Apparently, Maine was once a chicken mecca. Then a grizzly guy claimed that it takes a tough bird to make a tender chicken, and most of our feathered friends migrated south to Delaware and other places. Well, that left all these empty chicken coops and cries that the sky is falling, the sky is falling. Alas, Mainers are an inventive lot and I have discovered how impressive this inventiveness is by the transformation of chicken coops.
Morphing #1. My car is a 1990 Jaguar Vanden Plas – black, of course, and with a scant 90,000 miles. When we lived in Washington, I never drove the Jag beyond the beltway – after all, it could break down and I did not want to be too far from her mechanic – and of course driving in the snow was a huge no no. When we moved to Belfast, I fretted over what to do with the Jag for eight months of the year when snow is a possibility. Three miles from our Inn lives a delightful man who once raised chickens but now is retired; he rents out space in the his gigantic coop for winter storage for boats, special machinery and vintage cars like an old Jag.
Morphing #2. Halfway between Ellsworth and Bucksport on Route 1 sits the largest edifice of a chicken coop you have ever seen. Not surprisingly it is called The Big Chicken Barn, but surprisingly it houses three floors of antiques and used books – a veritable bonanza for the bargain hunter and the deal finder. Santiago and I went today, spent four hours and found some real deals — not that I needed these items but that’s not the point.
Later, Diana
