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The Portland Logbook #18

The Portland Logbook #18

This Week in Portland Maine

Jake Newman
June 03, 2025

Hey! The last email had some formatting issues, so I’m sending it again to make it easier to read. Appreciate it!

Why Portland’s Allergy Season Feels Worse Than Ever

It starts like a whisper.
A tickle in the throat.
Maybe some itchy eyes.

A week later, you’re double-fisting Zyrtec and iced coffee like it’s the only way to survive spring in Maine.

Here’s the thing no one tells you: it didn’t always used to be like this. Portland’s allergy season isn’t just bad luck—or even just climate change. It’s about how we designed our cities. Specifically, our trees.

Turns out, all those tidy, fruit-free trees lining the streets? They’re guys. And they’re horny.

What Is Botanical Sexism?

There’s a reason your allergies feel personal. Back in 1949, the USDA recommended that cities plant only male trees. Female trees were seen as “messy”—dropping fruit, seeds, pods. So male trees became the norm: tidy, low-maintenance, easy to manage.

But male trees don’t just sit there. They release buckets of pollen into the air. And with no female trees nearby to catch it, all that pollen floats around aimlessly… and ends up in your face.

This practice even has a name: botanical sexism.
The result? A whole lot of airborne tree sperm and a pollen problem we built ourselves.

Portland’s Pollen Problem

In Portland, you see it play out in crabapples, maples, elms, oaks, and yes—the infamous Bradford pear. Once beloved for its symmetrical shape and hardiness, now considered invasive in Maine and banned in other states. Its flowers smell weird, its branches split easily, and while it’s not the worst offender, it represents a planning approach that prioritized appearance over health.

When you overplant genetically identical male trees, you end up with a wall of pollen and no balance in sight. Add in longer growing seasons and warming temps, and you’ve got a spring cocktail of misery.

This Isn’t About Tearing Down Trees

This isn’t a rant against trees—it’s a reminder that nature works best in balance. We don’t need to start over. We just need to think ahead.

Urban foresters today know better. We can plant more diverse species. We can choose female trees (or at least not exclude them). We can stop designing our green spaces for convenience alone and start thinking about what it means to breathe easy in the places we live.

Portland is a city that loves its trees. We bike under them, read beside them, build neighborhoods around them. It makes sense that we’d want to live with them—not suffer because of them.

Blame the Boys (And Then Let’s Do Better)

So yeah, next time your head feels like it’s filled with bees?
Next time the pollen count spikes and you’re on your third antihistamine of the day?

Blame the boys.

Then imagine what this city could feel like with trees designed not just for how they look, but for how we live.

Portland’s Most Forgotten Cemetery Is Full of Stories

Western Cemetery opened in 1830 after Eastern Cemetery ran out of space. More than 6,600 people were buried here. Many are in unmarked graves. Children. Irish immigrants escaping famine. People who died with no family or means.

Today, the cemetery is quiet and mostly empty. The grass is overgrown in spots. Headstones lean or lie broken. Without signs or markers, most visitors walk through without realizing how many stories are underfoot.

The Woman in the Red Dress

Beneath a grassy rise in the center of the cemetery is a row of underground tombs. They are sealed now, but records show one contains a glass-topped casket with the preserved body of a woman wearing a red dress.

And she’s not the only one. Two other cemeteries in Portland have similar caskets. Same glass top. Same red dress. None of the graves have plaques explaining who they are or why the pattern exists.

There is no confirmed explanation. It is not a rumor. It is a real detail that remains unexplained.

The Witch’s Grave

There’s a brownstone coffin near the edge of the cemetery, boxed in by iron railings. It’s carved with Celtic-style symbols and partially worn Latin. Locals call it the witch’s grave and still leave offerings like coins, dried flowers, and candles.

The grave belongs to Rev. John Chickering Baker, a deacon who died of tuberculosis in 1871. His body was returned from England and buried here.

The markings are Christian. The Latin translates to prayers for the dead. But the look of it, the shape, the iron, the weathered stone — left room for people to imagine something else.

What You’ll Find If You Visit

The Western Cemetery was designed to feel like a park. The paths were named after trees. It was supposed to be a place where the public could remember the dead, not forget them.

Then came war. Vandalism. Fire. The dogs. And for decades, the city stopped looking.

Now, the Stewards of the Western Cemetery are putting it back together one marker at a time. Over 1,500 volunteer hours last year. Scrubbing stone. Resetting headstones. Telling stories no one else will.

Don’t Just Read This. Walk It.

There are no snack bars or trail maps here. Most days, you’ll be alone. But if you take your time, The Western Cemetery can show you a side of Portland that parks with playgrounds and signage can’t.

Some headstones are barely visible, worn down or swallowed by grass.
The iron fence around the so-called witch’s grave still stands.
Many of the names are faded or missing entirely.

This place isn’t polished, but it tells the truth.
Portland has changed. That doesn’t mean it should forget.

Learn more or support restoration → westerncemetery.me

🩸What’s Your Theory on the Red Dress Tombs?

Three women. Three caskets. All buried in Portland. All wearing red. No one knows why. What do you think it means?

🐾 Adoptable Buddies of the Week! 🐾

🐕 B’elanna – 75 lbs of brain and bravery. Shy at first, but once you’re in, she’s all in. Obsessed with toys, jobs, and earning your trust. Best as the only dog at home, but cool with dog friends outside. Not tested with cats. Needs a calm, dog-savvy adult household (teens+). For the right person, she’s a ride-or-die.

🐕 Brenda – Black velvet sweetheart with big eyes and a bigger heart. 56 lbs of gentle energy, looking for her people. Great with dogs (bring yours to meet), unknown with cats and kids, but open to slow intros. Soft, snuggly, and just wants a fresh start.

🐈 Cookie – A 7-month-old chatterbox in a tuxedo. Sassy, sweet, and always ready for a conversation. Loves attention and doesn’t mind demanding it. Would thrive with someone who’s into affection on-demand and a little mischief. Young, bold, and ready to rule your world.

🐕 Interested? Check them out here