Maine-ly Maine

     I had wanted to start a conversation, and said so. And any conversation has its pauses. But this ... it's months long! C-mon!
     So let's try again:
     Despite their flint-hard reputation, reflected in the rock-bound coast that defines their state, Mainers do have a sense of humor. Dry, yes. But seasoned with the salt that blows in from the sea. Or perhaps a dash of Old Bay.
     Just a small example: Road names.
     I saw a piece yesterday about the tiny town of Embden, Maine. (Tiny? How about population, 993!) Officials run through several hundred dollars a year to replacing their frequently-stolen street sign, Katie Crotch Road, a name the origin of which no one really knows. Maybe a "Katie" family near a crotch or fork in the road. Or a fold in a nearby hill, or maybe even a long-deceased, gnarled, old tree. But no one wants to change the name, so they just keep replacing the signs that others --  college students? -- keep stealing.
    I have my own name to offer as evidence of that Maine sense of humor.
As you travel south down the Maine turnpike, not far south of Portland, you cross a river. The river's name, thanks to conscientious transportation officials and their signs, we know is the Mousam River. How pronounced? "Mouse-am?" Or "Moose-am"? Being Maine, you might favor "Moose." But I think the former, because about a quarter-mile down the road you drive under an over-pass. The road you are passing under? "Cat Mousam Road."
     You can't accept "Moose" with that pun hanging out there over I-95.
     Why the name? Some family names Mousam who lived alongside that stream, probably. But "Cat"? That's the unexpected wry wit.
     Anyway, we don't have to investigate the provenance of either the river's or the road's name. We only have to enjoy the chuckle and the Maine sense of humor.