On a Saturday in mid-December, one of the administrators of the 53,000-member “Maine History” group page on Facebook posted a picture of a moose on a foggy Rangeley pond.

Later that day, “Elizabeth” claimed to remember “the stillness of the morning” and a total of four moose on the unnamed pond. The image attached, however, carried the watermark of the Bridgton-based wildlife photographer Dakoda Gerrish, who took the photo of the moose last September and described her experience on social media using almost exactly the same words.

As if that wasn’t enough, another administrator of the group repeated the entire post again in March — as if she’d taken that very same photograph that morning.

It’s a shining example of the kind of shenanigans employed on a huge, interlocked web of “nostalgia groups” on Facebook that are administered by accounts that all appear to be fake.

It gets worse. Beyond their misleading posts, group administrators often brag about having children who have designed items — available for purchase, of course — based on themes related to the group in question.

A recent pinned post at the top of the Maine History page depicted a woman holding a quilt bearing an image of the map of Maine. It read: “I’m so proud of my 14-year-old daughter for creating this! She’s excited to know what you think, so please consider supporting her by ordering and encouraging her creativity!” The same user is also a member of an “I grew up in Idaho” group, where a separate post promotes an Idaho quilt said to be designed by the same autistic daughter. The items for sale included nine different “Maine quilts” of unclear origin.

One woman who tried to figure out the scam, Kelly Whelan McDonald of Rhode Island, said she could only assume that the people behind the scam page are making money off “nostalgic baby boomers who don’t know any better.”

Paula Fleming, a spokesperson for the Better Business Bureau of Eastern Massachusetts, Maine, Rhode Island & Vermont, told me the proliferating fraudulent Facebook groups were a “disturbing trend” that preyed on “people’s interest in history, nostalgia and even their empathy.”

“From a 10,000-foot view, this situation underscores a critical challenge in the digital age: the ease with which bad actors can create seemingly legitimate online communities to perpetrate scams,” Fleming said.

McDonald, meanwhile, said she found she couldn’t even warn others on Facebook about the deception she discovered because her group posts were quickly declined or removed — and she’d subsequently find herself blocked from returning.

The reach of these sites is significant. The “Elizabeth” who posted the stolen photo of the moose is one of four administrators of the Maine History group, which has gained 11,000 members this year alone. She is an administrator of another similar Facebook group, “I grew up in Maine,” which has 60,000 members. Elizabeth is also an administrator of an “I grew up in Idaho” group (62,000 members), a 115,000-member group called “I Grew Up in Arizona,” a 68,000-member “You Know You Are from Michigan” group, a 56,000-member group called “Arkansas History,” a 59,000-member “West Virginia Born & Raised” group — as well as newer groups for the state of Alaska and our own Acadia National Park.

All told, this single internet account has control of groups with nearly 500,000 members. And that’s only a fraction of the sites involved. The scale of scams like these, Fleming said, “is alarming and demonstrates the potential for significant financial harm.”

“This type of scam is particularly insidious because it exploits multiple layers of trust and emotion,” Fleming continued. “The nostalgia or historical interest draws people in, while the fabricated story about a talented autistic teenager adds a layer of emotional appeal and discourages scrutiny. Unfortunately, these tactics are common among fraudsters who understand how to bypass people’s natural defenses.”

The bottom line is these groups on Facebook are not about history. They’re certainly not about Maine, or any other place. They’re the product of fakery, fraud — and an underhanded way to sell quilts from who knows where.