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OK, so the “name-the-cow-and-oar-on-the-roof-of-the-lobster-shack-photo” contest is over. Actually, to be precise, it was over in the middle of last night, at 12:01 AM.  

The number of entries was so small that I almost hesitate to end the contest, but I have a feeling that extending it won’t encourage any additional entries, so why keep the suspense going? After all, I wouldn’t want any of you to keel over from sheer excitement. That wouldn’t do. There are so few of you dear, loyal readers already, if you started keeling over, where would I be with my lonely little blog and no readers?

So without further ado….


Honorable Mention goes to Rhonda Berg who, while she had no entry for naming the photo, had the best explanation for why the oar and the cow on the shack, which I will kindly reproduce for you here instead of inserting another annoying link back to the original post (one per post is probably enough, but don’t hold me to it):  

“Why the cow? Clearly, if I need to tell you which shack is my shack…well, it’s the one with the cow on it! The oar? That worked at first until all the shacks got oars!”

I think I love Rhonda. She gets it. And therefore is most likely a Mainer.

Moving on with the prize distribution:

Last Place goes to Dublin16 for her entry “Bob,” pronounced “Bahb” if done properly with a Mainer twang. Dublin is fortunate there were so few entries.

Third Place goes to Nancy J. for “High Beef.” Pronounced “High Beef.” I already love Nancy, she’s been a pal for almost 20 years (yikes!).

Second Place goes to Rochelle for “Steak Oar Lobster” because both the oar and the cow figure in her entry.  Rochelle is one determined lady and she was going to win at all costs.

Luckily for you all, I’m afraid of the sight of blood, soooo (drum roll please………)



"Oar steak is on the house"

"Oar steak is on the house"

ROCHELLE!!!!!!!! (Cue marching band, ticker tape parade, Miss America waving from the rear of a pink convertible…..)

Hey! I SAID CUE THE…..what? Someone goofed? No band, no parade, no Miss America? I’m furious. Apparently if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.  

Folks, I apologize. Unfortunately, I am informed that due to a slight budget miscalculation, there will be no marching band, no ticker-tape parade, and no Miss America waving from the rear of a pink convertible.

Next time we’ll try to work out those kinks ahead of time. Of course I might be inclined to increase the budget a tad if more of you cared to add your comments to my posts. How else would I know that you are out there?




OK, there really is no correct answer. This “building” is a lobster shack at the local port, the cow is plastic (at any rate it wasn’t mooing at the time) and the oar is there for….what? Effect? Steering? Not a clue. Since I’m such a crappy photographer I didn’t know that I should have gotten more of the surroundings into the shot for scale and context so I’ll have to spell it out for you: This shack – which is about the size of your average single outhouse – without the front porch – was completely surrounded by 15 foot tall stacks of interlocking pier parts that had been hauled out of the water for the winter along with a whole mess of lobster traps and buoys.

Heh, buoys. That word always makes me break out in peals of laughter, I don’t know why.

OK, moving forward: I cannot find the words to describe for you the putrid stench of rotting seaweed, urchins, lichen, lobster, lobster poo and god only knows what else (wait, maybe it WAS an outhouse. For cows? Like, “Gents,” “Ladies,” “Cows?”) coming of of those pier parts. By the way, not bad for a cell phone shot, huh?  

Sadly, the cow, the shack and the interlocking piers no longer exist (ah, gentrification development in the name of greed progress, so sad), so those of you planning a pilgrimage, stop packing now. The smell still lingers, however, like a ghost, unwilling to leave for its journey to the so-called Other Side.

I feel terrible (not) that I cannot provide you all with an explanation of how and why this particular cow came to be up there on that particular roof or what purpose it served or what it symbolized, or how it survived the brutal Maine winter gales coming off the water. So, to placate my readers and avoid having to face what would surely be an angry torch-bearing crowd a la Frankenstein, how about a naming contest? I’ll leave the contest open for a week, ending at 12:01 AM EST on next Tuesday 1/27/09. Winning entry will be posted below after the deadline, as soon as I get around to it. Entries received after the deadline will be ignored. Unless I really, really like it. Because here, in my own little world, I am the law. Enter as many times as you like, one entry per comment (tricky aren’t I?). Only entries submitted as comments to this post will be considered. Since I am the sole judge and I am a merciless god on my own blog, there will be no disputing the arbitrariness of the rules, or the choice of winning caption. The entry with the best caption for this photograph gets…..the satisfaction of knowing they are the cleverest among the 2.5 of you that aren’t too chicken to actually show their avatars and leave a comment – and me.

Good luck to you all!

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