I was on the way home from the Togus VA last week and stopped for a moment to visit Ms. Pigette.

Now, for the summer people who don’t read this missive on a regular basis, Ms. P is a wooden figure, carved by the late Chetley Rittall. She holds up a mailbox across from his home on the road to Wiscasset and frequently is clothed in garments of the season.

But, as sometimes happens on the Maine Coast during a dense fog, she magically comes alive and observes the comings and goings on the peninsula.

And, surprise to no one who knows anything about strong Maine women, she has opinions and is not shy in expressing same. As I found out years ago.

I had just gotten out of my car when she started in.

“I’m worried. I may have fouled up,” she said.

“I did it.”

“What, pray tell, did you do, this time?” I said.


“I am the mysterious Washington vandal,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It all started a couple of weeks ago when this nice guy offered to fly me down to Washington for, well, never mind why we went down there.

“Anyway, we went down to the District and, late at night, after a nice dinner, a few adult beverages, and a bit of a substance which is now legal in Maine, we decided to go for a dip, just to cool off, you know.

“So we parked the car not far from the grand tribute to Mr. Lincoln, and jumped onto the cement pond. You know, the one made famous years ago when the cops caught a drunken big shot congressman in the car and his “companion,” a stripper named Fanne Fox, aka ‘The Argentinian Firecracker,’ tried to get away by jumping into the pond.

“But that’s another story for another time, but it is a good one.

“Now,” said Ms. P, “I know that was stupid, but, well, you know, it seemed the right thing to do at the time. And he was just the nicest guy. And it was a hot night, and the water was just 30 inches deep so ... After a few minutes, things got a bit, shall we say, athletic, and I noticed the blue plastic paint was starting to peel off the bottom.

“At first, it was just a flake or two, but then it started to stick to my body, so my friend cut it off in sheets.

“So we decided to get away before anyone noticed the mess we created by our little, well, escapade, and we vamoosed.

“We flew back to Maine, and I made it home before anyone noticed I was AWOL. He was such a nice guy.”

“Wait a minute, darling,” I said. “You flew to Washington and took a dip in the Reflecting Pool? How did this happen?”

“I am sure there is an explanation,” she said. “But for the life of me, I don’t remember his name but the private jet was lovely, and he was such a nice-looking dude, and the moon was bright and he ..."

“Hang on,” I said. “You must know that Washington is in a tizzy after one of the president’s pals got a fat contract to repaint the reflecting pool a nice shade of blue so it would look pretty for his 250th Birthday Bash. Then the national park folks and the mainstream media noticed POTUS’s pretty blue pond turned green with algae and that the blue plastic paint was peeling off in sheets. The president told everyone it would be OK after they dumped in some hydrogen peroxide, and his pal’s company installed some kind of cleanup device. When that failed, the mess threw him into a swivet and he blamed the situation on some evil midnight vandals trying to embarrass him.

“POTUS’s ire triggered his myrmidons into action. They told the park officials to patrol the cement pond and, when the park cops were unable to stop people from putting their paws in the putrid waters, they called out the National Guard to repel any miscreants. They even arrested (or cited) some, and the Washington U.S. Attorney, a former Fox TV yackker, vowed to hammer them in court.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she said. “It was just a little, well, fling. Am I in trouble?”

“Probably not,” I said.

“The folks riding on the old Washington-Merry-Go-Round never think about Maine, unless a fat cat lobbyist fails to spring for a lobster lunch or there happens to be a key Senate seat in play that could change the course of the political landscape.”

“No, Ms. P., you are probably OK, but you might be on the lookout for black SUVs.

“They would never come after you, right?"

“Or would they?”