I recently returned home after a long weekend in the woods of Northern Maine. Time spent with family makes me wish I still resided closer to my roots. Growing up near the Canadian border meant a few things as a kid. First, at 18 we were able to cross the border to drink legally in Canadian bars. Second, weekends were spent on four-wheelers spinning up soft summer mud and hunting partridge on remote logging roads. Lastly, life was, and still is, more simple in the "top half" of the state. Gardens line backyards, deer and moose are daily sightings, and friends gathering around bonfires is a weekly tradition.
Weather-beaten barns stand in two-foot drifts of snow.
Blending in with the tree line, I nearly missed this camper. I doubled back for a snapshot. Winter camping at it's finest.
We pull over to park and take Casco walking through some of the deeper powder. This is the best exercise for a slightly overweight chocolate lab.
Blockhouse fort which style dates back to 1849. One room school houses and railroad museums can be found in nearly every town. All serve as a reminder of first settlements and wild expanses of backwoods.
Manual conveyor to move hay bails in or out of the old farm barn.
There is pure beauty in a woodsline stricken with fresh snow. This recent snowfall makes for perfect snowball fights. We all need to be kids again, if only from time to time.
A rusted plow truck and a few rows of chopped wood remain from fall.
White birch and the shadows created by an Easternly sun.
A true two-tree treehouse.
Doors for trucks and tractors.
Fresh snow falls upon a winter project build. Good day for a heavy wool jacket, perhaps the Double Mackinaw Cruiser.
Logs headed to the mill, surely to become yet another new barn in the country side.
SUMMER BACKWOODSPLAID ADVENTURES: