Regular readers of this blog might be wondering what has happened to me this past week. After a deluge of lake pictures and vacation posts, I inadvertently went dark and have maintained radio silence for over five days. This was not intentional. It was not due to some creative deficiency or writer's block. Rather, I have been hypnotized by this place into something very much like a trance. While enthralled by Quantabacook , I have found it surprisingly easy to tear myself away from the gravitational pull of my former habits. Instead of writing this blog, I've been occupied with a series of new daily rhythms, which include but are by no means limited to, kayaking, fishing, reading, running hastily constructed 5k tracts through the woods, taking Lucy for walks, floating on inflatable rafts, taking my meals on a wooden table on the deck while Pam and I sometimes talk, but mostly just stare at the lake, soaking up the silence. It is this last thing, this staring at the lake, that has risen to the top of the distraction list. It's hard to explain how such a mindless, effortless, seemingly passive exercise could become such a show-stopper, but...let me try.
I wake up between 6:00 and 6:30 in the morning. Upon entering the main living room of the house, the first thing I do is walk over to the wall of windows that face the lake.
There is always a rush of expectation. Will it be calm or choppy? Clear, or fogged in? Most days it's been calm and clear, since we have won the weather lottery by choosing September of 2017 for this trip. Locals can't believe how warm and beautiful it's been here since we arrived. We are taking full credit for bringing this weather with us through a combination of Southern benevolence and clean living, global warming be damned. After this morning reconnaissance, I allow myself the distraction of making coffee.
The only deficiency we have found in this lake house is it's lack of comfortable seating. The two chairs and sofa are fine but don't lend themselves to long, leasurely reading sessions...but I make do. This past few days it's been a book by my new favorite author, Richard Russo and his Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Empire Falls. I cannot for the life of me figure out how I have gone 59 years without reading this guy. His stuff always pops up in books you might like when I'm browsing iBooks, and I've known of him forever, but for some reason, never read any of his work. Well, imagine my surprise when I open this one to the acknowledgement page and see this:
Come to find out, the guy has a house up Main Street just past the library and used to come in to the Deli and write every morning. Richard Russo won a Pulitzer for a novel he wrote at the freaking Camden Deli! I'm hooked. Now that Pat Conroy is dead, I've needed a new literary hero. I've found him.
After a robust morning read, Pam eventually emerges from the bedroom in her kayaking outfit, a snappy pink thing that clashes horribly with her bright red kayak, causing her great anguish, but not enough to prevent her from launching out into the deep for a 3-4 mile meander around the lake. I watch her get smaller and eventually disappear around the point, ripples trailing behind her. I watch the sun spread out its warmth to the houses across the way..the morning sun houses. Pam is jealous. She wants morning sun...right up to the point in the day when those houses across the way are in the shade and our dock is splashed in sunlight from around 1:30 in the afternoon until the last rays dip behind the pines at sunset. Then she's content with what we have. She eventually gets back, and we have some sort of breakfast, usually on the table outside. On the days I run, it's something lighter. Now that our last guests have left, it will be less regimented...if you can call a meal with no start time and no fixed menu..regimented.
Then, I'll fish a little. I've caught three nice sized bass this year, and learned how to fish effectively with crank baits, earning significant upgrades to my man card. However, I haven't let the fishing interfere with the real business of my days here in Maine. My job has been to keep a sharp eye peeled on this lake and all of its surroundings. I watch for the appearance of the Loon pair who own this lake, a Mother Loon and a juvenile. They pop up at various times, sometimes as close as twenty feet from the end of our dock..which drives poor Lucy crazy. Just about the time she is about to explode in excitement, they will suddenly disappear, diving below for fish. This vanishing act is a source of great wonderment for Lucy...What happened?? Where did they go?
I watch for the arrival of wind, if it comes at all, it usually arrives mid-morning. Ripples start sliding in from the north or sometimes the west. After a while the ripples upgrade to a discernible current, then what can be called waves arrive. When the waves get large enough, the dock starts to bob up and down, which used to emit an annoying metal screech in the joints of the dock until I bought the last bottle of WD-40 from the Fraternity Village store and put a stop to that outrage. Mid-morning brings an hour of sun to the dock surface from 10:00 to 11:00. I take advantage by moving a chair out there in it to warm up. Mornings are chilly here, no matter how warm it gets during the day.
Then, Pam and I are always astounded to discover that somehow it is now 2 o'clock in the afternoon and we haven't had lunch. How on earth does this happen? Seriously?? How can it be 2 o'clock? I mean, we've done virtually nothing all day. Sure, there was the kayaking, the fishing and increasingly Pam's paddle boarding...but 2 o'clock? It is a great mystery where the time goes here.
So, we have a snacky lunch. Then, more lake watching. When the afternoon sun arrives in our cove, I swim and take Lucy out for a swim and a frisbee fetching session. Then, maybe a nap.
Eventually, we are always baffled when we discover that it's now 6:30 in the evening and we're still floating out in the lake talking about the kids, having made zero preparations for dinner. Again, the great time thief has struck. We shrug and watch the sun disappear.
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