Bowdoin beer

Bowdoin Beer. Who knew?

But since inquiring minds (like mine) wanted to know, I Googled. And there it was, lo and behold.

Will wonders never cease re this quaint little Maine hamlet they call Bowdoin?

I mean c’mon, a beer named Bowdoin. How cool is that? Of course, it was (yeah, it’s defunct) brewed on foreign soil (Star Brewing Co. in Boston). But what the hay, or hops, or whatever.

Beer me. It’s that time.

Speed trap

Turns out there’s more than meets the eye ’round the Bowdoin Country Store. And that is indeed the problem. Or could be.

What’s this, you say?

A speed trap is set by the Sagadhoc County sheriff some 2 to 3 days a week near the store, in and around the intersection of Meadow Road, Litchfield Road and Route 125.

Yep, I’ve seen him, setting pretty by the side of the road in a big honking white Ford Mustang, Boss Hogg like.

Keep an eye out and keep yer speed down or you is gonna pay.

Gas me up, up and up

Hey, how about that… the Bowdoin Country Store, right there in beautiful downtown Bowdoin, has some of the highest gas prices in the state right now.

I’ll continue to get my coffee and a wicked unhealthy buy mighty delish cheese danish there. But no gas. Unless I were to switch from danish to their hot dogs. Then I might get some gas, self-produced methane, that is. Hot dogs are a poor breakfast choice, I know, but then, so is beer.

Pot o’ gold in my backyard?

We arrived home on Bowdoin turf yesterday evening to find a double rainbow arching across the sky above the backyard treeline. You can’t see the left arch very well, but the right one is pretty good.

I grabbed a beer of course, and wandered out into woods to see if I could find that mythical pot of gold at the rainbow’s end, which sure did appear to be right there on our property.

Nada. Nothing.

When I got back to the house I realized anew that I had already found my pot of gold. She is indeed priceless.

So it goes…

I sure can kill a lot of time with a computer, Internet access, some peace and quiet and a cold beer or two out here in the country. Ahhh, I guess I really am on Bowdoin time.

So this is Bowdoin?!

I live in Bowdoin. Maine, that is. No big whoop, I know, but jeez.

I’ve been here since early spring. My boxes of stuff followed slowly after me, carload by painful carload. So I guess the official date of becoming Bowdoin-ized can be argued. 

Nonetheless, I am here.

How did I get here? How did the city boy end up coming to the country? Twenty years of urban living – tall buildings, apartment dwelling, traffic, noise, crowds. And now this: woods, fields, winding roads, trailers, farms, quiet.

Yep, I’m pretty sure we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto!

Ah, well, this my friends is the story. Or will be. Part of it anyway. The rest, of course, remains to be lived.

Bowdoin it is. Stay tuned.