Vicki Doudera - Realtor, Author, Mainer

This morning finds me looking out a hotel window to palm trees and what looks like a sunny Thursday.  I’ve left the coast of Maine for Florida and the start of the National Association of Realtors newest continuing ed core course:  the Green Designation. 

Like most of us, I’m doing my best to “green” myself and my home.  CFLs now shine instead of traditional lightbulbs; our old farmhouse is getting an energy efficent facelift; and my old Sequoia SUV is a thing of the distant past.  But what about my real estate practice?  Are there ways in which I can become more useful to my clients, my community, and hopefully the planet by becoming more societally conscious, sustainable, and knowledgeable?

After nearly nine hours of classroom time yesterday (with another two days to go) my answer is a resounding yes.  I realize I’ve just dipped my toe in the Green Pond and that I’m not going to become an expert any time soon.  I’m humbled to realize that my carbon footprint is still way too big and that I have alot to learn.  But I’m off to a greener start today, a journey I’ll be pleased to share with you.

It’s the first day of autumn, my favorite season here in Maine. Minutes ago I walked our dogs around the neighborhood and noticed an orange-leafed sugar maple, glowing in the afternoon sun, one of the fist harbingers of this colorful time of year.  Before long, all of the trees will be similarly clad, and the pumpkins that are beginning to be displayed at roadside farm stands will adorn front stoops and walkways.

This September has been unusually chilly.  We’ve had the heat on once or twice, and today I grabbed a jacket on my way out to show property.  There is a definite change in the air, more than just a drop in temperature, but a real awareness that summer is behind us and winter on the way. The light is beautiful: it must be the angle of the sun at this point in the calendar, and everything from the fading goldenrod to the dusty brown-eyed Susans are as crisply defined as the taste of a just-picked Mac.

There is uncertainty in the news, instability in the financial markets, and unease in the political arena, but the change of the seasons is reassuring. The cycle goes on, whether altered by the ozone’s thinning or not, and I am a grateful witness to the graceful appearance of this bountiful, beautiful time of year.

It was always a dream of mine to have a small lakefront home tucked in the woods on some peaceful unpaved road. Ten years ago, the cheerful little structure that you see above came on the market, and my husband and I made an offer. When it was accepted, one of my most cherished dreams came true.

Sounds funny, I know, as most people hear “dream house” and picture a magnificent mansion, outfitted to the max, with sumptuous furnishings and a location to die for. Truthfully, this little abode does have a primo location, as it’s nestled on the shores of a small loon-dotted lake, but its snug 3 bedrooms, 1950’s kitchen, outdoor shower, and seasonal useage are not what many of you might deem “dreamy.”

I think the reason this little cottage (here in Maine we call them “camps”) has such a hold on my heart has to do with all the reasons we love special places — they represent the values we hold important, they fulfill childhood wishes, and they are sanctuaries where we we can truly be our authentic selves.  For me, this small house is all those things. Over the past decade, my family and I spent whole summers, and then, as our kids became teens, as much time as we could, at the camp. We’ve played endless games of poker, LIFE, and RISK; fished for bass at sundown; seen nature in its many forms; lost two boats and a float; and just plain spent unplugged summer time together. It’s the place where my two sons learned that books can be wonderful refuges, where my daughter perfected the art of catching turtles; where my husband and I spent time napping and dreaming in the hammock or gazing from the dock at the calm water.

Not everyone longs to win Megabucks or bring home the gold in the 50 free. Some of us dream about a cozy little place, tucked in the woods, where we can simply be.

You know it’s springtime in this state when you can get out on your bike. Yesterday I did a 30 mile ride out to Warren, Union, and back through Hope and Rockport to Camden. Today’s an even better day — sunny, in the 70’s — but my schedule’s too booked to take two hours off today.

What does this have to do with real estate, you’re wondering?  Well of course I passed lots of interesting properties… beautiful big farms with green fields, peaceful horses, and the smell of just cut grass. But mostly I reveled in the lifestyle that Maine affords… and the rural beauty that surrounds you just about anywhere in this state.

My ride took me out Rt. 90 to Rt. 131 in Warren, taking the meandering 6 mile route to Rt. 17 in Union, then west on 17 until I hit 90 once more. Conditions were perfect:  that is, unless I stopped. The few times I pulled off the road to take a quick drink of water (I’m not always coordinated enough to drink and drive at once) I was instantly found by the scourge of the Maine spring:  BLACK FLIES.  The little beasts were everywhere, swarming around my head and doing their best to navigate into my helmet. Ugh!  Luckily, they only last until mid-June or so.  Here in Maine, we identify black fly season as “Mother’s Day to Father’s Day” and that’s usually right on target.

Despite the black flies, I had a fabulous spring ride. Chirping birds, the buzz of lawnmowers, the myriad shades of green — a real treat. I’m getting myself ready for the Trek Across Maine, a 180-mile ride that winds from Bethel to Belfast. This event takes place June 13-16, and is the largest fundraiser for the American Lung Association of Maine.  I need to raise at least $500.00, so if you’re interested in pledging, feel free to see my pledge page.  Thanks and Healthy Spring, wherever you are!

Right around Valentine’s Day, I drove over the snowy roads to visit friend and client Jeff Cleaveland. Jeff and his wife Cathy moved to Maine from Seattle about two years ago. They bought a new home in a small rural town, got their two young children situated in schools, began making friends and even starting new businesses. (Cathy makes Maine-themed gift baskets.) About a year later, they asked me to send them some land listings, and before long they purchased a nice piece of property just up the road from their home.

When Jeff invited me out for a ski and to see his progress with the land, I eagerly accepted. The snow has been great this year (it’s snowing now as I write this!) and I’m always ready to get out there and play. Plus, I was interested in seeing firsthand Jeff and Cathy’s plans for their 55+ acre property.

Temperatures were in the 20’s but the sun was bright overhead. We followed old stone walls and meandering paths created by Jeff through the woods and past little farmponds.  I was surprised at how varied the terrain:  there are beautiful outcroppings, small meadows, and old orchards with ancient fruit-bearing apple trees. There are high spots and low spots; evergreens and deciduous trees; clearings and areas that are densely vegetated.

Most striking, however, is Jeff’s dedication to managing the land (with an eye to eventually building his own house) in an environmentally friendly manner.  Rather than burning or hauling away the considerable brush, for instance, Jeff runs it through a chipper to return it to the soil. Instead of the constant whine of a chainsaw, Jeff uses hand tools whenever possible, limiting noise and air pollution from the power tool to a mere 10 or so minutes an hour.

There are all kinds of love in the world, and it stands to reason that many of us who live here in Maine share a love for the land. “Thoughts from the Woods” is Jeff’s way of chronicling his journey as a new Mainer. Stop in and see what he has to say.

Can being a Patriots fan change your life? Absolutely.

I was a ten-year-old in the sleepy town of Norfolk, Massachusetts, in 1971, the year Schaeffer Stadium was constructed and the Pats came into my world.

We lived in a mustard yellow split-level in Lafayette Estates, one of the first subdivisions in that then bucolic area. Although we were on a modest one-acre lot, the woods behind us stretched for miles, eventually meeting up with Route 1 in the adjacent town of Foxboro. The woods held deer, fox, moss-covered stone walls, Indian arrowheads, and old carriage trails which my friends and I could follow all the way to the brand new stadium.

And follow them we did.  Going to the see the Patriots play football was pretty exciting, especially since no money was required.  The team was less than stellar (okay, pretty terrible) back then, and no one on those sunny Sundays cared whether you had a ticket or not.  In later years, we had to wait until half-time, but even then it was worth it.  We’d sit on the cold metal benches, watch some fans drink too much beer, and yell our heads off. There were some surprise upsets and many devastating losses, but we always hoped our day would come.

While we traveled to their home turf at Schaeffer, the Patriots ventured onto ours as well, buying homes in our towns, enrolling kids in the schools, and shopping for groceries like everyone else.  Guard John Hannah (now a Hall-of-Famer) sat in the stands to see our high school basketball games. He had the hugest neck I will probably ever see.  Kicker John Smith amused us with his British accent and his efforts to start a soccer program.  Andre Tippett handed out candy on Halloween. These genial athletes were merely going about the business of living their lives, but their very presence added an aura of specialness to our part of the state, a place that, in pre-Patriot days, was known for notorious Walpole prison and not much else.

Personally, I benefited from the team’s omnipresence. I babysat for a few of the Patriot offspring, in particular, the little tykes of Tight End Bob Windsor, our neighbor one house away.  One of the Pats’ all time leading receivers, Windsor played from 1972 to 75, making 74 receptions for a total of 915 yards.  I recall that his wife was pretty, his kids reasonably well-behaved, and the wad of cash he’d give me when I left their identical split-level was slightly more than the going $1 per hour babysitting rate.

I was friends with Susie Schirmer, whose father was one of the Pats’ coordinators, and she and I ran track together.  I’m not sure if it was his influence or not, but our football team played at least once at Schaeffer Stadium — quite the thrill!

Time has passed and both the stadium and the players of my teen years have come and gone. Even the team logo has morphed into what some refer to as the “flying Elvis.” But as the Patriots finish a phenomenal season and head once more to the Superbowl, I’m reminded that the feelings of hometown pride stay just the same.

I’m back from Alabama, where we started with a slab and ended with a nearly finished house… pretty amazing, considering that we worked only 4 days (one being a total washout due to rain).  I’m more impressed than ever with Habitat — the operation in Mobile is huge — 20 houses being built at once — and there are lots of dedicated volunteers who show up throughout the week. We also worked alongside a dozen Americorps volunteers — young twenty-somethings with heart and energy.

I find it fitting on Martin Luther King Jr Day to envision a world where everyone has a decent house to live in, and Habitat for Humanity is taking the steps, one hammer swing at a time, to make that vision a reality.

Here are more photos:

Here’s the first wall, and the house once the roof trusses and sheathing are on…

Here’s yours truly with a fellow Maine realtor doing some framing…

And a few more from my short side trip to downtown historic Mobile. I was amazed at the architecture — everything from Gone-With-the-Wind type mansions to 1930’s bungalows. These girls in their colorful dresses were in Bienville Square, where the Mobile Marathon was concluding.

For brokers, real estate is usually about buying and selling homes, not building them.

But next week I’m off with a group of 19 Maine realtors to hurricane-ravaged Mobile, Alabama, to construct a whole house in a week. That’s right — the challenge of Operation Home Build, a National Association of Realtors Habitat for Humanity trip, is for each state’s realtor association to construct a new dwelling in just five days.

I have an idea of what I’m in for, having done a Habitat trip to Mississippi last year. (See the Making a Difference page to read & see photos about that trip.) I’m packing my tool belt, hammer, and well-worn gloves, and even contemplating the purchase of work boots.  In short, I think I’m ready. 

A new part of the country; new people to meet.  A week “out of my head” and into physical labor.  But what excites me most is the idea that our little group could actually create a home for those who really need it in our brief time in Alabama.  That truly would be sweet, so wish us luck!

   December first was a definite highlight of my Christmas Season and here’s why…  I was Santa’s chauffeur for a good part of the day!  That’s right, I met Santa at an Inn in downtown Camden and drove he and his Elf Ellen to Rockport harbor, where they appeared before throngs of children gathered by Rockport Marine.  After Santa listened to the little tykes’ Christmas wishes, and Ellen handed out about a hundred candy canes, I bundled them back into my car and took the jolly couple to lunch at a local hamburger stand.  (Santa, it turns out, likes large fries and Dr. Pepper!)  We then piled back into my Toyota (lucky thing it is a Christmas-y shade of red!) and buzzed over to Wayfarer Marine, where he and his Elf boarded a festively decorated lobster boat for their trek across the harbor to the Public Landing and more throngs of excited kids.  

What everyone wants to know is, what’s Santa really like?  I discovered that behind those twinkly eyes and snow white beard is the consummate Christmas professional. Even with a To Do list as long as your arm, Santa stays calm, focused, and pleasant. No matter where we were, he waved to all and gave good wishes. Not once did he snap at his Elf or brush a whining kid aside.  Despite temperatures in the 20’s and a wind whipping off the Atlantic, Old St. Nick radiated nothing but warmth.

As you can see from the photo, I’m pretty pleased with the way my December started off. In years to come, it will be hard to top that frosty Saturday when I got to transport the biggest Christmas celeb since Jesus. My name’s in for next year, but in the meantime, maybe the Easter bunny needs a driver?

Yesterday my daughter and I bought a CD of Christmas songs by Maine artists at our local Reny’s store. Turns out that “Christmas in Maine” was produced to celebrate the 20th anniversary of “The Maine Christmas Song” by Con Fullam. The CD includes the original 1987 rendition, as well as a new version by the Windham Chamber Singers, along with a nice mix of traditional and original holiday music.

I’ve heard snippets of “The Maine Christmas Song” before, but never the whole thing, and never this particular recording.  The song is more about the sense of community in Maine than about Christmas per se, but I’ll be honest with you: it moves me to tears. “It’s the spirit of sharing, giving and caring…” goes the refrain, and I challenge you to listen to it and not choke up.  There’s a real truth in the message the lyrics convey — living here is about the little neighborly things people do for one another at all times of the year.

In that spirit, much of the proceeds from the sale of “Christmas in Maine” will benefit the Maine Credit Unions’ Campaign for Ending Hunger in Maine. The CD costs $15, and is available at Maine Credit Union locations, Bull Moose and Mr. Paperback stores, Vogel’s Hallmark in the Maine Mall, and Renys locations throughout the state.  If you’re “from away” and would like to purchase the CD, drop me an e-mail and we’ll see what we can do.