VA. And it's the way the VA provides public health care and the outcomes they get when they are serving indigenous veterans are far different than what Indian Health Services and BIA sometimes get. And they are more forthcoming with their data. FIDLER: I know that one of the issues that's on my list to do some more research for my foreign policy analysis is to look at the way the federal governments, state governments, and tribal authorities interact on climate adaptation. And that comes loaded with lots of complicated problems—just the history of relations between tribes and the federal government, the concerns that the Indian Health Service has about problems that have been around for decades, layering on top of that adaptation. So some of it, I think, gets involved in just political disputes between tribes and the federal government. Some of the data-sharing problems I think relate to a lack of capabilities to assess, process, and share the data. The tribal authorities are on the list, at least, of the federal government's radar screen for improving how they do adaptation. I personally think that how that jurisdictional tension is resolved could be a very valuable model for thinking about U.S. foreign policy and how we help other countries in adaptation. I also think there is variable experiences between tribal authorities and the federal government. A lot of activity is happening in Alaska with adaptation that I think is more advanced than it is with some of the tribal authorities' relations with the federal government in the continental United States. So we just also need to start looking, you know, beyond for best practices, principles, ways of making this work better as adaptation becomes a bigger problem. ROBBINS: Debra is—Debra Krol is offering to speak with you offline. She has some recommendations on research. Debra, thank you for that. Q: You are welcome. ROBBINS: And for the shoutout. Garrick Moritz, an editor of a small town newspaper in South Dakota. Can you tell us the name of your paper and ask your question? Q: Yeah, I am the Garretson Gazette. Hello, if you can hear me. ROBBINS: Absolutely. Q: Oh, yeah, we just get frequent—we get frequent notifications from the state health department about, you know, like West Nile and several other, you know, vector diseases, and it mostly comes from mosquitos, and mosquito populations are a real problem in a lot of places. And it's definitely one here. And so, I guess, in my own reporting and in basically reporting from people across the country, how can—what are practical tips that we can give to people, and things we can recommend to our city, state or county officials? ROBBINS: To protect themselves. OVERTON: You know, I think that if you were to go to the, you know, U.S. CDC, you're going to see that there's a lot of, you know, straight up PSAs about how to handle, you know, even right down to the degree of, like, you know, the kinds of mosquito repellent you can use that doesn't have DEET in it, you know, like it gets pretty specific. I think that that's—you could probably—and in fact I think they even have infographics that, you know, are public domain that you are able to just lift, as long as you credit the U.S. CDC. So it's almost like—and also Climate Central. And there's a couple of—I would say a couple of kind of groups out there that basically serve it up for reporters. I mean, I love Climate Central. I love Inside Climate News. These are some places that specifically work with reporters, and for smaller markets, they even do the graphic work. And it's a great resource. I would urge you to look there, too. ROBBINS: Can we talk a little bit more about other— FIDLER: And I think one of the— ROBBINS: Yeah, David, can you also talk about other resources, as well as answering—whatever answer to your question. What should we be reading and looking to for information? FIDLER: Well, in terms of vector-borne diseases, many states and the federal government has vast experience dealing with these. There's a fundamental problem—is that as the geographic range of vector-borne diseases begins to expand into areas where the history of that type of vector control just really hasn't been, you know, part of what public health officials have had to worry about, so the infrastructure, the capabilities. And then, also importantly, how you communicate with the public about those kinds of threats: what the government is doing, what they can do to protect themselves. We're sort of present at the creation in many ways, and some of these places have a whole new way of doing public health. One of the things that worries people the most in our polarized society is the disinformation and misinformation that gets in the way of accurate public health communication—whether it's COVID-19, or whether it's climate change, or whether it's something else. So that communication piece is going to be vital to making sure that people can take the measures to protect themselves, and they understand what the state governments and the local governments are doing to try to control vectors. ROBBINS: And Inside Climate News—where else do you get your information that you would recommend for our— OVERTON: Well, I just— FIDLER: Sorry, go ahead, Penny. OVERTON: Oh, no. You can go ahead. I'm actually pulling some up right now that I can put in the chat. FIDLER: Again, my go-to source is the CDC, and the CDC then also has its own information sources that you can track in terms of how, you know, public health authorities, public health policies, practices, implementation plans can be put together for all kinds of different public health threats. And the spread of vector-borne diseases has been near the top of the list longer, I think, than some of these other health threats from climate change. So that's a little bit more advanced, I think, based on the history of controlling vectors as well as the identification of that being an ongoing threat. There are synergies with what we've done in the past. With some of these other problems we don't have those synergies. We're having to create it from scratch. ROBBINS: Penny, you were talking about places that actually—smaller, you know, that newspapers can—or other news organizations can get info, can actually, you know, get graphics gratis, or something of the sort. Does Poynter also have help on climate or are there other reporting centers where people are focusing on climate that provide resources for news organizations? OVERTON: Yes, I mean, Climate Central has—I should have just like made them like the co-beat, you know, reporters for me in the first six months when I was starting this because anything that I needed to—you know, every day it was something new. OK, geez, today I've got to know everything there is to know about extreme weather and climate, you know, in such a way that I can bulletproof myself when the troll inevitably calls me and says, you know, this isn't true. And I need to have, you know, a little bit of armor prepared, right down to I need graphics, and I don't have—we don't have a graphics person, but—so Climate Central is a great place for a reporter in a small market to start. They actually, like just this past week, came out with what they call a summer package, and it basically has an overarching umbrella viewpoint of, like, here's like the climate topics that are going to brought up this summer. Inevitably it's going to be heat waves, it's going to be drought, or extreme rainfall. It's going to be, you know, summer nights getting warmer and what that means—the benefits, the longer growing seasons than some areas that, like in Maine, for example, climate change will not be all bad for Maine. It's going to mean that we have longer growing seasons in a place that has been pretty limited by the—you know, the temperature and by the amount of time that we could actually grow a crop. And then, also, I mean, we're going to have—we're going to have migration in because, like I was saying earlier, we are not going to be dealing with the extreme heat of like the Southwest, so people who are escaping like the California wildfires—we're already seeing groups of people moving to Maine because it is more temperate, and you do have a longer horizon line before you—you know, you get miserable here. And I think that if you look at those issues and you figure out how do I even start, going to Climate Central where they can actually—not only do they have the infographics, but you can type in, like, the major city in your state, you know. I can't tell you the number of times I've typed in Portland, Maine, and I get some amazing number, and it's, oh, wait, this is Portland, Oregon. So you could pull, like, your individual state, and even Maine has three states that Climate Central—or excuse me, three cities that Climate Central lists. I guarantee you that your state will probably have many more. So it will be probably a place pretty close to where you are located. And you can have the infographic actually detailed, without doing anything besides entering in the city. It will be information that's detailed to your location. That's an incredible asset for a small market reporter who doesn't have a graphics person or the ability to, like, download data sets and crunch a lot of numbers. Also— ROBBINS: That's great. OVERTON: —I would urge you to look at the National Climate Assessment. There is a data explorer that comes out with those, and that allows you to drill down to the local level. That's the way that I found out that there's a small place in Aroostook County, Maine, which is like potato country, that's going to see the greatest increase in high precipitation days in the next—I think it's in the next 50 years. I can't think of many things that aren't potato related that Aroostook County stands out for, but the fact that you play around with the data enough, and you see, look, there's a small place here in Maine that's going to be the number one greatest increase. That's why I think the climate assessment and the data explorer is so important. ROBBINS: So we're almost done, David. I wanted to throw the last question to you. I'm a real believer in comparison. I always say that to my students: Comparison is your friend. Is there any city or state in the United States, or perhaps someplace overseas that has a really good state plan for dealing with the health impacts of climate change that we could look at and say, this is really what we should be doing here? FIDLER: I mean, given that I'm a foreign policy person, I'm probably not the best person to inquire about that, but as I began to do my research to see how this is happening in the United States, I've been surprised at the number of cities, counties, state governments that have really begun to dig into the data, develop plans, you know, for whatever problem that they're going, you know, to face. I live in the—you know, the Chicagoland area. The city of Chicago has been working on adaptation for a while. The problems that it faces are going to be different than the problems that Miami faces. There's also, again, networks of cities that are starting to talk to each other about what they are doing in regards to these issues. The data is becoming better, more accessible, data visualization tools. Penny just described those sorts of things. My recommendation to those working in local journalism is to begin to probe what your jurisdictions are doing, where they are getting their information. How are they implementing and turning that information into actionable intelligence and actionable programs? And I think that local journalism will help fill out our understanding of who is taking the lead, where should we look, what are the best practices and principles around the country. ROBBINS: Well, I want to thank David Fidler, and I want to thank Penny Overton for this. And I want to turn you back to Irina. This has been a great conversation. FASKIANOS: It really has been a fantastic conversation. Again, we will send out the video, and transcript, and links to resources that were mentioned during this conversation. Thank you for your comments. We will connect people that want to be connected, as well, so thank you very much to David and Penny for sharing your expertise, and to Carla for moderating. You can follow everybody on X at @D_P_fidler, Penny Overton at @plovertonpph, and at @robbinscarla. And as always, we encourage you to go to CFR.org, ForeignAffairs.com, and ThinkGlobalHealth.org for the latest developments and analysis on international trends and how they are affecting the United States. Again, please do share your suggestions for future webinars by emailing us at localjournalists@CFR.org. So again, thank you to you all for today's conversation, and enjoy the rest of the day. ROBBINS: Thanks, everybody. (END)

Best and Worst places to live in Maine Depending on who YOU are Take our Maine personality test! At the end, we'll give you some pointers on deciding where is best for you. Southern Maine: Portland: The largest city in Maine, Portland boasts a vibrant arts scene, diverse dining options, and a bustling waterfront. It's perfect for those who love urban amenities and cultural attractions, with plenty of festivals, music venues, and galleries to explore. Scarborough: Known for its natural beauty, Scarborough offers stunning beaches and the famous Scarborough Marsh, the largest saltwater marsh in Maine. Ideal for outdoor enthusiasts and bird watchers. Cape Elizabeth: A picturesque town where I live, Cape Elizabeth is known for its beautiful lighthouses, scenic coastal views, and tranquil beaches. It provides a quiet, suburban feel while still being close to Portland. Midcoast Maine: Brunswick: Home to Bowdoin College, Brunswick is a lively town with a rich history. It features charming downtown areas with boutique shops, excellent restaurants, and a vibrant arts community. Bath: Known as the "City of Ships," Bath has a long history of shipbuilding. It offers a quaint downtown area with historic homes, unique shops, and a strong sense of community. Rockland: A fantastic coastal town, Rockland is famous for its lobster festival and as a hub for the arts. It's home to the Farnsworth Art Museum and numerous galleries, making it perfect for art lovers. Downeast Maine: Bar Harbor (BAH HABAH): Situated near Acadia National Park, Bar Harbor is a haven for outdoor enthusiasts. Hiking, kayaking, and whale watching are just a few activities you can enjoy here, along with stunning ocean views. Ellsworth: A gateway to Downeast Maine, Ellsworth offers a mix of historic charm and modern amenities. It's a great base for exploring nearby Acadia National Park and the surrounding natural beauty. Machias: Known for its wild blueberries and rugged coastline, Machias is perfect for those who love outdoor adventures and a slower pace of life. The lobstering industry is also a significant part of the local economy. Western Maine: Bethel: A charming town known for its ski resorts and outdoor activities. Bethel is great for those who enjoy skiing, hiking, and a friendly, small-town atmosphere. Rangeley: Famous for its lakes and outdoor recreation, Rangeley is a paradise for fishing, boating, and snowmobiling. It's perfect for nature lovers and those seeking a peaceful retreat. Farmington: Home to the University of Maine at Farmington, this town offers a mix of academic energy and rural charm. It's a great place for families and those who appreciate a close-knit community. Northern Maine: Aroostook County: Known for its vast potato farms and beautiful landscapes, Aroostook County offers a rural lifestyle with plenty of outdoor activities like hiking, fishing, and hunting. It's a great place for those who love the outdoors and a slower pace of life. Presque Isle: A key town in Aroostook County, Presque Isle offers a blend of small-town charm and modern amenities. It's home to the University of Maine at Presque Isle and the Northern Maine Fair. Fort Kent: Close to the Canadian border, Fort Kent is known for its Franco-American heritage and outdoor activities. It's a fantastic place for those who enjoy a tight-knit community and winter sports like cross-country skiing. Factors to Consider: When choosing where to live in Maine, consider factors like cost of living, which can vary significantly from urban areas to rural regions. Employment opportunities are more abundant in larger towns and cities, while school districts and healthcare access can be crucial for families. Finally, think about the community vibes—whether you prefer the hustle and bustle of city life or the peace and quiet of a rural setting. Don't forget to Like and Subscribe! Your support helps us out a lot, and who knows, maybe you'll get a good laugh too! 

We talk about the unsolved murder of Joseph Savitch and Louis Alexander, two career criminals that disappeared as they were expected in court for their part in an elaborate home burglary operation. Did the two's past catch up with them or were there other players looking for their chance to get the drop on Joe and Louis? Come say hi at homegrownhorrorpod@gmail.com or come by instagram @homegrownhorrorpod Sources: Skeletal remains were 2 SouthCoast men, southcoasttoday.com, November 24, 1997. 1994 Masardis double homicide questions remain, by Susan Farley, August 7th, 2019. foxbangor.com Not quite biography of Joe Gun, southcoasttoday.com, January 7th, 1998. Two arrested, 2 sought in string of burglaries, by Wayne Brown, Bangor Daily News, March 25, 1994. Investigation continues into dual homicide deaths, by Beurmond Banville, Bangor Daily News, October 29, 1999. Four Massachusetts men linked to burglaries in Aroostook County, Sun Journal, March 26, 1994. Police poring over clues to IDs of Masardis bodies, by Beurmond Banville, Bangor Daily News, August 22, 1997. Masardis remains those of burglars, by Wayne Brown, Bangor Daily News, November 25, 1997. Two decomposed bodies found in northern Maine Woods, by Sun Journal, August 21, 1997. Bay State man back in Aroostook Jail, Bangor Daily News, September 8, 1998. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/hghpod/support

This Day In Maine for Wednesday, March 6, 2024

This Day in Maine for Friday, January 26th, 2024.

This Day in Maine for Thursday, December 21, 2023

This week on the Beacon podcast, Cate, Ben and Esther go back to school, discussing the policy implications of the end of summer vacation, including an educator hiring crunch and the way Maine pays for public education. Also: What does the closing of a major childcare center in Aroostook County mean for parents there and… The post Podcast: Sudden collapse of childcare in Aroostook County highlights larger crisis first appeared on Maine Beacon.

Rebecca Squared took a break from Augusta last week and spent some time talking with local government leaders in Aroostook County. The week before they hit the National League of Cities Staff Convention in Boston.What are the  unique challenges of the northern communities, what makes them special, and what do Augusta policy makers need to understand about the 5 hours of Maine north of  the Augusta Bubble? In this episode we introduce you to our newest colleague, and former Georgetown Town Administrator, Amanda Campbell. We also chat with St. Agatha Town Manager Michelle Bernier, Frenchville Town Manager, David Cyr and Aroostook County Administrator, Ryan Pelletier.Note: As a special treat, we drop in a very local tidbit for loyal listeners. See if you can find it! The episode picture will make sense when you do!

This Day in Maine for Wednesday, July 12th, 2023.

Aroostook County native Beth Wilbur Van Mierlo credits her northern Maine upbringing with exposing her to values that have become integral to her experience as an artist and educator. Like many kids in her agricultural community, Beth grew up picking potatoes from an early age. This helped her understand the importance of hard work, community and connection. Perhaps equally important to her development was Beth's experience with dyslexia, undiagnosed until she was a sophomore in college. “There are times with dyslexia I can't spell–I can't put a sentence together–and I feel inadequate,” says Beth, who founded Portland's Oak Street Studios almost twenty-five years ago.  “Art has given me the power to say, ‘I'm still smart, I still matter and look at what I can do.'” Beth's non-profit, Side x Side, similarly embodies this concept. Side x Side pairs teaching artists with classroom teachers to create an inclusive environment where students feel a sense of belonging, while also empowering teachers to explore their own creative potential. Join our conversation about art, inclusivity and connection with Beth Wilbur Van Mierlo today on Radio Maine. Every week, Dr. Lisa Belisle brings you an interview with a member of Maine's community, including artists, designers, and more.  Subscribe to Radio Maine on YouTube, so you never miss an episode.

Maine ranks near the top for highest food insecurity rates in the country.  Dixie Shaw from Catholic Charities of Maine in Aroostook County and Katie Brown from Youthfull Maine talk about food insecurity in their regions and how they fight it.The "Maine Ties" theme is "Blue Heron" by 317 Main.

Housing and Homelessness in Maine is primarily discussed through the lens of Maine's largest cities. This episode Potholes and Politics features three local government leaders, Aroostook County Administrator, Ryan Pelletier, Madawaska Town Manager, Gary Picard and Presque Isle City Manager, Martin Puckett discussing the housing crisis, and growth in homelessness in Maine's largest county, and the collaborative way local government leaders are responding.In this episode we also say goodbye to co-host Neal Goldberg, and hello to new co-host Rebecca (Becky) Lambert who will join Rebecca Graham for our future episodes. Additionally, we layout the way the podcast will increase in frequency as we pivot to pumping out important municipally impacting bills as they are proposed in the 131st Legislative Session.Episode Break Down:1:30 - Ryan Pelletier, Gary Picard & Martin Puckett discuss homelessness and workforce issue in the county.17:00 - Martin Puckett discusses the collaborative way Presque Isle is engaging with Northern Maine Community College's unused college dorms to attract individuals who need housing, provide workforce development in the heart of the industrial center where employees are needed. 19:30 - Gary Picard talks about the future housing needs of Madawaska and the looming "Silver Tsunami" and how workforce housing is an issue for labor needs.24:00 - Ryan Pelletier talks about how the County is using ARPA funds to address the looming crisis of a growing population of unhoused in a shelter system that is over capacity and in conjunction with all municipalities.28:00 - Ryan, Martin and Gary talk about emergency heating needs, and how to manage keeping people warm in the oldest housing stock. 30:30 - Gary Picard talks about the changes in Madawaska before, after and during the pandemic.35:30 - Martin Puckett discusses the problem with codes and address emergent issues. 40:00 - We start Neal Goldberg's long "goodbye" and talk about the changes to the podcast during the legislative session. Don't forget to like us and subscribe to stay up to date on the latest municipally relevant legislation being proposed in Augusta! Email us at mmapodcast@memun.org. 

Ep 076: One of our favorite charitable events we support each year is the Energy4Life Golf Scramble. Maritime Energy started the Energy4Life program to help local families dealing with cancer. Each year, hundreds of golfers come together to support the Energy4Life charity, and this year, our guest was speaking to the group on behalf of the Maine Cancer Foundation. He painted a picture of how cancer is impacting the State of Maine but how the dollars raised locally are helping our families, friends, neighbors, and communities. We ran up to him after his talk and introduced our podcast and how it would be a great episode to discuss what happens next when we've been diagnosed with cancer and how Maine in particular is impacted by cancer rates. So, that is what we're going to discuss today!  Our next guest earned a degree in criminal justice from St. Joseph's College of Maine and began work as a beat cop in Portland in 2005. In 2018, he joined the Maine Cancer Foundation, first as the Community Outreach Manager and the Director of Development and NOW as Executive Director. He's just as easily found in Aroostook County as he is in Cumberland. An avid outdoorsman and studying to become a registered Maine guide, it's not uncommon for him to forgo a hotel room for his tent while on the road for Maine Cancer Foundation. With that, please welcome Ray Ruby to The Retirement Success in Maine Podcast! Chapters: Welcome, Ray Ruby! [3:17] What is the Maine Cancer Foundation? [10:03] What's happening in Maine around cancer? [18:18] What is “day one” after receiving a cancer diagnosis? [34:18] What can we do to be prepared regarding our treatment plan? [42:50] What can we all do to help kick cancer in the butt? [53:19] How will Ray find his personal Retirement Success? [58:40]

This Day in Maine for Tuesday, November 15th, 2022.

This Day in Maine for Wednesday, October 26th, 2022.

In the great northern woods of Aroostook County, a mysterious scientist is conducting strange experiments, seemingly combining parts and pieces of multiple creatures. We take a look at three seemingly unrelated stories and find the thread that stitches them together. Who is the man they call the Mad Splicer, what is he doing in the North Maine woods, and where is he now?Content Warning: creatures, unexplained mysteries, strange science, experiments, mutilation, human remains, hybrid creaturesNarrator: Chris EstesWriters: Lucas Knight & Chris EstesSound Design: Chris EstesProducer: Megan MeadowsSupport the show

Kim Smith and Craig Green of the Presque Isle Historical Society discuss the rich history of potato farming in Aroostook County, including its impact on the region's culture and economy.

When I was a boy, my father told me a story about a ghost town. I come from northern Maine, Aroostook County, a place of endless trees and potato fields with more deer than people. It's lonely country, a place of long, quiet, windswept vistas, of dark temples in the forest, of a world not yet destroyed by the endless march of human industry. Not yet. To be clear, I had heard my share of ghost stories - my sister had even seen the spirit of my grandmother standing at the foot of her bed, watching over her. I know because I awoke to her screaming. We lived with the idea of the Holy Ghost, the idea that life did not end with death, that life is but a walking shadow of the world and times to come. Once, when I was 17, I came face to face with a full body apparition. I'm still not sure what that was. But when my father told me of the ghost town, it was a horse of a different color. It wasn't the remnant or memory of a person - no, it was an entire place, lost and forgotten, like a ghost but not a ghost. You can't hang out and linger with a ghost, but a ghost town? Maybe it was the next, best thing. “The clay there is red,” he told me. “That's how you'll know you're there. It lies next to the river. It was a whole settlement, with a general store, homes, you know…A while back some folks dug there for clay to make ceramics with. Reddest clay you ever saw. Like blood. Not much left now, just a couple of old foundations and an old, broken down church from what I remember when I went there as a kid. It's not far away,” he told me, “just over the hill and down by the river, a hidden place. No one goes there anymore. It used to be called Dow Siding. There's a road, but it's hard to find. Mostly grown over. More like a path” he told me, “but be careful. Don't go there alone.” That was my old man, for you. Tell your boy about a ghost town, give him the rough coordinates, and then tell him not to go. So when there came a day when I didn't have any real adult supervision, I hopped on my little Yamaha Mini-Enduro 60 and headed up through the field roads, over Buck Hill and down to the Aroostook River to search for a road that I hoped…man, I hoped for dear life that it existed. It did. It took me half the day to find it, past people's homes, down along fields even the farmers didn't plow anymore, a patch of earth no one thought worthy of visiting. But there I was, going back and forth in a search pattern until…what was that? A pair of ruts in a tiny clearing? A pathway mostly overgrown with raspberry vines and thistle? Slowly, I drove the little bike through the thicket, dodging low hanging branches that cut at my face. Through squinting eyes, an opening appeared and then, a cleared area in the forest, something you only ever saw if it was a farmer's field. This was not a field, but a half acre of land cleared years ago by forgotten hands and still, the woody root and red alder hadn't been able to reclaim all of it. There were the remains of a building, very likely the church my father saw when he was a boy, all a pile of ruins. There were bits and pieces of metal, a wagon wheel, an ancient rusted hand pump resting at an angle in the ground. There were fieldstone foundations just peeking up through the undergrowth and, as I recall, a rosebush more full of blossoms than I had ever seen before. Someone had planted that rose, I thought. Someone had lived here, children had grown up here, men had risen early in the morning to keep the fires burning in the coldest winters imaginable. I got off my dirt bike and walked into the middle of the clearing. I could see where someone had dug into the side of a hill and, sure enough, the clay there was fine and as red as the dust of Mars. Someone had come back for it, as my father had told me, but even they eventually left this place alone. I stood there and listened for a long while. A silence fell, a kind of weight covering everything I could see. It was like I was all alone in the world - a totally empty planet, and this was all that was left. For a second, I was the ghost. And the absence of sound probably caused my own imagination to hear, on the edge of things, a cart rolling past, a horse's measured clop as it passed me, a faint ringing of a bell far in the distance. For a moment, I realized the truth of things: a place, whether it be a room, a house, or even a town, doesn't hold you and shelter you from the storm for the years of your life and then just let you go. It retains a memory of sorts, an echo of days long past and if you are receptive to such things, you can hear that echo and see those phantoms. They are not ghosts, they are only memories with weight, but on that lost afternoon of my youth nearly fifty years ago, I know one thing to be true - for a few moments, I was somewhere else. I never went back. It wouldn't be the last time I stepped off the map. Just like people, there are places that disappear. In the American West, there are many ghost towns. You can find them from Alaska to southern Texas, but there's something about the climate in those places that keep the buildings standing and the roads open. In Maine, where the cold and the snow, the wind and rain rage and the green growth covers all, such places tend to quickly vanish from view. A road untraveled in this place will soon get lost in the thicket by the little maple saplings and the puckerbrush tangle of growth that are only kept at bay by constant travel. There are many such places in Maine. This story is about one of them, a place known as Riceville. On a map made in 1894, it is noted as the F. Shaw and Brothers Bark Extract Works. An ancient way of tanning animal skins requires boiling down tree bark to make a dark tea-like liquid that is full of tannins, the substances that give tanning its name. The raw materials for bark extraction were plentiful there: water, trees, and wood for boiling it all down. On the edge of Buffalo Stream, east of Greenfield and west of Nickatous Lake in Hancock County, a little village arose to support the bark extraction works. By 1890, 130 or more people called the place home. Eventually, F. Shaw and brothers sold the works. Its name comes from the fellows who bought it from F. Shaw and Brothers, a company called Buzzell and Rice. They converted the works into a full-fledged tannery. At the time, shoe leather was desperately needed and buffalo skins were shipped all the way to Riceville so they could be processed and shipped back to the growing shoe industry in New England. If you try to find Riceville now, you'll have a hard time. It's nearly lost to the forest. If you do find the tote road a few miles northeast of Old Town, you'll be walking to Township 39, a place that has a number instead of a name. You'll be lucky if you can get there on foot - it's wet and overgrown and you might have to turn back. A couple of hours of trudging will get you to the first thing you encounter - the Riceville Cemetery. There, in the middle of the thick undergrowth, it meets you with an old crooked white picket fence and a sign nailed to a tree growing in the middle of the little plot. Someone pays enough attention to this place to see that the fence remains and the little plot is kept fairly clear. Strangely enough, there are no markers at all in the cemetery. You wonder as you walk the little spot who lies below, forgotten. It's quiet here, but the wind whispers through the trees. You listen, then you move a little further into the woods and after a few minutes of walking and dodging, you will come upon an opening, a cleared area, littered with scraps of metal here and there, a wagon axle, a pipe, and rusted barrel hoops. There's a big open well that has been circled by faded yellow warning tape. If someone fell into that hole this far away from help, they might never emerge. There's a stone foundation still standing strong after so many years of neglect. You look around a little more, wonder at the thought of it all and realize that you've got quite a hike to get out of there and really, there is nothing left. Nothing except the story of how this all came to be. Today, hunters and ruin-seekers are about the only folks who make it to Riceville, but a little over a hundred years ago, this place had a mill, a school, a general store, boarding house and homes for the workers at the tannery. It was a thriving community. A vital trade in tanned buffalo hides made this place perfect. There was a stream with clean, pure water. It was far enough away from civilization that the foul odors of the tannery would not be bothersome. Set far from any major town or city, Riceville was a successful little community carved into the Maine forest. For years, it was a hub of activity. Families thrived there. Children grew up and went to a school, played on a the baseball team. Visitors stayed at the boarding house. Commerce thrived as product was made and shipped out for the larger markets of the world. The people who lived there, though, lived alone among themselves, especially in the winter. Places that are far from the main currents of the world of people and doings do not often have casual visitors. Long periods of time can occur when no one comes or goes from the town. Days might pass without a visitor, something that would never happen today. It was not unusual for no one to leave or visit for long periods. Riceville, situated where it was, was self-sustaining. It was also isolated. So what happened to the people of Riceville? And this is where the story comes in. One day, it occurred to someone that they had not heard from anyone in Riceville for a while. We don't know who asked, but someone did. Asking around in town, they discover that no one else has had any contact with Riceville for more than a week, maybe two. Someone decides it's time to pay the good folks a visit. In other stories, it's not a deputation from a town but a traveling merchant who eventually finds his way to Riceville on that fateful day. What was found is legend. As their horse slowly made its way up the road to the village, they noticed a strange stillness, an absence of movement. Actually, there was nothing moving. They cast their gaze around to find someone to speak with but to their shock and then their horror, they begin discovering the bodies. First one lying on the side of the road then others, lying in the grass, their bodies swollen by the heat. They've been there awhile. Further investigation of the little homes and boarding house prove an undeniable fact - everyone of them, over a hundred people, are dead. Officials are called in - investigations are made. Has cholera killed them all? Poison from the tannery? Those in charge determine that they need to bury these bodies quickly - a mass grave is dug and the bodies are placed together and covered. In time, the mystery deepens. No one can determine exactly how these people died and why at least one of them did not take a horse and seek help in the next settlement. No one knows what happened to the people of Riceville. And so, a legend is born. The buildings fall in, the road disappears, and the story is the only thing that remains. Even if it isn't quite true. As storytelling creatures, we tend to remember the most sensational tales, the ones that leave us wondering, the ones that make our world seem more mysterious. Everyone loves a good mystery, even if there is, after all, no mystery. I've heard of cholera as the cause of the large number of deaths or of mercury poisoning the water source. The large number of deaths, however, is not supported by the evidence. An entire town disappearing overnight? Didn't happen.In fact, as far as we know, nobody died of anything. But something did happen to the settlement and the people. Towns don't usually disappear overnight and people need time to move on. According to a report in the Ellsworth American, sometime between December 30 and 31st, 1905, the tannery burned to the ground. The store and boarding house survived, but the rest of the tannery works was suddenly gone. Every single person in Riceville was in some way employed by the tannery, so the livelihood of all was contingent upon the mill being rebuilt. But it wasn't. The tannery was insured. The owners of the Riceville Tannery also owned a tannery in Lowell, Massachusetts which had previously burned under similar circumstances. Neither was rebuilt. With no income, the people soon found no reason to stay in Riceville. They moved on, as people do, when the income suddenly stops. This is how ghost towns are born, after all. Within ten years, the post office closed and no one lived there anymore. For years, the surviving buildings remained there, alone, quiet, with echoes and shadows and nothing more. In 2009, a group of ghost hunters from Bangor visited Riceville. Their visit was written up in the Bangor Daily News article entitled, Bangor Ghost Hunters probe site of former tannery town. The members of the team reported a few strange occurrences: a clear path through the trees suddenly filled in with nearly impassable growth, the sound in the wind of someone calling, “It's time to go in now!” One of the members, a sensitive, was sure they were being followed by the ghost of a young girl. They did their best to document this place, but in the end, there is little to tell except the story of a mill owner who, for awhile, did well financially and whose benefits were shared among his workers. It's not a ghost story, not really. It's not even really a ghost town. It's just a place that used to be, a place with a few reminders left lying in the undisturbed middle of nowhere that once, people thrived here, children ran the streets and went to school and a town prospered. And then it didn't. Slowly, it ran out of steam and then, one day the last family left and no one ever lived there again. It's a sad story and perhaps that's why people keep going there, standing in the quiet, wandering around the few artifacts left to show Riceville even existed. Perhaps the sadness calls them and they answer the call. Perhaps the idea that once, something good existed there and now, there is nothing, is a reminder that we all live on very precarious ground ourselves. If Riceville could turn into nothing more than a legend, what of the towns and cities we live in now? What happened to Riceville? A single thing - a fire. From there, all the dominoes fell into place. That's all it takes. A single thing.

This Day in Maine for Wednesday, June 22, 2022.

I've been to the place where the world ends. It's in an out of the way spot, far to the north, near a beaver dam and an abandoned air force base that most people have forgotten even existed. A wildlife refuge surrounds this strange little grotto of man-made hillocks that abides there quietly, a vestige of a time that all too unfortunately has not yet passed from our world. Days go by and no human visits. I walked there with my brother and we moved amid the bunkers, squat tomb-like structures built to withstand a nuclear blast unbothered by anyone or anything but a lonely crow flying over the barest whisper of a breeze. If I didn't know better, I could swear I heard someone say something there, something like a prayer. Perhaps that person was me. I grew up about fifteen miles away from this place and for the entirety of my life in my hometown of Caribou, Maine, I knew that the military had nuclear weapons nearby. After all, it was the middle of the Cold War. Loring Air Force Base was even mentioned in the movie ‘Wargames', a film I watched at the local Caribou Theater. In it, a nervous airman answers the call - if the Russians launched an all-out nuclear attack on the United States, Loring would be the first target. Yes, I knew we had bombs. But walking among the bunkers where the nation's first batch of bombs waited in readiness to destroy life on Earth, it brought all that fear and helplessness back to me. It reminded me that I had grown up on the edge of oblivion. We all did. The former site of the North River Depot is in Limestone, Maine. It was built here before the nearby Loring Air Force Base, which itself is now only a memory. The bunkers we walk among are easily viewed on Google Earth but at one time in the early 1950s, this was one of the most secure and secret sites on the planet. Inside this strange and haunting set of structures half buried in the earth, the United States stored enough nuclear warheads to destroy the earth several times over. These are the depositories of doom and they are as quiet as the grave. They stand today as a testament to a period of time in our history when the words ‘the end of the world' were no longer a metaphor. This was the place where the end of the world could easily have begun. In the aftermath of World War II, for a while, the United States was the sole superpower on the planet. Two nuclear fission bombs had been dropped on the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in Japan, ending the greatest war this planet and humanity had ever known. The United States had only two bombs at the time and both were used, with the threat that we had many more at our disposal if the need arose to bomb the country of Japan into submission. When the Emperor of Japan signed the documents ending the war, the United States had no nuclear weapons left. The tactic worked. The arsenal was actually empty, but not for long. Armed with the recipe, the building of bombs began in earnest and with the true start of the military industrial complex came the need for a place to store these weapons, a place where no one would even think to look. IF you're going to stockpile something above top secret, you'd better find someplace no one would ever think of looking. In 1947, a new joint service military organization called the Armed Forces Special Weapons Project began its task of assessing the readiness of the nuclear weapons possessed by the U.S. government. When they got to Los Alamos, they discovered that there were, in fact, no new nuclear weapons to assess. Since the end of World War II, not a single nuclear bomb had been constructed. By the time the inspectors left Los Alamos, there was one bomb that t thought capable of detonation. The Special Weapons project set up shop in neighboring Sandia Base in New Mexico in that same year, which was also the year that the Truman Doctrine became US policy - a doctrine that offered to ‘support free peoples who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures.' The Truman Doctrine would usher in a period of political tensions that would result in the Cold War, once the USSR also possessed the power of the atom. The US arsenal grew by jumps and starts and by the end of 1947, there were at least fifty-six functional nuclear bombs ready for deployment with a fleet of thirty-five silver-plated B-29s to deliver them. On August 29, 1949, the USSR detonated its first device. The two forces that helped end the war in Europe were now both in possession of nuclear weapons and they were not on the same team anymore. With the tensions growing, it became clear to the powers that be that what was needed was a place to store these weapons. Caribou, Maine is a small city that calls itself the northeastern most city in the country. It is an agricultural country with long, rolling hills, millions of trees, lakes and rivers, and more deer than humans. That was true in 1947 and it is still true today. There were only a few roads into and out of Aroostook County. In 1950, the entire population of Aroostook County was 96,039. This quiet, nearly forgotten part of the country was chosen as the first site in the history of the world to store a nuclear arsenal. Eventually, four more sites would be chosen, but Caribou Air Force Station, also known as North River Depot and then East Loring, was allegedly the first to be built and manned. When you look at an aerial photo of the North River Depot, it is easy to confuse it with a small housing development, but without houses. Instead, you will see over forty small hillocks, covered with grass, masking something larger underneath. These mounds are concrete bunkers built to withstand a nuclear blast. Inside of these structures were stored the bomb housings that, once the detonators were inserted, would each become a means to an end - each designed for the end of someone's world. Looking closer, you will see a road circling the small facility. There are no fences. Instead of fences, a constant patrol circled the bunkers twenty-four hours a day, always in motion. If someone wanted to infiltrate this place, they would have to get there first and then pass through marsh and forest before encountering armed resistance. There are other structures. There is a huge concrete cube that is designed to look like a building. It is modeled to have false windows, false doors and it might be mistaken for a dormitory or office building. If an enemy viewed the building from above, the idea was that they would not view it as a target because of its drab, nondescript design. In fact, despite its size, it has only a few small chambers inside it which you can peek at if you step onto the landing, though it is still off limits to the public. You can see an open vault door a foot thick, open to the elements. Pictures from the decommissioning show shelving with cubicles. This concrete cube housed the detonators, the highly radioactive elements that, once inserted into the bomb housings, would make the bomb capable of detonation and destruction. It was thought safe to store these away from the housings as a precaution against any accidents that might occur. When required, they could quickly be delivered to the adjacent bunkers and gingerly inserted into the bomb. It is rumored that there were underground tunnels running underneath each of the bunkers and from the cube so that in the event of a heavy winter, nothing could stop the efficiency of the bomb's delivery to the aircraft that would ultimately deliver them to their final destinations. In the end, this cube had to be abandoned because it was so heavy, it was sinking at an angle into the ground. Another facility was built and this one was sealed for decades. In January of 1992 when Loring Air Force Base was being closed, twelve workers cut into the door of the cube of Building A and were contaminated by radiation. The Air Force and Congressional representatives investigated the claims. The Air Force explained to the investigators that the building was unknown to them. They didn't know it existed. Officially, the end cause of the illness of the men who cut into the building was that they suffered a massive dose of radon gas that had accumulated in the thirty years it stood there, sealed against the world. This explanation seems weak given that it was once the single place on planet Earth that housed all the man-made radioactive detonators capable of global devastation. Today, there is no door on the building and the winds whistle through the barred doorway. No radon gas can accumulate. For a few years, this site and four others across the country housed Armageddon. The Russians had their storage facilities, as well. So did other nations as the years passed. The long-range bombers used as delivery systems remained but were largely replaced by newer missile systems to deliver the ultimate payload. In 1988, the Cold War effectively ended and Loring Air Force Base closed. Today, it's a hauntingly silent place, still maintained by the local authorities, with one of the largest arch hangers in the world and one of the longest runways, too. There are a few businesses, a nature preserve, a motel, and a museum on the site, but it is always strangely quiet and one might even venture to say haunted- not with ghosts - but with memories. Ask anyone who served at Loring and you'll hear a fondness for the place in their voice, even though the winters were long and cold and it was situated in the middle of nowhere. You'll hear a fondness for the land, for the people, and for the former mission of the base. Time is having its effect on the buildings that are not maintained and it is only a matter of time before much of it returns to the wild. One day, perhaps thousands of years from now, the concrete bunkers that housed the bombs and the sinking concrete cube that housed the detonators will also crumble, but by that time, who knows what the humans of the distant future will think if they stumble upon these curious ruins and wonder, what was their purpose? Who built them and why? I've been to the place where the world could have ended. That the world still exists over seventy years after it was constructed is a testament to the tenacious nature of Humanity. But how strange it is now to walk among the grassy hillocks and into the cavernous mouths of the bunkers and think of things that might have been. It is a lonely, cold feeling, after all, because those things that might have been? Well, the pity is, they still might be... REFERENCES Garbinski, John C., North River Depot, 2011 Rhodes, Richard, Dark Sun The Making of the Hydrogen Bomb, 1995, Touchstone Loring Remembers the Skies for Us, “The History” https://sites.google.com/site/loringremembers/history-of-loring-afb Declassified U.S. Nuclear Test Film #69

UPDATED: Newly revised and expanded with new content!Amanda, a woman in Aroostook County, experiences  strange creatures while out in the potato fields at night. What are these strange creatures and what exactly is the bizarre object Amanda found? Also, how does it tie into the ancient Irish myth of the puca prátaí, the so-called "potato gremlin?" Welcome to our first  episode and our first ominous story. Content Warning: creatures, strange sounds, ominous artifactsNarrator: Chris EstesWriter: Chris EstesSound Design: Chris EstesSupport  us at: https://www.patreon.com/malevolentmaineVisit our website at: https://malevolentmaine.weebly.comSupport the show

We talk with our Brewmaster, Jason Perkins, and Senior Brewer, Branch Rothschild (until his wifi cuts out halfway through), about our pledge to brew with one million pounds of Maine-grown grain, per year, by 2021. Fun times were had talking about local grain, building beer recipes, and heading up to “the county” (Aroostook County, Maine).

This episode featuring Paul Sveum began as a blog post, but we decided to have a conversation about the top ten things to keep in mind when getting into fly fishing. This is part 1, where we discuss points 1-5. PHOTO: Paul fishing an Aroostook County stream. Show Notes: JMB Podcast Episode 111 | Simplifying […]

In this episode, Lily interviewed Kaitlyn Bernard, who is the Natural Resources Policy Advisor with the Maine Chapter of The Nature Conservancy. Kaitlyn grew up in a town called Fort Kent, located in Maine's Aroostook County (or "The County" as most people here call it). Kaitlyn and Lily talked about the funding of the Land for Maine's Future program and shared stories about their cross country skiing experiences. --- Note: An earlier version of this podcast description misstated Kaitlyn's current role. This has been corrected— apologies for any confusion.

Author Lauretta S. Blackstone speaks with Host Brian Bickford about her book "Barns of Aroostook County". Learn about these beautiful and historical landmarks that dot Maine's landscape. They hold a special value to our early settlers and today are critical for our next generation farmers.

Matt Carano of The Quantum Week podcast fills in at producer and we get an update on his relationship with The Gerry Callahan Show. Finally we get some honest journalism out of northern Maine, which may just result in Kirk returning to radio to hit the post on the hottest adult contemporary station in Aroostook County, Q96.1. The character of Richard Chandler somehow gets more bizarre as we now don't know if he is real or just a pseudonym for Mark Stewart.

MAINE MURDERS, 1964: When a cryptic poem landed on the editor's desk at the Fort Fairfield Review in 1984, it would be the beginning of the end of a 20 year saga that cast a dark shadow over the small Aroostook County town. Two highly publicized murders, plagued by inexperience, rumor, and political drama, would go unsolved for two decades until finally, the spider himself got caught in the tangled web he believed he was weaving. These are the Fort Fairfield Murders of Cyrus Everett and Donna Mauch. For more information, photos, and sources, visit darkdowneast.com Follow along on Instagram @darkdowneast

Dominic LaJoie of Van Buren, Maine was elected to serve as National Potato Council's 2021 President and to head the grower-led organization’s Executive Committee. Dominic is a fourth-generation potato grower and partner of LaJoie Growers LLC, which operates throughout Aroostook County, Maine. He previously served the NPC Board as First Vice President and Vice President of the Environmental Affairs Committee. Dominic joined NPC CEO Kam Quarles to talk about the council's policy priorities for this session of Congress and provide an update about the first-ever virtual Potato D.C. Fly-In. Thanks to our episode sponsor AgroThrive, delivering the world's first predigested organic fertilizers to farmers across the nation since 2006. Visit agrothrive.ag for more.

OTP ships up to Ellsworth, world HQ for the Alexanders. The three generations sit down with Andy Austin for the first of two stages. Maine Motorsports Hall of Famer Bob Alexander talks his Aroostook County roots, racing at Spud, and why he never went after championships. You've heard of Bob's accomplishments, seen Wyatt in action, but what about Brett? We dig into his brief driving history too.   5 stars and positive reviews are greatly appreciated!  

One area  in northern Maine served by Catholic Charities Maine is Aroostook County on the Canadian border. Like many communities across the United States experiencing shutdowns to fight the spread of the novel coronavirus, Aroostook County has many people in need of food. Distributions of food have continued but without the regular volunteers - mostly senior citizens - who are staying home. Since the U.S./Canadian border is also closed, border patrol agents in the area have stepped up to volunteer to fill the need and help their neighbors get good, nutritious food.

Superintendent Tim Doak knows that community partnerships are crucial to a successful school district. But in rural Maine, where school districts are often the largest employers in the area, how do you find comparable businesses to partner with? Doak, who was named Maine's Superintendent of the Year in 2018, is attempting to answer that question, not just for one district, but for two. As superintendent of both Maine School Administrative District #20 and Eastern Aroostook RSU #39, he's working hard to strengthen not only the districts themselves—but all of Aroostook County.Tim Doak (@DoakT)MSAD 20RSU 39Subscribe to SchoolCEO at SchoolCEO.com for more advice, stories, and strategies for leading your schools. And if you have a story you'd like to share, email us at editor@schoolceo.com.

This week on Destiny Moments Angel interviews Heather Brisette. You will meet the Author of Charlie's Dad, a Christian children's book everyone needs to have for their child's library. (Amazon) Heather was born in Maine into a family of teachers, writers, artists and craftsmen. She enjoys writing, painting, and dabbling in entrepreneurship. She currently resides in Aroostook County with her husband and beautiful children who are an inspiration for children's stories and her best critics. Charlie's is eager to go for a walk with his always -smiling dad one Saturday Morning. But it turns out to be more than just a walk... he discovers that his dad's interactions with others stem from love and a desire to please God. God is downloading creative ideas, empowering his people and learn more about the author and what's next in her journey walking with God. You will be inspired to step out and fulfill what God has gifted you to do. Listen in, share with a friend and be blessed.

Today's verse is Pslam 34:4 read by Ingrid Sutherland. Ingrid and I grew up in Aroostook County, Maine, but 7 years apart. Last time I saw Ingrid she was in High School and still had her maiden name! But she's quickly become a dear friend and a constant inspiration with her hunger for the Word and her passion to BELIEVE what is written there! You'll especially love what she says about getting our mindset focused on God. Psalm 34:4 :I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears." I'm Tabitha and this is the Every Day Faith Podcast. This audio scripture meditation is designed to support your daily word habit to abide in Jesus and be empowered to thrive. It features women just like you reading the word and sharing their thoughts along with their own daily word habit! You will find details about the scripture shared along with links to tools and resources in the show notes. I invite you to turn this on wherever and whenever you need it and to take a moment to write, type, or voice memo what the Holy Spirit brings to you as you listen. --------------- ESV: “Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.” Verbal credit must also be given to the “ESV”. TPT: Scripture quotations marked TPT are from The Passion Translation®. Copyright © 2017, 2018 by Passion & Fire Ministries, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ThePassionTranslation.com. NKJV: Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved. NLT: Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. MSG: Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from THE MESSAGE, copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries. NIV: New International Version and NIV® (collectively, “NIV”) are registered trademarks of Biblica in the United States and other countries. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/every-day-faith/message

  This week, Yergy and Drewby conclude the case of James Rodney Hicks, arguably Maine's only known serial killer - and speculate as to why Hicks got away with his crimes for so long. On 1 November 2000, Maine's Penobscot County grand jury formally charged confessed killer James Hicks, 49, with the murders of Jerilyn Towers and Lynn Willette. Hicks served six years of a 10-year prison sentence for killing his first wife, 23-year-old Jennie Hicks, who disappeared from the couple's Carmel home in 1977. Hicks was not arrested for her murder until 1983 and was convicted in 1984. Before his arrest, Towers, 34, of Newport, disappeared after leaving a Newport bar with Hicks. In fact the police investigation into Towers' disappearance prompted the re-examination Jennie Hicks' disappearance and subsequently the charging Hicks with her murder. At the time he was not charged with Towers' death because police lacked adequate evidence. After his release from prison in 1990, Hicks met 40-year-old Willette of Orrington with whom he worked at the Twin City Motel in Brewer. The two eventually lived together at a South Main Street apartment where Hicks now claims he killed Willette on May 26th 1996. Though also suspected in her disappearance, Hicks was never charged with her death because of lack of evidence. That is until he was handed a 55-year sentence in Lubbock, Texas, and confessed to the three killings and led authorities to their bodies. Hicks was convicted in Texas of holding a gun to the head of a 67-year-old woman, forcing here to write a check to him and sign over the title to her car, and then write a suicide note. He planned to drug and drown the woman to make it look like a suicide, but she somehow managed to escaped. When he was convicted to 55 years in prison Hicks asked to cut a deal with authorities in Maine whereby he agreed to direct them to the bodies of the three missing in exchange for serving his time in Maine instead of Texas. Back in Maine Hicks located the remains of his three victims after two days of digging around his former home in Etna and at several roadside sites in Aroostook County, Maine. The remains of his former wife and Towers were found 100 feet apart next to the home where he grew up. Willette's remains were found in concrete buckets buried next to the road in Aroostook County. Apparently all the bodies were dismembered and some parts he allegedly tossed in a nearby river. Join Our Facebook Group to Request a Topic: https://t.co/DeSZIIMgXs?amp=1 Support Our Patreon For More Unreleased Content: https://www.patreon.com/themiserymachine PayPal: https://www.paypal.me/themiserymachine Instagram: miserymachinepodcast Twitter: misery_podcast #truecrime #podcast #mystery 

This week, Yergy and Drewby discuss the crimes of James Rodney Hicks, arguably Maine's only known serial killer.  On 1 November 2000, Maine's Penobscot County grand jury formally charged confessed killer James Hicks, 49, with the murders of Jerilyn Towers and Lynn Willette. Hicks served six years of a 10-year prison sentence for killing his first wife, 23-year-old Jennie Hicks, who disappeared from the couple's Carmel home in 1977.  Hicks was not arrested for her murder until 1983 and was convicted in 1984. Before his arrest, Towers, 34, of Newport, disappeared after leaving a Newport bar with Hicks. In fact the police investigation into Towers' disappearance prompted the re-examination Jennie Hicks' disappearance and subsequently the charging Hicks with her murder. At the time he was not charged with Towers' death because police lacked adequate evidence. After his release from prison in 1990, Hicks met 40-year-old Willette of Orrington with whom he worked at the Twin City Motel in Brewer. The two eventually lived together at a South Main Street apartment where Hicks now claims he killed Willette 26 May 1996. Though also suspected in her disappearance, Hicks was never charged with her death because of lack of evidence. That is until he was handed a 55-year sentence in Lubbock, Texas, and confessed to the three killings and led authorities to their bodies. Hicks was convicted in Texas of holding a gun to the head of a 67-year-old woman, forcing here to write a check to him and sign over the title to her car, and then write a suicide note. He planned to drug and drown the woman to make it look like a suicide, but she somehow managed to escaped. When he was convicted to 55 years in prison Hicks asked to cut a deal with authorities in Maine whereby he agreed to direct them to the bodies of the three missing in exchange for serving his time in Maine instead of Texas. Back in Maine Hicks located the remains of his three victims after two days of digging around his former home in Etna and at several roadside sites in Aroostook County, Maine. The remains of his former wife and Towers were found 100 feet apart next to the home where he grew up. Willette's remains were found in concrete buckets buried next to the road in Aroostook County. Apparently all the bodies were dismembered and some parts he allegedly tossed in a nearby river. Join Our Facebook Group to Request a Topic: https://t.co/DeSZIIMgXs?amp=1 Support Our Patreon For More Unreleased Content: https://www.patreon.com/themiserymachine PayPal: https://www.paypal.me/themiserymachine Instagram: miserymachinepodcast Twitter: misery_podcast #truecrime #podcast #mystery #documentary 

In Episode 139, while still under quarantine, Jeff Belanger and Ray Auger introduce you to an episode from our vault: Razor Shins of Aroostook County, Maine. Logging camps used to tell of a Native American spirit with razors for shins who demanded an offering of alcohol from the greenhorns in the camp. Not making the offering can prove deadly. This was the first episode where we break into song!

The guys get blessed with a rare "in-studio" guest this week, with Jacob Buck making the 2.5 hour trek south to Milo, all the way from Mapleton, ME. Jake runs Maine Malt House with his three brothers and their father on their multi-generational family farm. BBB will buy about 200 tons of grain produced by the Buck family in 2020, so their is no shortage of Noah playing fanboy as Jake explains how their farm - which for decades had grown only potatoes - diversified itself by beginning to produce brewer's malt. He paints a succinctly informative picture of the malting process itself, one that Jake and his brother Josh effectively taught themselves how to do at a very high level, despite not knowing beer was brewed with barley for the majority of his life. He also sheds light on the numerous and often surprising challenges farmers face in chasing consistency, as well as discussing the the pros and cons of working with your family and, importantly, the value in treating some breakfast cereals as a rotating crop instead of a base malt. A great conversation with an awesome person doing awesome things.Music: "Mountain Climb" by Jake Hill

This episode of Unknowable is about "The Most Haunted Place in Aroostook County", Route 2A that runs through Haynesville Woods. This is the first episode that focuses on our home state of Maine, with a road that has a country song written about it called "A Tombstone Every Mile".

A woman who's widely referred to as the “original Dreamer” weighs in on the current moment in immigration. A young man shares a tale of rising above poverty, homelessness, and undocumented status. Plus, does Boston deserve its racist reputation, and what's being done to move beyond it? We discuss takeaways from the Boston Globe's series on racism with columnist Adrian Walker. We get a critical look at offshore wind from across the pond, and rethink a potato-focused school break. Tereza Lee, center, protests in New York City on Wednesday. Lee – whose parents brought her to the U.S. as a child without documents – reached out to Sen. Richard Durbin about her family’s status as a teenager. Durbin would go on to introduce the DREAM Act in Congress.  (Courtesy Tereza Lee) They Had a Dream This week, the fate of young immigrants across New England has been at the center of a Washington political debate over DACA — or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. And, they've been a chip in a bigger political fight over keeping the government open. At stake is whether these so-called “Dreamers” – who were brought to the country illegally by their parents years ago – will be allowed to stay, or be forced to return to countries many of them don’t consider home. The movement behind the DREAM Act began nearly 20 years ago when an undocumented teenager in Chicago wrote to her senator. WBUR’s Shannon Dooling sat down with Tereza Lee, the woman  known as the original “Dreamer.” Saul Grullon, a native of the Dominican Republic, was abused by his parents because of his sexuality. (Beth Reynolds|Joyce Showyra/ NEPR) While Tereza Lee grew up with the fear of being separated from her family, Dominican-born Saul Grullon sought refuge from his family in the immigration system. Grullon come out to his family as gay when he was a teenager living in New Jersey, and he encountered such hostility that it felt dangerous to stay at home. Grullon was undocumented, but he was able to apply for a temporary visa through VAWA — the Violence Against Women Act. He told his moving story for New England Public Radio's “Words in Transit” project. Is Boston Racist? About a year ago, Boston Mayor Marty Walsh took a staunchly pro-immigrant stand in the face of President Trump's executive order pledging to strip funding from so-called “sanctuary cities.” Walsh said that people fearing deportation could live at city hall, if they wanted. Other cities in the greater Boston metropolitan area also promised to do what they could to protect immigrants. But there's another group whose members don't always feel welcome in Boston: African Americans. Saturday Night Live cast member Michael Che brought up this sentiment before last year's Superbowl — when the Patriots played against the Atlanta Falcons. Sport and race have long been a sore spot in the city, but the history goes much deeper. Protests and riots around court-ordered school desegregation in the 1970s were a particularly ugly time for African Americans in Boston — one that's left lasting scars. “I remember riding the buses to protect the kids going up to South Boston High School. And the bricks through the window. Signs hanging out those buildings, ‘Nigger Go Home.’ Pictures of monkeys. The words. The spit. People just felt it was all right to attack children.” – bus safety monitor Jean McGuire, a speaking with WBUR in 2014. Bill Russell experienced discrimination as the only black member of the Boston Celtics during the 1956-1957 season, his rookie year. The Boston Globe’s Spotlight Team is known for investigations into issues like political corruption and sex abuse in the Catholic Church. Last fall the investigative unit took on what they call their most difficult question yet: Does Boston deserve its reputation as a racist city –and a place that's unfriendly to blacks in particular? Their reporting series “Boston. Racism. Image. Reality” was published in print and online in December. Our guest Adrian Walker is a columnist for the Metro section of the Boston Globe. Walker is part of the team behind the Spotlight series, where he wrote about professional sports and fan culture. Winds of Change Fisherman Steve Barratt is aboard his boat Razorbill in the Ramsgate harbor in southeast England. Barratt says he’s lost valuable fishing ground to a wind farm in the Thames Estuary. (Chris Bentley/WBUR) We've reported on plans to build wind farms in the waters off Massachusetts’ South Shore and in the Atlantic south of Long Island, and the opposition by some fishermen to those plans. But right now, aside from a small array of turbines off the coast of Rhode Island, the worries are theoretical. To get a sense of how big wind farms might affect fishing in New England’s future, WBUR reporter Chris Bentley visited fishermen working near giant wind farms in the United Kingdom. If jobs in the new energy economy are seen as part of a growth industry, many in traditional farming communities have seen their way of life shrinking. Carson (left) and Kyle Flewelling, pictured in 2014, worked 12-hour days on their family farm in Easton during harvest break, spading up about 700 acres of russets for the fry and chip markets. (Jennifer Mitchell/ Maine Public In Maine's northern Aroostook County the acreage for potato farming has shrunk over the last 50 years, and technology has reduced the demand for labor. That's a big deal for high school students there, who have traditionally taken a three-week break from classes each fall to harvest potatoes. With far fewer teenagers now working in the fields, the school board in the town of Presque Isle is looking at a new approach that could end the tradition of the October break, and bring the harvest into the classroom. Maine Public Radio’s Robbie Feinberg reports. About NEXT NEXT is produced at WNPR. Host: John Dankosky Producer: Andrea Muraskin Executive Producer: Catie Talarski Contributors to this episode: Shannon Dooling, Saul Grullon, John Voci, Tema Silk, Chris Bentley, and Robbie Feinberg Music: Todd Merrell, “New England” by Goodnight Blue Moon, “Adapt and Prosper” by Akrobatic Get all the NEXT episodes. We appreciate your feedback! Send praise, critique, suggestions, questions, story leads, and potato harvest selfies to next@wnpr.org.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This week on Destiny Moments I share one of my favorite messages by Pastor Bruce Blakney. Pastor Blakney and His wife Sally have been involved in ministry for many years in Aroostook County, Maine and Western New Brunswick. Listen in today and find out what is your inheritance because of the price that was paid. Life changing message. Please share this podcast with your family and friends! God Bless you all!

This is my interview with Kayle Mumby. I interviewed Him at Cross Point Community Church in Fredericton, Canada. This man uses his prophetic gifting to rescue women and girls that are caught in Human Trafficking. He shares how he takes prayer shawls full of love and prayers from Aroostook County, Maine to these women.

Maine's youngest member of the state legislature talks about growing up in Aroostook County, his decision to get involved with politics, running a successful campaign, and what it is like to serve in Augusta. Follow Rep. Trey Stewart (R-Presque Isle) on Twitter or find him on Facebook. Connect with the Maine Show Podcast on Twitter or find host Ben Sprague on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Kristen Wells, Director of the Aroostook Aspirations Initiative, joins the show to talk about supporting students in the County as well as why she and her husband and four daughters decided to move back to Aroostook County after she grew up there as a child.   Find the Aroostook Aspirations Initiative on Facebook at www.facebook.com/aroostookaspirations.    

Jim Gerritsen of Wood Prairie Family Farm in Aroostook County, Maine, is not just a potato farmer; he’s a potato artist. Wood Prairie Farm provides certified organic seed potatoes and other products to customers around the country through their mail order catalog. Certified organic since 1982, Wood Prairie Family Farm has 40 acres in production, with ten or twelve of those acres in seed potatoes each year. After an orientation to the history of Wood Prairie Farm and the potato culture of Aroostook County, we dig into the whys and the how’s of growing a great crop of from seed warming and green sprouting through weed control to harvest. We also discuss the ins and outs of producing Maine-certified potato seed. Jim is an observant and specific farmer and marketer, and really brings out the details of what goes into bumper yields and high quality spuds. Named by the editors of the Utne Reader to the magazine’s 2011 list of 25 “People Who Are Changing the World,” Jim is also one of those organic farmers who spends a large part of his time serving the community. Jim is the president of the Organic Seed Growers and Trade Association, and has served for more than twenty years on the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association certification committee, along with about a dozen other roles that he has played in the organic farming movement. The Farmer to Farmer Podcast is generously supported by Vermont Compost Company.

I remember August of 1976 very well. That summer, the northern lights in Aroostook County, Maine were vibrant, nearly alive in their sheer command of the summer night sky. Ribbons of light rippled across the entire sky from north to south.The Sun was at one of the high points its cycle. That was the summer I spent lying on the ground by the fire, watching the stars and studying the universe in the relative comfort of my backyard. Little did I know that four friends visiting my northern land would experience something akin to high strangeness in the backwaters of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway not more than one hundred miles from where I lay, taking in the infinite. Their experiences, if they can be believed, are laid out in several venues, from an episode of Unsolved Mysteries to a new children's book published last year (2014) by author Cathie Pelletier called "The Summer Experiment". What I am referring to is known in UFO circles as "The Allagash Abductions". It is a classic in the literature and is often cited as one of the most completely documented cases of alien contact and experimentation on humans ever presented to the public. The fact that the events that allegedly transpired nearly forty years ago are still intriguing to so many makes it perfect food for thought on a summer evening, like tonight... Let's travel back in time. It is the evening of August 20, 1976. Four young art students from Boston, Massachusetts are taking a break in the northern forest of the Allagash River on the tip of northern Maine. Their names are Jack and Jim Weiner, Charlie Foltz, and Chuck Rak. Specifically, they are camping on the edge of Eagle Lake. It is nearly dark. They have set a rather large fire at the edge of the lake near the shore and their plan is to do a little night fishing from their canoes. The fire would mark the spot of their campsite, otherwise they might become disoriented in the deep darkness that befalls the night in far northern Maine. Almost immediately after starting to fish, Chuck Rak spied a large bright sphere of colored light hovering motionless and soundless over the water of Eagle Lake, about 300 feet above the southeastern rim of the cove. Chuck shouted to his friends who also witnessed what they describe as a huge oval glowing object. They describe it as being split into four quarters, almost like a gyroscope. The four quadrants of light glowed with an oscillating motion around the equator and from pole to pole. It was as though the object was made of some metallic liquid. It is at this point that Charlie Folt claims he did something very odd indeed, something that most people would not have done, given the circumstances. He picks up his flashlight and begins rhymically flashing it at the object in the sky. Why he does this, he does not say. Almost immediately, the object stops pulsating and begins to move toward Charlie's canoe. A ray or tube of light issues forth from the glowing object and hits the surface of the water. Then, the beam begins to seek out the canoe, hunting it. The four art students begin to panic and paddle madly toward the shore and their bonfire. I can't help but wonder why the bonfire and the shore might in any way seem safer than where they were. I also wonder if art students might or might not be experimenting with substances in the relative obscurity of far northern Maine that might make them believe they were seeing a large pulsating multi-colored glowing ball. They make it to the shore. They stand at the water's edge near the fire and they watch the object slowly move away and disappear. Twin brothers Jim and Jack Weiner recall how frightened they were, paddling with every ounce of strength they had until suddenly, they found themselves safely on the shore. They saw a light beam not more than one hundred feet from where they stood and then they saw the object leave. For along while, the four young men simply stood there in silence. They began to notice lost time. "When we left to go fishing," Jim claims, "we set very large logs on the fire to burn for a good two to three hours. The entire experience seemed to last, at the most, no more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Yet the fire was completed burned down to red coals." It was a puzzle, something that had no explanation. The fishing trip ended and the three went their separate ways. Weird things happen, but life tends to go on. Flash forward thirteen years.  Jim Weiner suffers a head injury which triggers something called tempero-limbic epilepsy, also known as temporal lobe epilepsy. This kind of epilepsy is characterized by many seemingly unprovoked seizures that originate in the temproal lobe of the brain. Sensory changes often accompany the seizures, i.e., smelling odors that are there. One of the other common side effects of temporal lobe epilepsy is the disturbance of memory, either causing the sufferer to be unable to recall things he or she should, or causing memories that are not real or are confused. Jim slowly begins to recall events of that night. He claims that he remembers waking at night to see creatures gathering in his bedroom around his bed while he lay in paralysis, a common experience often reported by UFO abductees. More to the point, he seemed to be able to remember what really happened that night when they lost time and the fire burned low on the shore. Many articles discussing the famous incident claim that Jim's doctors did what almost any good physician would never have done, given the circumstances: he told Jim to contact a UFO reseacher in the Boston area. This might seem reasonable to some people. To others, maybe not so much.  Jim made his way to a UFO convention and found someone who he thought might be able to help him with his memories. That researcher was high-school English teacher and amateur hypnotist, Anthony Constantino. Then, of course, hypnosis was used. It usually is. The faith so many people place in hypnosis is often a blind one without realizing that false memories or the power of suggestion may lead the person under hypnosis to claim almost anything. That, combined with the fact that Jim was suffering temporal lobe epilepsy, makes the whole session suspect and its veracity questionable.  Once Jim began to recall the events of the night of August 20, 1976 under hypnosis, the other three people on Eagle Lake that night agreed to undergo hypnosis, as well. They collectively recall riding the beam of light into the craft. They were examined 'medically' using strange equipment. Samples of bodily fluids were gathered by strange gray beings and of course, all four men were naked. After the 'aliens' were satisfied with their probing and prying, they made the four men get dressed and let them ride the beam of light back down to their canoes. To add to the high strangeness of the story, during the UFO researcher's examination of the events of that night, Jack Weiner and his wife Mary claimed that were abducted from their home in Townshend, Vermont. As proof, Jack offered the bottom of his feet, burned by his new abduction. Time passed once more. The four men, friends since their college years, maintained their belief in the events of that night recalled by hypnosis. A book was written about their story. They appeared on The Joan Rivers Show. NBC's Unsolved Mysteries broadcast their story to millions. It is strange that all four people remembered roughly the strange thing. Or is it? What really happened on Eagle Lake on the night of August 20th? The element of hypnosis and the addition of temporal lobe epilepsy makes the entire story suspect. The idea that all four men remembered the same thing might also have something to do with the power of suggestion and the tendency to tell the amateur hypnotist the kind of things he wanted to hear. Did the other three men know of Jim's recollections under hypnosis before they too underwent a session and did they suddenly 'remember' or did they simply use the information already in their minds from Jim's account? In fact, besides the viewing of the original light in the sky, hypnosis seems to be the only evidence that the Allagash abductions ever occured. And that really is too bad. I would love to say that this case is beyond reproach. I want to believe as much as the next person, but I require more than the words of four remembering something under hypnosis years and years after the events supposedly occurred. I am quite sure these are good men who truly believe the events as recalled under hypnosis.  I  do love their story, though, because I remember the lights of that summer, too. My own memory, unhindered by hypnosis, remembers the Aurora Borealis, the Milky Way and the mystery that it offers must satisfy my taste for now. BIBLIOGRAPHY Portland Press Herald Article.  http://www.ufoevidence.org/cases/case466.htm Photo Credit - Lewiston Sun Journal

I remember August of 1976 very well. That summer, the northern lights in Aroostook County, Maine were vibrant, nearly alive in their sheer command of the summer night sky. Ribbons…

In this talk, McBride will reflect on how gathering women's stories over the past four decades has impacted her work and life. Giving special focus to Wabanakis in Maine, she'll touch on recurrent themes she's explored with women around the world—such as work and motherhood, love and loss, strength and resilience. Women from many cultural niches have shared their stories with her, and she with readers—making connections and marking out bridges of common humanity through their words and hers, woven together on the pages of books, articles, and essays. Bunny McBride is an award winning author and veteran traveler. She has written for international newspapers and magazines about Chinese people in the aftermath of the communist Cultural Revolution, Tuareg camel nomads in the Sahara, threatened gorillas in Rwanda and lemurs in Madagascar, Sami reindeer herders in arctic Scandinavia, Maasai cattle herders in East Africa, and Mi’kmaq basketmakers in Aroostook County, Maine. With an MA in anthropology from Columbia University, she has taught at various institutions, and is currently an adjunct lecturer of anthropology at Kansas State University. She serves as president of the Women’s World Summit Foundation based in Geneva. McBride’s books include Women of the Dawn; Molly Spotted Elk: A Penobscot in Paris; Our Lives in Our Hands: Micmac Indian Basketmakers, and most recently Indians in Eden. For National Park Service, she coauthored Asticou’s Island Domain, a 2-volume study focusing on Wabanaki life along the Maine coast. She has guest curated several major exhibits for the Abbe Museum based on her books, as well as one on the Rockefeller American Indian Art Collection. Working on a range of issues and projects with Maine tribes since 1981—including the Aroostook Band of Micmacs’ federal recognition effort—McBride received a special commendation from the Maine state legislature for her research and writing on the history of Wabanaki women. Boston Globe Sunday Magazine featured a long profile about her, and Maine Public Television made a documentary about her research and writing on Molly Spotted Elk. Beyond writing linked to Maine, McBride is coauthor of The National Audubon Society Field Guide to African Wildlife and the world’s leading cultural anthropology textbook, Cultural Anthropology, the Human Challenge, translated into Chinese and several other languages. She also has chapters in a dozen books. Her next book, From Indian Island to Omaha Beach: Charles Norman Shay, A Penobscot Indian War Hero (coauthored with her husband Harald Prins), is due to be published with University of Nebraska Press in 2014.