#Penobscot County

[conandaily2022]

Etna, Maine's Michael Bowden sends photo to Walmart employee via Snapchat

Michael Bowden, 18, of Etna, Penobscot County, Maine, United States attended Nokomis Regional Middle/High School in Newport, Penobscot County. He worked at the Walmart store in Palmyra, Somerset County, Maine but his employment was terminated in 2021. On May 29, 2023, Bowden took to Facebook to share a photo of himself and another man. They are both wearing a Walmart uniform. On October 25,…

[jadafitch]

Deer Isle Thorofare Light with nesting bald eagles. Located on Mark Island, which is also a wildlife refuge, maintained by the Island Heritage Trust.

[emperornorton47]

Observatory

[bigfootbeat]

These Are the 9 Maine Counties Where Bigfoot Has Been Spotted

Which Counties Have Had Reports of Bigfoot?

Aroostook County - 1 sighting - 2023

Waldo County - 1 sighting - 2016

Cumberland County - 1 sighting - 1973

Piscataquis County - 1 sighting - 1970

Hancock County - 2 sightings - 2020, 1996 or 1997

Penobscot County - 2 sightings - 2020, 1973 or 1974

Androscoggin County - 2 sightings - 1999, 1986

York County - 4 sightings - 2017, 2016, 1985, 1974

Oxford County - 5 sightings - 2022, 2020, 2016, 2001, 1998

Read More: These Are the 9 Maine Counties Where Bigfoot Has Been Spotted | https://wjbq.com/bigfoot-maine-reports-sightings-counties/?utm_source=tsmclip&utm_medium=referral

[drafty-castle]

As someone who lived in Penobscot county for a year and got really into the history of the land and people due to supporting land back, this is really interesting! Like how the katana is made of many folds to strengthen it due to being made of inferior metal, the Penobscot and Micmac made bows of many arms with weaker wood to prevent them from snapping under the weight of the draw. Like a compound bow but more epic. So amazing.

[skaruresonic]

Lakeside

Summary:

James Sunderland doesn't remember why he'd driven his car into the lake. He can't explain why he was rescued, or what led to his decision, but he clings to the hope that someone will help him piece it together before hell freezes over. Douglas Cartland swore he'd never set foot in that godforsaken town again. That vow gets tested when Toluca Lake begins freezing in the middle of summer, against all logic and reason, and resurrects the drowned man he'd given up for dead.

Or, "Nature is healing. Hell is freezing over."

Prologue - Tumblr / AO3 Chapter One - Tumblr / AO3

---

2.

"Power has been out to the South Vale area for a little over forty-eight hours now. Line workers are doing what they can to remedy the situation, although experts predict with the extent of the damage caused by the ice that it will be at least a week before services can be fully restored.

"Please, if you live in the area and have the ability, you are urged to move inland. Penobscot and Orono counties are pooling their resources to help the displaced find temporary lodgings, in addition to sending out crew to aid line workers.

"If you reside within South Vale, we strongly advise you to remain indoors and keep your home insulated. Wear layers when you leave. Acquaint yourself with the warning signs of hypothermia. Keep exposure to a minimum, especially for children and pets.

"Do not report outages to Pleasant River. They are well aware of the situation, as their phone lines are currently flooded.

"This channel will run numbers for relief services throughout the afternoon."

"Must be nice," mutters a sweaty mechanic.

Douglas Cartland would prefer to believe his biggest problem at the moment is replacing his brakes. Damned things screech like banshees due to worn pads grinding against the rotor: a necessary tune-up he's been neglecting for the better part of a month. And that's if they don't find anything else wrong. When all's said and done, he'll be staring down the barrel of over three hundred.

He supposes if he were smarter, he'd put that money to work on a lease. Call him a sap, he's not ready to put the Chrysler out to pasture just yet. Can't be assed to navigate the moods of a new car when he's grown used to the demands of the old.

His mundane concerns form a feeble shield against the background radiation threatening to seep in. A small black-and-white television flickers in the corner. Whispering gossips have flocked around it.

After yet another failed attempt to keep his knee from bouncing, he gets up and asks Lou where he can find the nearest payphone.

"Making arrangements, Doug?"

"Trying to. How long you think it'll be?"

"Ah," the mechanic says, wiping a hand across his brow. "I don't know, man. Your brakes are almost dust." He knows. He's been relying on his emergency brakes to the point of near-illegality. Lou frowns. "Why, you need a cab?"

Douglas shakes his head, equal parts touched by the man's concern and irritated that he still seems strapped after all this time. "Be faster to take the bus."

"Hey, I'm sorry about that, really. Any other day—"

"You got enough on your plate. I'll be back for her tomorrow."

"Yeah." Lou cranes his neck, vaguely drawn toward the television. "Hopefully the crowd'll have thinned out a little by then."

"Hopefully."

"Doug?" Lugnuts screech. Following the pause, he wags an oil-smudged hand. "Never mind. Have a good one."

---

"Don't say it." Her voice burns a crisp live wire along the coil, and he swears he can smell smoke curling up from the receiver's greasy plastic casing. "You say, 'Turn on the news,' and I swear to every god I don't believe in I'm hanging up this phone."

"I'm not calling about that," and he lays down the syllables as gently as he can, "Heather."

Remember the terms of contract: Cheryl when she's in a cooperative mood, Heather for everything else. Some part of him will always default to Heather, however. Nostalgia or force of habit, he can't say.

"Yeah, because you're so fascinated by my glamorous life. The riveting tales of slumming it in downtown Orono."

"How's the job been treating you?"

"It's a job."

"Staying cool?"

"Our AC's busted and the landlord won't fix it. You figure it out."

"What about your, uh," he wheels a wrist, pointedly avoiding a hard mound of gum stuck to the wall, "what'd you call 'em again?"

"Spider plants." Static crackle. "Dead. All three of them."

"Shame."

"Don't be. They cut up your hands." He knows, too well, the steady blow of her breath is a practiced art. "Listen, Douglas, I gotta go to work or they're gonna jump down my throat again. Either pull the trigger and get this over with, or don't bother."

"I just called to say take care of yourself."

Silence. Stretched long, stretched thin.

"You, too." Although he misses Heather something terrible, this Cheryl has got her moments. "Go to the movies. Buy yourself an ice cream cone or something."

Not a bad idea. "What do you feel about playing hooky?"

"What, from my slave job? No, they've got me booked for the next twenty years. Said I'll never see the sun again. Really sad."

A twinge of pride, mixed with bittersweetness. "Doesn't have to be today. Tomorrow works, too."

"You're... really freaked out, aren't you?"

A rough sigh heaves out of him and he runs a hand through the scant hair he has left. "Jury's still thinking about it."

---

Truth be told, they both went a little mad in the aftermath. He fell down the rabbit hole watching her struggle against a court that believed, not without due cause, that the blood painted on her vest and the sulfur in her hair pointed to a motive of arson.

How the hell could they think I murdered my father? For money? What money? He was a freelancer, for Christ's sake! Idiots, all of them!

In some ways it was easier, grappling with the chaos of the inexplicable than the more familiar structures of the manmade. You could be forgiven a lack of words in the former.

Cheryl sensed his reluctance to speak. That was when the first fissure took root.

Douglas, aren't you on my side?

I'm always on your side.

Then why won't you say anything? Tell them I did nothing wrong.

It was better if he didn't. Too much damned them already. I can't. Not because he didn't want to, but because The evidence—

Screw the evidence! It's crap! You know it's crap!

It's not on our side, Heather.

Seeing little other option, she ran. From hospitals and social services, clinics, courts. From him. For weeks at a time, she disappeared.

After the cops brought her home for the third time that month, he stared into her bloodshot eyes while the intervening officer gripped her upper arm. She wavered a little, unsteady on her scuffed knees. Heineken wafted on her breath. Park again. She went there to sit on the swings.

I'm almost eighteen, she used to argue.

Almost.

They regarded each other in mutual misery.

Say what you always do. She trudged past him toward the couch. Nothing.

Instead, he did something equally drastic. Reached under his bed, pulled out the cardboard box tucked in the farthest corner. Packed his notebook, the newspaper articles, clippings carefully curated, and the papers Heather had collected, including handwritten letters of complaint detailing Vincent's extortion and simony.

Possessed by some burning impulse, he drove to the station, dropped the box onto the chief's desk and gave them the yarn of their lives. Harry Mason was an excommunicated cult member, he blurted before his conscience could pursue, who fled with his daughter when he realized they were going to do to her what they did to Alessa Gillespie.

Cartland, what—

That's why he shot the intruder. Why he ran. He never stopped. Hell, they've been funding this manhunt for years. Look at the papers. They're all out of their goddamned minds.

(The words poured out of him, words that always died in transit from silence to sound, calcified into something perceivable, graspable.)

Harry entered witness protection, but it wasn't enough. The cult tried to lure Cheryl in again, but this time, they decided to take revenge first.

(Whispers of ghosts, screaming indecipherable white noise.)

Stabbed Harry while he slept in his chair and made a failed attempt to cover up the murder with arson. The very flames they intended to immolate Cheryl, extinguished by their own cowardice.

(Asking forgiveness, not of the God whose existence he doubted, but of Harry, whose gentle hand he felt on his shoulder, and of Heather, whose eyes he knew would burn with righteous fury.)

Cheryl's clothes bore Harry's blood because she found him dead after a trip to the mall, and she mourned the body. I know this because I escorted her home.

Yes, sir, I was on the scene. I managed to help get her out.

Christ. That poor girl.

Hammering the last nail into the coffin, he showed them a page torn from Claudia's diary.

Alessa, my sister, dearest one. Why did you choose such stubborn flesh? If only the newborn fool would open her eyes...

"Just my luck," Heather said. "Both you and my dad are liars."

The door slam still echoes faintly in his mind.

Regardless, time meandered on in its usual manner. She moved unceremoniously into an apartment on Mill Street while he stayed behind and received, with a great deal of remorse, minor celebrity status.

The force offered him an office, which he refused. All I need's my car.

One morning, out the door on his way to a meeting, he found an unadorned package on his doorstep. Inside was a Nokia phone with a phone book attached. On top, a bar napkin written in ballpoint pen:

Guess you don't really need the phone booth anymore, Superman.

---

His knee twinges on the walk to the bus station. Ever since it got broken, the bone hasn't healed quite right. Physical therapy suggested a cane he declined on the grounds of pride as well as a shoestring budget.

Can only afford to fix one thing at a time, went his reasoning, and between me and the car, I'm picking the car. At least she ferried us to town and back. My bum leg, on the other hand, just slowed me down.

Does the stereotypical old man thing, too: aches right before it rains. Since it's only grumbling a little, he's confident the day's dry sunniness will hold.

Still, the reprieve of a bench is a welcome sight. He takes the opportunity to massage some feeling back into his knee.

The presence of another human-shaped being glimpsed in his periphery spurs a mindless bout of small talk. "Gonna be another hot one today, huh?"

The only other patron seated at the far opposite end is a gaunt man clutching a wadded-up jacket in his lap. Graffiti and colorful posters advertising a concert long expired scream against his profile.

Douglas' initial impression sums him up as a homeless man, a tragic yet common sight around Orono. That's before the odor reaches his nostrils.

A powerful reek of mildew radiates outward, like the perspiration of an old aquarium. It almost pulses through the air, the effect of which causes nearby pedestrians to accelerate their pace. Heedless, the man remains impassive, gaze fixed on the ground.

The thing that now strikes Douglas is his utter quiescence in contrast to the smell. Most would fidget in this heat - and indeed, the heat bakes the smell into an acrid rancidity - but the stillness with which he holds himself borders on unnatural. The only sign of life, really, is the pull of his chest, and even that commences with a mechanical automation.

Douglas notices a translucence of complexion, bloodless gray, as if the flesh has been deprived of circulation. Stippled in small cuts, gashes, bruises. His hair, bleached slightly green by... chlorine? And, God, that awful rotting smell.

The plastic beneath him creaks as he straightens.

Perhaps it's because they've been simmering in the back of his mind since the news began covering the town, but the notion occurs to him that this man may be running from the Order. It would go some length to explain the cuts, the deteriorated, waterlogged clothing, why no passerby offer loose change. Another failed experiment, maybe. But he knows his conjecture is colored by personal bias, and guessing blindly doesn't help anyone.

Even so, that stubborn instinct to seek answers streaks through him, checked by the reins of caution. He turns. The motion prompts the mildest reflex, an oblique slide of a rheumy green eye promptly interrupted by the hiss of the bus pulling up to the curb.

The man rises, and walks so softly toward the doors it's as though he fears waking a sleeping lion.

He doesn't look at anything except the curb. "Do you," frog's croak, "go to Nor—"

"North Ashfield? No. You want the bus on Crosby and Park."

The man stands, jacket clutched to chest, without reply. The driver might as well be talking to thin air.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs to the concrete. "I just—"

"This route doesn't go to North Ashfield." The driver employs a louder, brusquer tone amidst the engine's purring, one hand clutched to the lever. "You're going to have to go to the other side of town and transfer to another bus."

"Son." Douglas' throat tightens. Though he can't explain why, the same incipient gooseflesh now rises on his nape as when he pulled the box out of its enclosure. He doesn't seize this opportunity, chance may never revisit. "Get on."

[beardedmrbean]

A Maine woman accused of gunning down her boyfriend in a frantic 4:30 a.m. prank gone wrong last month can be heard screaming in the horrific aftermath on a doorbell camera through an open window, according to a new report.

Olivia Babin, 20, faces a charge of negligent manslaughter in the death of Daniel Ford-Coates, 24, whom authorities say died of a point-blank gunshot wound to the forehead in Bangor on April 2.

"Oh, don't think I will?" Babin is accused of saying before pulling the trigger.

Newly unveiled Nest doorbell video obtained by the New York Post allegedly contains audio of the suspected killer repeatedly screaming at the mortally wounded victim, "You're not dead!"

"Oh, f---," a witness can reportedly be heard saying, as Babin allegedly asked what to do.

Babin allegedly ditched the gun in a river, changed her clothes and then called 911. Prosecutors in court last month accused her of giving responding officers a false version of events – which witnesses and the video have contradicted.

A friend of the couple told police that Babin took her boyfriend's gun and removed the magazine, according to local media.

BODYCAM CAPTURES MOMENT HERO FIRST RESPONDERS SAVE 11-MONTH-OLD BABY'S LIFE AS DEADBEAT DAD FACES CHARGES

he allegedly wanted to "scare" women in the downstairs apartment during the 4 a.m. incident, the Bangor Daily News reported, citing prosecutors.

But there was a round in the chamber, and Babin allegedly jokingly held the barrel to her boyfriend's forehead and pulled the trigger.

The autopsy found contact burns on his skin, according to the paper. His death was ruled a homicide.

The group had allegedly been using drugs and alcohol before the slaying.

The suspect is being held on $100,000 bail at the Penobscot County Jail.

She's due back in court on June 10.

[bingwallpapers]

Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument, Penobscot County, Maine (© Cavan Images/Alamy)

[goalhofer]

Penobscot County, Maine on a map.

[culdesacbot1]

Brewer, Penobscot County, ME, USA 44.8093, -68.7289

[jadafitch]

Saddleback Ledge Light, Isle au Haut Bay, Maine. The lighthouse's first keeper, Watson Hopkins, lived in the tower with his wife and seven (later eight) children. The tower contained a living room with a stove, two bedrooms and a cellar, and the ledge is about a quarter of an acre at high tide. According to a 1842 report, he was miserable.

[emperornorton47]

Bucksport and the Penobscot Bay from Fort Knox

[newenglandsept2023]

Day 3, Thursday, Sept 7: Conway, NH to Camden, Maine (201 km ) to Portsmouth, NH (414 km).

I start the day heading east toward Maine, and within 15 km, I'm there, crossing the border at Fryeburg.

Maine is a gorgeous state that reminds me of Northern Ontario, lots of rolling hills, and pretty small lakes. It's green and beautiful, the people are positive and friendly, and the roads are dotted with small towns and are a dream to ride.

Due to the back road reduced speed limits and the numerous small towns, it takes me all morning to ride the 201 km to Camden. But what a ride. Here are some of the towns I pass: Poland, South China, Auburn, Newcastle, Manchester, Leeds, Hope, Rockland, and Norway. And check the photos, I think I may have found Waldo.

And check the photos again. I have to make a special mention of Augusta (pop 18,900). Augusta is the easternmost state capital in the United States and the third smallest state capital in the country. Located on the Kennebec River at the head of tide, it is the home to the University of Maine, the domed Maine Statehouse, and historic Fort Western, one of the oldest wooden garrisons in America dating back to 1754.

My awe of Augusta is matched in Camden. Perched overlooking Penobscot Bay, it is a resort town in Knox County, with a population only 5,232 that more than triples during the summer months due to tourists and summer residents. It's a beautiful spot on par with Bar Harbor, Nantucket, and North Haven.

I eat lunch overlooking the harbour, then turn my bike SW to head for Portsmouth NH. Again, the 213 km ride takes me all afternoon, but the roads, the scenery, and the small towns are worth it. Check the photos for some of the classic, New England homes.

I arrive at my hotel around dinner time and launch into what is now my standard routine: gas up and wash the bike, check into my room and unpack, check if the pool is open (almost always no), take a shower and head out for dinner. I've promised to cut back on the meat and eat some fruit, vegetables, and salad, so that's what's on the menu tonight - that and my stand-by, a tall glass of cold local beer.

I check the bike on the way back home and settle in to write my blog. By the time I finish, it's generally time to read for a bit, then hit the sack.

[conandaily2022]

Maine AG Aaron Frey files civil rights enforcement action against Port St. Lucie, Florida's Vicki Lush

Born and raised in Dixmont, Penobscot County, Maine, United States, Aaron M. Frey, 43, was served as a Democratic representative in the Maine House of Representatives from December 3, 2014 to December 5, 2018. He has been serving as the 58th attorney general of Maine since January 2, 2019.

[statesandcounties]

A fatal incident in Hermon claimed the life of 22-year-old Matthew Sforza.. Over the weekend, tragedy struck in Hermon as a fatal crash claimed the life of a man. The Penobscot County Sheriff's Office has released the name of the victim, Matthew Sforza. The incident occurred on March 6th and involved a single vehicle. It is unclear at this time what may have caused the crash. Sforza's death is a heartbreaking loss for his family and friends, and the community as a whole. The aftermath of a fatal accident is a difficult time, and the loved ones left behind will undoubtedly be struggling to ... Read More. https://statesandcounties.com/2023/03/22/the-hermon-accident-claimed-the-life-of-matthew-sforza-who-was-only-22-years-old/?feed_id=21018&_unique_id=649bdfc5be781

[college-girl199328]

The deadline for paying property tax bills in New Brunswick is next month. For thousands of homeowners coping with a second straight year of assessment increases, costs are up again.

The group hasn't been handed an assessment increase in 30 years, including again this year, as their share of the property tax burden in New Brunswick. Dale Firlotte, a paramedic who lives in the recently created New Brunswick municipality of Cap-Acadie, south of Shediac, has come to dread the arrival of his assessment notice and property tax bill.

"It'll be like death by a thousand cuts, slowly increasing until we're priced out of our house," he said. Firlottte has lived in the same two-bedroom home with his family since 2010, and, based solely on changes in local real estate markets, the assessment on it has risen 89.5 percent over the past two years.

Tax bills cannot increase by more than 10 percent per year. He faces a series of annual assessments of 10 percent until, at least, the tax he pays on his house catches up to its escalating.

Barring future tax rate cuts by Cap-Acadie, Firlotte's tax bill is expected to hit $3,000, up from less than $1,600 in 2020. "That sort of shocked us quite a bit because it's almost double what we were paying a couple years prior," said Firlotte. "And if the markets in the area keep going up, then so will each assessment."

The municipality's single property is a 71.5-square-kilometer forest owned by J.D. Irving Ltd. The property is assessed and taxed at $711,700, which hasn't changed since 1993.

Unlike most jurisdictions and all other residential and business properties in the province, assessments on forests in New Brunswick are not allowed to rise as their value increases.

Instead, assessments are set at a fixed amount by the province and can only be changed by an act of the legislature. In May 1993, the former government of Frank McKenna set the assessed value of timberland in New Brunswick at $100 per hectare. It has remained at that amount for the last 30 years.

That's not the case in most other jurisdictions, including across the border in Maine, where forests are assessed based on their changing values.

"Property taxes are assessed annually," Sharon Huntley, the director of communications for Maine's Department of Administrative and Financial Services, said in an email.

"They are assessed by either the municipality where the property is located or the state." It's a natural comparison because New Brunswick forest companies J.D. Irving Ltd. and Acadian Timber Corp. are two of the largest owners of 640,000 hectares of timberland between them. They also own a million hectares in New Brunswick.

Last year, they received two-faced valuations of $100 per hectare on their New Brunswick woodlands. But, in Maine, assessed values on forest properties range between $330 and $1,500 per hectare. Amounts depend on a forest's location and whether it is a softwood or hardwood forest or a combination of the two.

Most of the timberland JD Irving and Acadian Timber own in Maine is in Aroostook and Penobscot counties. The forests in those counties are at the lower end of Maine's property assessment ranges, and the two have relatively low tax rates.

Still, records published by Maine Revenue Services show the two companies paid an average of more than $4,000 per 1,000 hectares in 2022 on forest land they owned in the state. In New Brunswick, they produce, on average, less than $2,000 per 1,000 hectares.

In Cap-Acadie this year, J.D. Irving Ltd. is being taxed $1,648 per 1,000 hectares on its forest property; Irving Ltd. did not respond to a request for comment about those tax differences.

There are an estimated 2.8 million hectares of privately owned forest in New Brunswick, an area nearly five times the size of Prince Edward Island.

Much of that forest is in remote areas. In the past, most of the property tax collected on it went to the province, which created multiple new municipal governments like Cap-Acadie. Many now encompass large areas of that timberland as part of their local tax bases.

New Brunswick Premier Blaine Higgs spoke several times about the need for property taxation inside municipalities to be seen as fair by residents as "a must" in the 2020 provincial election leaders forum and earlier when he was opposition leader.

"We need to understand that our taxation is fair," said Higgs during a 2017 interview about how it has to be fair across the board to interview New Brunswick Finance Minister Ernie Steeves or Local Government Minister Daniel Allain about how forestry properties are assessed and taxed in New Brunswick.

However, in an email, the province said its lower assessments of forest properties are fair because the value of the trees they contain is excluded from the taxable amount.

"They are a crop," says Jennifer Vienneau, the communications director for Service New Brunswick, and the province assesses forests like it does farmland.

Trees are assessed "no more so than potatoes, carrots, or broccoli," which are also acknowledged; the assessment amount used by New Brunswick is meant to keep taxes owed on forest properties "lower" than they would be otherwise.

However, the province offered no deeper explanation about why an assessed value considered fair in 1993 has not changed in 30 years, given the 80 percent inflation rate in New Brunswick and the fact that most other property owners have had to face higher amounts.