Nearing the end of December, the streams are shrouded in ice. The trout are there, but they are lethargic and in a state of semi-hibernation. From the middle of November, I spend my weekends cutting, splitting and stacking logs for the woodstove; that is, when I’m not plowing snow off the long dirt drive that snakes off the macadam like a woodland stream, winding through hardwoods and coming to rest beside our home.
I could pay Don from the auto shop to do the plowing and we can heat our home with oil, but the effort to clear the drive and keep the stove full is an excuse to spend time outdoors, which keeps me active and sane throughout the winter months and provides the illusion of self-sufficiency.
By the third week of February, the banks of snow have melted along the dirt drive and on either side of the walk leading into our house. Some hardpack remains under the dogwood tree or in the lee of the outbuildings scattered around the 12 acres surrounding our home.
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My jeans bear oil stains that Trish has been unable to remove. The strings from the frayed bottoms trail behind the rubber heels of my felt-packed Sorels like a dry fly reeled against the stream’s current. The fingers of my inexpensive work gloves are worn through in a few places, and I have wrapped them with duct tape to keep the lining from falling out.
This morning, I’m wearing a heavy shirt with a stiff canvas exterior over a long-sleeve T-shirt. The words “Oquossoc Marine” are stitched in black across the front of my cap, the letters rising upward through a grease stain like boulders in a lake around which smallmouth bass might school.
Neatly stacked hardwood inside the lean-to, ready to keep the home warm for months to come. Credit: Courtesy of Bob Romano
I walk the short distance across the yard to a small shed, the lawn crunching under my boots. The morning frost glistens like tiny diamonds sprinkled among the blades of matted grass as the sun edges over a line of spruce to reveal a flawless blue sky.
Lifting the latch, I open the door. The smell of grease and oil hangs in the cold stillness. I reach past the chainsaw and grab the maul from the corner of the shed, walking back outside, passing the near-empty lean-to that contains the remains of two cords of stovewood. By this time of year, the pieces that remain are stacked against the back wall, some littering the floor, a few wedged into the corners.
Throughout November and the early part of December, the sound of my chainsaw fills the air as I down trees, hauling them from the woodlot across the earthen dam of our little pond and cutting them into stove-sized pieces. By January, I’m spending my time splitting the 12-inch logs, allowing them to season in the open air throughout spring and summer until the following fall when I stack them, row upon row, under the eaves of the empty lean-to.
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When I was younger, I split wood from morning until three or four in the afternoon, breaking only for lunch, a mountain of billets rising quickly, leaving the remainder of the winter for feeding birds, exploring the woods, tying flies. These days, I wear a back brace and work for no more than three hours a day, taking an entire winter of weekends to raise my mountain of split wood.
I can rent a gas-powered log splitter and form the pile of logs in days instead of months, but where is the honor in that? No, I prefer this six-pound maul, the one I now cradle in my hands, the same maul I have used to create 40 winters’ worth of firewood. Once, I replaced the shaft when an errant blow splintered it against the side of a stump, only later learning a trick used by hockey players to protect their sticks — duct tape wrapped around the base of the blade.
This morning, I stopped at the three chopping blocks frozen to the ground in front of the rising summit of wood. Chinks and grooves cut into the edges of each stump wherever the maul’s sharp blade has powered through a log. The bark has fallen away, lying in shreds, mixed into sawdust with pieces of kindling, wood chips, shavings and twigs, creating a ligneous gazpacho.
On either side lies a pile of logs, mostly sugar maple, white oak, shagbark hickory and ash; the type of hardwood that splits easily and burns slowly, providing an efficient source of heat for the woodstove. There is a smaller amount of soft wood that is stringy, more difficult to split and faster burning like poplar and tulip.
I like the smell of the resin, the feeling of the sawdust, spongy under my boots, the maul, familiar in my hands, but it is the sight of the growing mountain that I most enjoy, with its base of split logs, ridges of sticks and crags of twisted branch.
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Feet spread apart, I grasp the maul, my left hand around the bottom of the shaft, my right around its base. I take pleasure in the power that spreads from my legs up through my shoulders and down through my arms, the motion of the heavy blade as it swings through the air, the crack of the log as it splits in two. After 20 minutes, I unbutton the canvas shirt, remove the baseball cap and run a hand through my thinning hair.
A few feet from the woodpile a chickadee flits among the branches of an ironwood tree. Landing on the metal rung of the tube feeder, the little bird cocks its head sideways, its black eye looking like a tiny plastic bead. As the bird flies off with a seed, a titmouse appears with its gray breast feathers puffed outward, a little dun-colored pompadour shooting up as it chirps a complaint.
I swing the maul down, the blade striking off center. A quarter of the log splits away while the remaining piece falls over on its side. While the titmouse plucks a seed from the feeder, two goldfinches and a nuthatch impatiently chatter from the branches of a nearby sugar maple.
Clouds have moved in from the west and without the sun there is a chill in the air. Even so, I’m sweating. I hang the outer shirt from a nail hammered into the side of the woodshed and roll up the long sleeves of my T-shirt.
The next swing of the maul fails to split the log. Aiming for a fracture, I try again, causing a chunk of wood to fly end over end across the frozen ground.
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I develop a rhythm — bend, pick up a log, split. Bend, pick up a log and split. There is ample time for reflection. Today, I fancy myself an aging samurai, past my prime, without a lord to follow or battle to fight, but still able to wield a weapon with grace and skill. After a while, I stoop down, tossing the scattered billets toward the top of the pile, the mountain growing high under the ashen clouds.
When snow begins to fall, I remove the canvas shirt from the nail and slip it back on. The flakes are light, dry. They settle on my shoulders, the chopping blocks, the woodpile, covering the branches of the ironwood tree and sticking to the ground.
The birds are now darting back and forth grabbing seeds without hesitation. In the stillness of the afternoon, I hear the flutter of their wings.
One of Maine’s two casinos is suing the state’s gambling control unit director over legalizing online casino games exclusively for the Wabanaki Nations.
Gov. Janet Mills decided earlier this month to allow Maine’s four federally recognized tribes to offer “iGaming.” Oxford Casino is challenging that decision in Maine’s U.S. District Court, accusing the state of unlawfully granting a monopoly for online casino gaming.
“Promoting iGaming through race-based preferences deals a gut-wrenching blow to Maine businesses like Oxford Casino that have heavily invested in the State and its people,” the lawsuit reads.
The casino is accusing the state of violating the Equal Protection Clauses of both the United States and Maine Constitutions, against discrimination based on race, according to the lawsuit, which was filed Friday.
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The lawsuit also states that the casinos could lose millions in revenue and hundreds of employees after the law goes into effect.
Oxford Casino and Hollywood Casino in Bangor opposed the iGaming bill, citing the potential for job losses. Other opponents included the Maine Center for Disease Control and Prevention as well as the chair of the state’s gambling control board.
The law will take effect 90 days after the Legislature adjourns this year, but state officials say there is no concrete timeline for when the new gambling options will become available.
This is a developing story.
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Morgan covers breaking news and public safety for the Portland Press Herald. Before moving to Maine in 2024, she reported for Michigan State University’s student-run publication, as well as the Indianapolis…
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The attorney wife of an elite Texas law-firm partner and a pilot who joined the company less than a year ago were among six people killed when a private jet flipped over and burst into flames at a Maine airport over the weekend — just after a voice over the radio said, “Let there be light.’’
Tara Arnold — a 46-year-old powerhouse lawyer who lived with her two kids and mega-wealthy husband in a Houston mansion — was en route to Paris with those on board the plane when it crashed Sunday evening, killing everyone, according to records and reports.
Tara Arnold was killed when the plane registered to her husband Kurt Arnold’s personal-injury firm — Arnold & Itkin Law — crashed Sunday evening in Bangor, Maine. Arnold & Itkin LLP
The plane was registered to Tara’s husband Kurt Arnold’s successful personal-injury firm — Arnold & Itkin Law — where she also worked. The other five fatal victims aboard the jet have not yet not publicly identified.
“I am close friends with Kurt and Tara Arnold,” said Lesley Briones, a local Texas lawmaker, to WMTW on Monday.
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The twin-engine Bombardier Challenger 600 was taking off from a snow-covered runway at Bangor International Airport when it crashed and exploded, killing everyone on board, officials said. @Turbinetraveler/X
“My heart hurts for them and their children and their families,” Briones said. “I worked at Arnold & Itkin for a time and so I know them well. This is just a tragedy and in particular Tara, she is just a phenomenal person, a bold leader and somebody who had a heart of service.”
Jacob Hosmer, a 47-year-old Houston-area pilot who was the captain of the flight, also died during the wreck, his father confirmed to KPRC2.
“He’s in Heaven now with Jesus,” grieving dad Gary Hosmer told the outlet.
Hosmer has been working as a pilot for Arnold and Itkin since May 2025. He has held previous positions with Wing Aviation, Apollo Aviation and Priester Aviation, all of which frequently run private charter jets, according to his LinkedIn.
Friends of Hosmer described him as a loving and kind father and husband.
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“I would describe him as a great pilot, a loving husband, and a phenomenal father,” a longtime friend told the outlet.
“He was always kind. He was always laughing.”
The plane — a twin-engine Bombardier Challenger 600, which can seat up to 11 people — was taking off from a snow-covered runway at Bangor International Airport around 7:45 p.m. when it crashed back into the runway and exploded, killing everyone on board, officials said.
A moment before take-off, a voice was eerily heard over the flight’s radio communications saying, “Let there be light,” although it’s unclear what that meant.
“All traffic is stopped on the field!” an air-traffic controller then quickly shouted.
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“Aircraft upside down, we have a passenger aircraft upside down,” a controller added as emergency crews rushed to the wreck.
Arnold was part of a prominent Texas family known for multimillion-dollar donations to Lone Star State Republican causes, as well as to the Texas Longhorns football program. LinkedInThe crash occurred as Winter Storm Fern was battering Maine and much of the East Coast. FAA
Kurt Arnold and his law partner Jason Itkin — as well as both their wives — were known to make multimillion-dollar donations to Lone Star State Republican causes, as well as to such things as the Texas Longhorns football program, which they pledged $40 million to.
Tara, a Louisiana native, worked at the firm, specializing in offshore workplace injuries after graduating with high honors from Tulane Law School.
She and her husband and kids lived together in an $11 million Houston home.
The doomed jet’s flight had landed in Bangor around 6 p.m. for apparent refueling after taking off from Houston and then was taking off again in the blizzard en route to Paris when the tragedy struck, KHOU reported.
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The Arnolds with their children. KNOWAutism FoundationKurt and Tara Arnold with Kisha and Jason Itkin. Kurt and Jason founded the Arnold and Itkin Law Firm. Arnold & Itkin LLP
It remains unclear what role the ongoing Winter Storm Fern may have played in the wreck.
Several other planes were taking off before the wreck, but the airport was also de-icing aircraft waiting on the tarmac — and it remains unclear whether the ill-fated jet had been a part of those procedures.
It remains unclear what role the ongoing Winter Storm Fern may have played in the wreck.
Several other planes were taking off before the wreck, but the airport was also de-icing aircraft waiting on the tarmac.
The private jet had landed in Maine just after 6 p.m. after departing Houston, and had been sitting in the cold since then — and it remains unclear whether it had been a part of the de-icing procedures.
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Bombardier Challenger 600s have had a history of takeoff troubles during inclement cold-weather takeoffs — with small ice accumulations being known to affect the craft, according to aviation consultant Jeff Guzzetti.
“Given the weather conditions at the time and the history of wind contamination with this particular aircraft, I’m sure that’s something the NTSB is going to look into immediately,” he said.
“If there was any kind of precipitation at all, freezing precipitation, they would have needed to clean off those wings before they took off,” Guzzetti added.
The wreck left the airport closed, and it is not expected to reopen until Wednesday.
Two people speed down the toboggan chute at the Snow Bowl in Camden. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)
With great powder comes great responsibility.
The folks who run Maine’s ski areas seem to understand that. They have these beautiful hills with scenic vistas, state-of-the-art snow machines, groomed trails, warming huts and everything else you need for winter fun.
And while skiing is the main reason these places were built, the folks who run them want to share them (usually for a price) with all the non-skiers, too. All around Maine you can find ski areas that also offer tubing, tobogganing, snowshoeing, ice skating or fat tire biking.
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Here’s a list of places where a non-skier can enjoy the powder as much as anyone else.
The Iglu lounge at Sunday River. (Photo courtesy Lone Spruce)
The Edge Tubing Park at Black Mountain is now open for the winter. There are two 500-foot-long chutes for the tubes, and a lift to bring people and their tubes back up to the top. The tubing park is usually open on selected Wednesdays, Saturdays, Sundays and school vacations. Tickets are $25, tube included, and there’s no time limit. You can come and ride all day.
The Jack Williams Toboggan Chute at the Camden Snow Bowl in Camden is a one-of-a kind attraction. First built in 1936, it’s a 70-foot-high and 400-foot-long wooden chute that sends tobogganers speeding through the trees at up to 40 miles an hour and onto frozen Hosmer Pond. The chute is open most Saturdays and Sundays in winter, after the U.S. Toboggan National Championships (Feb. 6-8). It costs $10 an hour per person, toboggan included. The Snow Bowl also has a 500-foot-long tubing hill, besides ski slopes. There’s a lift to carry you and your tube back up to the top. The cost is $15 per person, for an hour.
A toboggan heads down the chute at Camden Snow Bowl. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)
While your friends are skiing or snowboarding at Lost Valley, you could be showshoeing. Passes for snowshoe trails at Lost Valley are $6 and snowshoe rentals are $18. A map on the Lost Valley website shows a half-dozen or so trails winding around and at the base of the ski area.
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This ski area near Bangor features a 600-foot tubing hill, with a slightly U-shaped slope. It’s usually open from Feb. 1, with hours every day but Monday, although it’s sometimes open on holidays, as it was on MLK Day this year, which was a Monday. Tickets are $20 per person and there’s a lift so you don’t have to trudge back up the hill when your ride is over.
The skating rink is free at Pineland Farms in New Gloucester. (Photo by Gretchen Layman)
Not strictly a ski area, but Pineland Farms offers 18 miles of groomed trials over gently sloping hills for Nordic skiing. But it’s really become a winter fun hub, with lots of other things to do, including sledding, ice skating, snowshoeing, fat tire biking and even a disc golf course that’s open in winter. The flooded skating area is lit up at night, and, along with the sledding hill, are both free to the public. The disc golf course is $8 to $10 a round or $10 to $12 for all-day play, plus $2 for disc rentals. Showshoe passes are $9 for a half day and $12 for a full day, while a fat tire bike pass is $5 a day. For rental information call 207-688-4539.
The Rangeley Lakes Trails Center, while not officially part of Saddleback, is nestled at the base of the mountain. So if you have friends skiing at Saddleback, it would be very easy for you to take advantage of the snowshoeing or fat tire biking at the trails center. The trails have stunning views of the Saddleback range and beyond. Snowshoe day passes are $10 to $15 while a fat bike pass is $10. Snowshoe rentals are $12 to $18 while fat tire bike rentals are $50 for half day or $75 for a full day, trail pass included.
The sledding hill is free at Pineland Farms in New Gloucester. (Photo courtesy of Pineland Farms)
This major ski resort in the state’s western mountains offers snowshoeing and ice skating at its Outdoor Center. All the trails, and the rink, have beautiful views. Skating is at an outdoor, NHL-sized rink, open daily from December through mid-March, weather permitting. Rink passes are $5 (children) to $15, while skate rentals range from $5 to $13. Snowshoe trail passes are $6 (children) to $21, while snowshoe rentals range from $11 to $22.
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Inside the Iglu at Sunday River. (Photo courtesy Lone Spruce)
The Iglu at Sunday River is a slopeside lounge, carved into a giant igloo made of snow and ice. It’s open daily from 10 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., and is definitely a different place to have a drink. People can ski in or take a shuttle to get there. There are sweets, drinks and music.
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The Iglu lounge at Sunday River. (Photo courtesy Lone Spruce) 
” data-image-caption=”<p>A toboggan heads down the chute at Camden Snow Bowl. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)
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A toboggan heads down the chute at Camden Snow Bowl. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)
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The skating rink is free at Pineland Farms in New Gloucester. (Photo by Gretchen Layman)
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The sledding hill is free at Pineland Farms in New Gloucester. (Photo courtesy of Pineland Farms) 
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Inside the Iglu at Sunday River. (Photo courtesy Lone Spruce) 
