The Importance of Direction

I think it is true that, for many of us, our lives often contain contradictions.  For myself, when I am leading a nature walk, either with children or adults, I am often complimented on my powers of observation, the ability to spot a scat among the leaf litter, or an acorn with the telltale hole of a curculio.   Yet, when I am on the open road, my ability to use my sense of observation to choose the correct way to go has historically been, sadly lacking.  For that matter, you might have amassed a tidy sum had you wagered on my accuracy when claiming we should go left instead of right at a particular juncture.  My family can ask me which way we should go, and then with great confidence chose the opposite way.

And so, this “skill” of mine came into play this past week when I was to get my daughter and husband from the airport in Portland ME to join us all for Christmas.  My daughter’s new home in ME is very close to Rt. 95, the only really substantial road this far north in Maine and so, the only turn I had to make, was onto 95 and then continue south for 2 ½ hours and exit at the airport.   Elementary.  And yet, for one delusional moment, I had it fixed in my mind that the town of Bangor was north of where we were, and I did know I had to go south. Clearly then, I shouldn’t head for Bangor, but rather, choose door #2 which led to Houlton, a town I had never heard of, but then I had only been here once before, so merrily I set out, convinced in my mind I was Portland bound.

And was the ride ever beautiful!  Within 10 miles I was into snow, freshly fallen snow, that had just missed Orono and I was singing God’s praises, for I miss the field of jewels snow can be.  As I drove on, it continued to get deeper, the trees like a scene from the Polar Express and I was just dazzled.  So dazzled I wanted to share it with friends, so, as there was no one else on the road, I decided it was a good time to catch up with everyone and share the beautiful scene around me.

Now here is a fascinating phenomenon.  It is amazing that once a “truth” is set in your mind, no amount of evidence to the contrary can penetrate.  For instance, I knew the airport was at Exit 46, yet I kept noticing that these exits I was passing had some pretty high numbers; 260, 296, etc..  Curious.  I knew I would always be in Maine so the numbers shouldn’t start again, but you never know, maybe southern Maine is on a different number system.  Fa la la la, just carry on, as delighted as a child in an illustrated wonderland.  Also of interest, no one was on the road, I mean NO one, a truck or two but otherwise I had it all to myself.  Ah, sad how the recession plays itself out, no money for gas, fewer cars I guess.  Hmmm and not a single town, well I do remember in the summer it seemed to be nothing but trees, so now it was nothing but snow covered trees.

Finally, I did come to an exit that had some rudimentary stores and Yeah! a Burger King.  My daughter called that she had landed and, as I had been driving for 2 hours now, I told her I should be there shortly.  But wait, when I went to get back on the road, being careful to go in the same direction and not make any mistakes, I was shocked to see that what I perceived to be the right ramp claimed to be going North to Canada!  What?  That can’t be right, so I turned around thinking I must have gotten mixed up, but THIS sign said south to Bangor.  Oh those silly Mainers, they put the wrong city on the sign, they must mean south to Portland.  I must make a note to call the Dept of Transportation to alert them of their error when I return.  Whoa, but as I head “south”, I see landmarks that I have just passed.  Are you kidding me? I have taken the wrong way and the exits have been miles apart.  Stink!  I need to get the airport; I can’t waste these miles going the wrong way!  Ah, but here is one of those “for official cars only” turn arounds.  Well, clearly I am the only one on the road so I shall risk it. 

Now I am heading in the right direction surely.  Odd that there haven’t been any signs counting down the mileage to Portland; again, must be an austerity budget, but you would think they would mention the airport is coming up.  Then a sign does appear- it says “Welcome to Canada”!  What? CANADA!  Finally, all the clues gather together in one shocking truth- I have been going North all along!  I made a mistake right out the starting gate and now I am in Canada!!!  Second big truth hits me; I don’t have a Passport with me! Stink and double stink!  I wheel around but now I am in a long line ready to go through the US customs line. Panic, laughter, incredulity, all hit at once as I sweat out my turn in line.  What if they don’t let me back in?!

The cars were going through extremely slowly, like a true grilling was taking place by the customs officer.  And now it is my turn, and I am off and babbling, telling the whole story,  “I was in Orono, I was headed for the Portland airport, I had no intention of going to Canada, and technically I wasn’t in Canada.”  “May I see your passport?”  I didn’t bring a passport!  “No passport?”  NO,  “ a license then?”  And here I am with a TX license, driving a TN car, registered to my son in law, so a completely different name.  A raised eyebrow- “And why, again, are you in Maine?”  For Christmas, to be with my daughter and I have a daughter waiting for me at the airport, how far is that from here?  “About 5 hrs!” Super Stink!

Then I get an idea.  I had just eaten at Burger King, you could still smell the French fries in my bag and surely in the middle of all these woods there wasn’t another Burger King nearby in Canada.  So I told him he could smell my bag, I just ate, “You know the place, just 10 miles from here in the US. Honest, I am not a terrorist, I am just someone with a terrible sense of direction!”  In the spirit of Christmas, and mercy he finally let me through, thank you God.  Clearly I had given him his “tale of the day”. 

As it would turn out, I also gave my daughter the tale of the day.  Not terribly thrilled to know she had to spend another 5 hours in the airport, yet, when I finally arrived I was greeted by the applause of everyone at the airport lounge that had heard about the ditsy Mom who went to Canada! Her new friends included one very handsome Marine so, I think the long hours weren’t pure torture.

So, do you see God’s hand in this? For I surely do.  First of all, it was GORGEOUS, and I miss snow and the New England landscape and God gave me hours to revel in it.  Secondly, I usually have an amusing tale to tell in my Christmas letter and this year I really didn’t, yet here he was, handing me one on a silver platter, right before Christmas.  And thirdly, what better way to start off a new year of blogging than with a long drawn out tale such as this.  So thank you God, you indeed work in mysterious but wonderful ways.

And so a new year begins.  May we find ourselves sharing good times and new discoveries as we continue to explore the Glory and the Humor all around us!  Happy New Year everyone!

Discovering what makes Santa's suit so Red

Incredibly, I may have the secret to the vibrant red of Santa’s suit right outside my front door.   I had been noticing that the thornless Prickly Pear cactus that grows next to the front porch is not only a delicacy to the deer who eat it to nubbins each fall, but also home to a tiny little scale insect called Dactylopius coccus.  The green pads that sprung from the stumps of eaten cactus in the spring gradually developed a white looking fungus all over them.  However, what I thought was a fungus, turned out to be the white webbing of this little scale insect.  Trying to wipe it off one day I was startled to see streaks of red, like blood as soon as I wiped it.  Yikes, a bleeding cactus, what else will Texas have?!

Ah, but what I was seeing was something called carmine, a crimson dye, a toxin really that is produced by the female scale insects to protect themselves from being eaten by predators.  And the white looking fungus part was the webbing they use to cover themselves to keep them from frying in the heat.   What I didn’t know, but would learn later, is that these insects and their vibrant red color were the secret ingredient to the red, red robes of the Aztecs, they put the red in Redcoats, the Red of the Royal Canadian Mounties and who knows, maybe the red of Santa’s suit himself!

It goes by the name “cochineal” and this little insect and its color which was painstakingly extracted was, get this, the number two export from Mexico after silver in the 1600’s!  The Spanish admired the Aztecs scarlet robes and start exporting it as far away as India.  Row upon row of Prickly Pear cactus playing host to the moisture sucking insects and then delicately scraped and boiled then dried to 30% of their original size so they can store without rotting.  From that comes the  powder that would give you a red that would keep on giving, not run in the rain and just dazzle the socks off anyone who saw it.  Isn’t that amazing!  Who knew?

But it is never wise to put all your insects into one basket for the bottom fell out of the cochineal industry in the 1800’s when artificial dyes, which were ever so much simpler to produce, took their place. After all, it took 70,000 insects to make 1 pound of dye. Yet, it must have been sad for those who had invested everything in the ruby-producing insects.

 

But, guess what, they’re back!  Remember awhile back, red dye # 40, was found to be carcinogenic?  Being from the Cape, I had heard that cranberries were being used to produce a safer red color.  It turns out not only cranberries were put to the task but our little scale insect got pressed (no pun intended) back into service.  Insects once again were being raised and exported from Peru and Mexico to be used in food coloring and cosmetics.  And, even at Starbucks, in their Strawberry Frappachinos!   And the way I know that is from an article complaining that outraged Vegans and Vegetarians had not been properly warned that they were consuming insect life along with their caffeine treat.  Poor Starbucks, they were trying to do the natural and healthy thing but found, of course, that you can’t please all the people all the time.

Now it is the season of the deer eating these moisture-laden pads down to nothing again, which turns my husband about the same red as the cochineal.  It also makes me wonder if I should turn a sharper eye to the copious amount of deer scat in the front yard, might they be as red as the cranberries I miss?  Perhaps, and if Santa needs a touch up job on his suit, he is welcome to help himself to what is left by my porch.

 Ironically, I find I am writing this on St. Nicholas day, so Happy St. Nicholas day and Merry Christmas to you all!  I am thrilled to be heading to my daughters in Maine for Christmas so lets hope if another blog comes it will be from a winter wonderland.