Puckahbrush Gore

livin’ off the grid…

Not too far from the clam flats and lobster grounds of Mud Clam Cove on the coast of Maine, about halfway between the Cove and the farm village of Fannyflame, is a tiny block of land that doesn’t really belong to nobody. My name is Clarence T. Bungwistle and I lived there for a spell, long time ago. They called it Puckahbrush.

When they shot the lines with a compass and a bit o’ head scratchin’ back in the old days after the Revolution, sometimes they got a hiccup or something like that, and when the lines got drawn out on paper they ended up with these little patches of nowhere. They call ‘em “gores”, and Maine’s got a few of ‘em. Puckahbrush was one of ‘em.

Clem's store-01-27JUL-900x546

Off and on, folks have lived there, but I don’t think the population has ever hit more than twenty people or so. Couple o’ farmin’ families that have been there forever. One store at the four corners with a couple o’ gas pumps, though they usually don’t have any gas to sell. Inside there’s a lunch counter with four stools in front of it, right next to a closet owner Clement Leech turned into a Post Office run by his brother Forrest. Down by the curtain that covers the entrance to “The Back” is a shelf with some cheap wine, a few dusty bott’ls of hard liquor, and a cooler where the beer is kept. You can buy canned goods and some fresh vegetables, bread, candy, and tobacco products there too. The locals mostly just go there to socialize and drink coffee at the lunch counter, or at the picnic table out in the dooryard when the weather’s nice and the black flies are busy doin’ something else.

 

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