Still Pinching Ourselves

Ever since our first four week stay here in 2016 we have dreamed of having our own place. Over the past seven years we have probably looked at over five thousand candidates on Redfin and Zillow. We have taken tours of a dozen places during our yearly treks to Maine. Nothing ever had the requisite magic that we were looking for, or if it did it was either way out of our price range, two hours away from Camden, or on a tiny uninspired lake. Pam and I had gotten to the place where we figured that we would just rent for the rest of our lives, not an altogether unhappy option. But there was still a longing for ownership, a place of our own that we could shape into the perfect escape, not just for us but for our family, the living and the ones not yet with us.

Over a year ago Pam saw a place on Redfin that she was interested in but I was not. It was too expensive and brand new and very much not my idea of what a Maine lake house was supposed to look like. Then the price was lowered, a couple of times and Pam was intrigued enough to send Tif a text last week, “Why is this place still on the market while the place we walked through yesterday already has an offer despite the fact that it’s a hundred years old and on a puddle of a lake?” This inquiry led to us making the 22 minute drive to Lake Saint George to check out in person what we had been examining on our computers for months. Five days later we have a contract in place pending inspections, closing date sometime in the middle of September. We could not be happier but it feels very much like a dream.

Our last two weeks here will be filled with a thousand details. There will be the inspections, obtaining quotes for dock improvements, landscaping and deck additions. Pam’s brain is filled with ideas about everything from soup to nuts. The kids are all thrilled and have already floated ideas of month long work from home stays next summer. I can already tell that this adventure will be non-stop work for the next several years, exactly the type of thing I have been searching for—a new challenge. 

I will post no photographs of the house now. There is much to be done. But I will post the money shot that clinched the deal. All Pam and I have ever cared about in our lake house quest has been…the lake. You can repair and improve cabins. You can’t repair or improve a lake. This one is breathtaking. Lake Saint George has every single thing we have always looked for in a lake, and seeing as how we spend 80% of our time either in it, on it, or staring at it, this view sealed the deal.

So, now we begin this new adventure with a combination of excitement and gratitude with a bit of fear sprinkled in. A huge debt is owed to Tif Ford for her patience, toughness and wisdom, and to Keith and Caroline May for the inspiration of their beguiling Loon Landing, without which we would never have even entertained the idea of a place of our own. When we pull onto Brierley Lane to leave in two weeks it will be with a lump in our throats at the thought that we will never stay at Loon Landing again.

But, we will be just down the road, a short drive away secure in the knowledge that we already have two incredible neighbors.

A Quandary

Yesterday morning Pam and I drove out to Lake St. George to see a cabin of interest. This has become a common occurrence over the past four or five years. We will find a cabin on Redfin that looks interesting, then make a visit only to be disappointed—real estate photography being the single most misleading form of communication in the modern world. Usually what disappoints us is the lake. No matter what might be wrong with the cabin, generally speaking cabins can be fixed. You can’t fix a lake. This place on Lake St.George was the exception. The lake was sensational, the view from the dock stunning. We were both mesmerized. As we scanned the horizon from the dock we saw not a single cabin. We did see several docks along the shore but no cabins, which gave the impression of privacy and solitude, never a bad thing. Although the lot leading down to the dock was still a mess and nowhere near finished, the potential for landscaping was everywhere, future magic bursting forth everywhere we looked. The following three pictures were taken from left to right as we stood on the end of the dock…

To make the shoreline even more magical, a few of Pam’s favorite leaning trees added to the ambiance…

But…and there is always a but. There’s a problem with the cabin that goes beyond basic bricks and mortar. We first saw this place on Redfin almost a year ago. The asking price was $750,000. A year later its $699,000, and the place still isn’t finished. This is that rarest of commodities in mid-coast Maine—new construction. But this place seems to be being built by some dude who is serving as his own architect and doing the work at night and on the weekends. Almost everything about the place is half done, a thousand projects nearly finished. In some places the workmanship seems superb, in other places puzzling. On our visit which was unannounced, every door to the place was unlocked and the inside strewn with tools and supplies of every kind. The floor plan is odd and disjointed, making you wonder, “where in the world would you actually live in this place?” Beautiful kitchen, lovely bedrooms, large and well designed bathrooms…but no living space that we could discern. But that lake….

So, at this point we are in a quandary. This cabin is a mere 37 minutes from Camden, 26 minutes from Belfast, on a lake with a fabulous reputation for beauty and cleanliness. The lake has that magical quality so lacking in most cabins. Its big enough for our needs, and although not the campy style of our imaginations, you turn Pam loose with a reasonable decorating budget and that would be remedied in a New York minute. In its present state of completion it is still overpriced, and the sketchiness of the builder is something that gives me pause, the length of time this place has been on the market is troublesome. So at this point our irreplaceable barracuda real estate queen, Tif Ford, is snooping around for the story on the builder and other background information on the cabin like a pissed off FBI agent. 

But, that lake!!

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning. The sky is clear. No fog blankets the lake so I can see the the pine needles settled in the gutters of the dance hall on the far side of the lake, .3 miles away. I can make out the roof line of the farm house on the hill beyond the north end, over four miles away. The first loon of the day has made his appearance fifty yards from the end of our dock. I took my coffee there an hour and a half ago just as the mist lifted. There isn’t a ripple anywhere to be seen, the surface of the lake as still as glass. Even Lucy is silent as she follows my cast, the plop of the spinner entering the water produces as echo and I almost feel like I should apologize to someone. I don’t catch anything and its just as well.

I wake up early here, even earlier than at home. For one thing, the sun comes up earlier and takes forever to set across the way in the evening. But it isn’t the daylight that wakes me so early, it’s something else, harder to define. On some level I don’t want to miss the morning, its beauty and the tranquility of the water. Later on the wind will stir it up, the clouds will pass over, the weather will come, the boats dragging screaming children will send wakes everywhere. The lake will look far different then than it does now.

The very first time I ever had breakfast at the table on the deck at Loon Landing I looked out at the lake and this was my view…

Nothing spectacular. There are much more photogenic vistas to be had from this property. But this one captivated me then as it still does today. It is as if I’m inside of a painting gazing out at the world, the lake bordered with lush trees and shrubs. The hanging chair in the foreground is one of Pam’s favorite spots to read a book on her Kindle.

After breakfast I have to decide what I will busy myself with today. I’m leaning towards taking the boat out and circumnavigating the 8 mile perimeter of the lake. I might bring my fishing gear along in case I get tempted. I’ll take some pictures. First, I’ll have to wait a couple hours for Pam to come back from her morning paddle. The conditions right now are perfect for her. She will be gone an extra long time.

Its Sunday. In about an hour my church will be gathering for worship. They will be live-streaming the service. We won’t be watching live, but later tonight we will gather around after dinner to watch with my sister and her husband who are staying in the guest house this week. We will look for our nephew Isaac in the praise band. We will listen to one of our pastors, probably David Dwight, deliver another message in the series on The Sermon on the Mount. The irony is not lost on me that our pastors chose a series on the most influential and transformative words ever spoken at the very time when I am in the most influential and transformational place on earth. I will be paying closer attention than I usually do. I find that my heart is more tender, more receptive to truth up here. There are fewer distractions, I suppose, but its more than that. Maybe it has something to do with being surrounded by so much beauty. Observe the magnificence of creation long enough and you start to feel everything artificial in your life draining out of your soul. 21st century life is filled with so much plastic, so many things that aren’t real. But you don’t even notice it until you come to a place where all the trash feels terribly out of place.

A couple days ago I was down at the dam fishing. I had been standing barefoot in the chilly water for an hour when I hooked into a magnificent little small mouth bass. He fought hard never once breaking the water. I lifted him out of the water and the sun shone off his dark scales. He was a perfect fish, perfectly made, expertly sculpted in the depths somewhere. We had a brief conversation. I apologized for any inconvenience my skills as a fisherman had caused him. Then I dropped him gently into the white rapids beneath my feet. 

I whispered a prayer of thanks that I get to be in this place, that I get to bear witness to the created world. I will continue to let it reshape my thoughts for three more weeks. It won’t be enough, but it will be a start.

Sorry For the Oversight

When you’re in Maine its easy to forget your responsibilities. Spend a few days fishing, eating lobster, and gawking at sunsets and before you know it, three weeks have gone by and you haven’t posted a single Dad Joke. While many of you have handled this oversight with patience and grace, there are others for whom my Dad Jokes are essential to their mental stability and overall well being (Sherri Matthews).

So, this morning I got up a little earlier, dug a little deeper and prepared the following longer than usual list for your edification and Sherri’s mental health…

NASA recently sent a number of Holsteins into orbit for experimental purposes. They called it the herd shot 'round the world.



Two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina. One took off to Hollywood and became rich and famous. The other stayed in at home and never amounted to much. Naturally he became known as the lesser of two weevils.



Two vultures boarded a plane each carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess immediately stopped them and said, "I'm sorry sir, only one carrion per person.

“Two Eskimos in a kayak were chilly, so they started a fire which sank the craft. This proves the old adage - you can't have your kayak and heat it too.



A group of friars opened a florist shop to help with their belfry payments. Everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, so their business flourished. A rival florist became upset that his business was suffering because people felt compelled to buy from the friars. He went to the friars and asked them to cut back on their hours, or close down, to help him save his business. The friars refused. The florist went to them again and begged them to close their shop; again, they refused. So, the rival florist hired the biggest, meanest thug in town - Hugh McTaggert - he went to the friars' shop, beat them up, destroyed their flowers and trashed their shop. He told the friars that if they didn't close down for good, he'd be back. Completely terrified, the friars closed up forever.

This proves that Hugh, and only Hugh can prevent florist friars.


My Son in Law’s Fish Story

So, the son in law had a moment yesterday. 

This year was the first time that he has driven up to Maine. In the past they always flew in to Portland which greatly limited what they could bring along from home. Since they drove he was able to bring his own, brand new, never before used fishing gear. I must say that it has been quite entertaining and informative watching him figure out how to manage this gear, kind of like watching a toddler attempting cold fusion. But like with everything else Jon is nothing if not persistent. In no time at all he had managed to bait his own hook! Two days later he managed to reel in his first catch…a minnow-sized perch of which he was very proud. What a difference a day makes. Yesterday he was out there doing his best Roland Martin impersonation! But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, yesterday I decided to take out the power boat that Keith May graciously left for my use. My plan was to head up to the marshy cove about a mile north of our camp. I cautiously asked Jon if he wanted to come along. He agreed and before long there we were on approach to this grassy place which features large fish jumping completely out of the water for as far as the eye could see. Immediately I began reeling them in…while Jon was still fiddling with his reel…

These photographs, for long time readers of this space, will be quite familiar, since they have been quite common from my summer weeks in Maine. Like taking candy from a baby. But, I was about to witness Jon Manchester…unleashed.

Upon leaving this cove I maneuvered the boat to another favorite spot and instructed Jon to cast his line towards a specific white rock that looked awfully fishy. His first attempt at this cast only missed by a hundred yards. However, just about the time I was preparing a lecture concerning proper casting technique, the kid had made his second attempt and absolutely nailed it, three feet from the aforementioned white rock whereupon, a bass devoured the float bait I had lent him. After a semi-heroic battle, there he was sitting in the front of the boat, transformed into a fishing expert!!

What can I say? The kid is a quick study.

Of course, as soon as we get back to our dock he began regaling us about some alleged huge fish he had caught when he was a 9 year old Boy’s Scout back in Ohio. When Kaitlin and I asked where the photographic evidence was that might corroborate his story we were informed that this was back in the days before digital photography and consequently no picture exists…to which his own properly skeptical wife replied, “ahh…how convenient”.

Except for a pair of sunburned legs, we survived our first fishing trip with many great stories to tell, a few which are actually true.

Pam’s Birthday

Today is this woman’s birthday. She has been by my side for the best part of 40 years now. It is always difficult to describe her to anyone who hasn’t had the opportunity to meet her. “Are you married?” a stranger will ask. “Tell me about her”

I start with the usual compliments about her beauty, grace and intelligence. I sprinkle in a few antidotes about her legendary talents of organization, hospitality and computer skills. But eventually it occurs to me that the best way to describe Pam Dunnevant is to list the things that she hates, the relatively short list of people and things that annoy her. After all, you can tell an awful lot about someone by knowing who their enemies are. So, here goes…

1. Heat and Humidity

Nothing in all of God’s creation bothers my wife more than sweat. Heat and humidity can transform her from literally the most agreeable woman of all time to a raving lunatic in mere minutes. Anyone who enters our house has no doubt noticed the brisk temperature which she insists upon during all four seasons. Early in our marriage this was a battle line between us, but she prevailed over three decades ago. Now, when I walk into my office at work I crank down the thermostat by force of habit, much to the squealing complaints of everyone else in the building. Pam, after all, is a Maine girl who never signed a peace agreement with heat and humidity when she moved to Virginia all those years ago. She has fought a pitched battle with it for most of her life, especially each morning when she is fixing her hair. And while she truly loathes H & H in Virginia, the level of hostility ratchets up to dizzying heights when it visits her in Maine. 

2. Making a Grocery List

I’m not sure its fair to say they she hates this. Its more accurate to say that she finds it extremely annoying. Pam is not the ind of person to just…go the grocery store. She is a planner. Each trip to the store must have an agenda, a plan. This means she must first plan the meals for the week, a time consuming process for a detail oriented woman like my wife. But, she employs an impressive list of tools to manage the process including a gadget on her cell phone that organizes her list to coincide with the floor layout at Publix. Yeah, I know. This is next level stuff. She is constantly asking me, “Is there anything you need at the grocery store?” My answer is always some form of, “not that I can think of,” which is a constant source of annoyance for her. She often reminds me to add things I need to the digital grocery list by telling Alexa. There are certain words you have to say for it to work and I always seem to foul it up so I make her system a spotty enterprise.

3. Making Decisions

Pam married someone who is highly intuitive. I have always been a very decisive person. I make decisions based only partly on the facts. The most forceful driver for me has always been something hard to quantify…my gut feeling. For Pam, there is no such thing as a gut feeling. Gut feelings are things for which one purchases antacids. Her mind is an analytic marvel of spreadsheets and Google-Doc imaginings that produce mountains of data, so much in fact that she becomes paralyzed, or paralysis by analysis. On the plus side, this woman has never gone off anywhere half cocked.

4. Rude People

I hesitate to use the word “people” here since my wife loves practically everyone. Perhaps I should have said, rudeness. Pam is someone who was raised by her parents to have manners. I’m aware that this particular term has fallen out of favor of late, but it very much defines Pam. So when she observes rudeness in others it infuriates her. I know what you’re thinking, “Wait Doug, you’re not exactly what anyone would describe as polite. What did she see in you??” Excellent point. Some of the words that have come out of my mouth over the years have caused her much wincing and gnashing of teeth. So, if you think I can be a bit rude at times, imagine how terrible I would be if I had married someone else! This rudeness thing is one of the reasons for her intense dislike of…

5. Donald Trump

Pam is the most un-political person I know. She just isn’t in to liberal vs. conservative, democrat vs. republican. It mostly bores her so she largely ignores the political world. EXCEPT when it comes to DT. His personality of rudeness, arrogance and meanness drives her insane. She can hardly bear to hear his voice or watch his image on television. For Pam it has far less to do with the man’s politics (which are troublesome enough), and far more to do with his demeanor and comportment. No manners. No empathy for anyone other than himself. No class.

So, thats about all I can think of. For all of you who know her you will understand me when I say that she is the most beautiful, kind, respectful, loving, gracious, hospitable and long suffering person I have ever known. On this day we will celebrate her by doing whatever she wants to do. Knowing her she won’t be able to decide so she’ll just say, “lets just do what you all want to do!!” But as long as none of us are rude and don’t bring Donald Trump up in conversation it will be a wonderful day!

Week Three Begins

We began week three with yet another Biblical rainstorm that raised the lake level even higher and cooled down the water temperature considerably. The weather on this trip hasn’t been the greatest, but I can remember years where Pam and I ate 17 consecutive meals outside on the deck table here at Loon Landing, so it all evens out over time. Great news is that Kaitlin and Jon arrived Saturday evening! They look great and had a wonderful couple of days exploring the coast before their arrival here. Their first full day here featured pounding rain, fog and dreariness. We spent Sunday lounging around, eating delicious food, talking, reading and napping. Then yesterday morning we headed into Camden for blueberry pancakes and some shopping. By the time we were done, the sun was out. The afternoon was spent enjoying the beautiful lake as it was meant to be enjoyed, with sunscreen and charcuterie boards. Jon finally, mercifully caught his first fish! I would have taken a picture but my cell camera isn’t made to focus on anything that small…

My daughter is fond of taking pictures which feature coffee. Any excuse will do. If the light is right she will snap a picture of her steaming mug even if the background was the county dump. So yesterday she snapped this one at The Camden Deli…

I must say that this photograph does a nice job of capturing the change that comes over us here. Those two kids look relaxed and happy because they are. Right after this was taken I walked a couple doors down and spent a small fortune at The Smiling Cow for presents for the girls back at the office. Also got to catch up with Meg, the owner of the place, who is a delight.

Tomorrow, Paula and Ron arrive just in time to celebrate Pam’s birthday, which I think will be celebrated at Archer’s restaurant on the water in Rockland. Around here, plans 36 hours out are always tentative.

I miss my boy. Patrick and Sarah couldn’t make it up this year. When we had our mid-afternoon charcuterie board we sent Sarah a picture since she was the one who introduced us to the idea several summers ago. Although I’m not sure Lucy could handle two more of her people up here showering her with love, devotion and attention! That dog is going to be impossible to live with when we get her back home!!

Not sure what the weather holds for us today. One forecast calls for sunny, another for partly cloudy and yet another for a 40% chance of storms. However, I do know what is in store for me this morning—the very rude imposition of work. There’s a state tax issue to clear up, and a handful of clients to call and a paperwork foul up to correct. Doing work up here is like farting at a funeral. It just doesn’t feel right.

PS…There’s a cabin we might take a tour of coming up soon. Will keep you advised.

Moving Day

Yesterday saw the return of something that had been missing from our lives. Hard work. Moving day on Quantabacook isn’t easy. When we pack the car to come to Maine we have two days of driving before we have to unpack. Moving day is when you have to pack, unpack, and organize an entirely new cabin in one day. I know what you’re thinking, “Boo Hoo!! Poor vacationers had to actually do something besides swim and fish for a change!! Boo Hoo.” Excellent point! Suffice it to say that thanks to my hard working wife, Loon Landing is in top form and ready for the arrival of Jon and Kaitlin this evening.

During the night a heavy downpour hit. The sound that rain makes on a tin roof is about as soothing a sound as exists in this world. It doesn’t actually wake you up, but as you lie there in your bed you become aware of the rain and you are comforted. Lucy knows Loon Landing and is completely at home.

I have posted many pictures in this space of this fabulous place. Although much smaller than Summer Dreams, what it lacks in space it more than makes up for with an abundance of charm. When I drink my coffee in the morning, this is my view…

This wall of windows is maybe 20 feet from the edge of the water.





These pictures were taken from the loft bedroom upstairs and it gives you an idea of the proximity to the water. And yep, there was no way Pam was going to bed last night without setting the table!

So, this is our home for the next four weeks and we couldn’t possibly be more grateful.

A Vacation Miracle

Wednesday, the 12th of July, was the very first real Maine day of our vacation. By this I mean it was the first day that felt like Maine is supposed to feel. The weather was transcendent, bright blue sky, a steady refreshing southerly breeze in our faces all day, with not a hint of humidity. Consequently I made the decision to play golf in the morning.

Although the conditions were perfect and I was paired with a delightful couple from Marietta, Georgia, I played terribly—like a blind man with epilepsy. I had one birdie and four pars and a host of other scores so horrifying that I didn’t even bother keeping my score. But what made this the worst golfing experience I’ve had in years was not the level of my play, but what happened to me just after I shook hands with Wayne and Kathy as we walked off the 18th green. I reached in the left pocket of my shorts to retrieve my wedding band and found nothing. 

Ever since I got married nearly 40 years ago I have always removed my wedding band before a round of golf. The reason is because if I leave it on I end up with a blister. Yes, yes…I know its because I grip the club too tightly, but it is what it is. So, before I play I take the band off and place it in my left pocket—never the right, always the left. Sometimes I perform this ritual in the parking lot, mostly I do this on the first tee box, occasionally I remember as I’m walking down the first fairway. But…I always remove it. So, when I reached in the pocket and discovered it missing, something like panic and nausea visited me simultaneously. 

I had played with very nice rented clubs so the first thing I did was search every nook and cranny of the voluminous bag. Zilch. Then I walked back to the first tee box, since I was 70% certain that I had removed the ring before hitting my first tee shot (one that I hit out of bounds left, incidentally). The very kind starter along with the threesome on the first tee—all men—dropped everything to scour the area. They all gave me knowing looks of solidarity, knowing that if I didn’t find that ring I was sure and truly a dead man walking. One of them even mumbled, “losing your wedding band is one thing…losing it while playing golf is a f**king disaster” After an exhaustive search we found nothing. As I trudged back to the clubhouse the futility of my situation began to dawn on me. There was a very real possibility that I did, in fact, place that ring in my pocket on the first tee box, which means it could have slipped out of said pocket anytime I reached in there to remove my cellphone throughout the round…probably three times that I could recall. Since the entire round I walked 5.6 miles up hill and dale, there was literally no possible chance anyone was ever going to find that ring. I explained my nightmare to the woman at the clubhouse cash register who looked at me as if looking at a man condemned to die. I gave her my name and cellphone number on the no chance in hell possibility that somebody found it. She wrote it down carefully and posted it on the bulletin board with feigned optimism, then briefly touched my arm as I turned to leave. “You never know, dear.” That’s Yankee speak for…bless your heart.

I was not ready for the genuine grief I experienced while driving back to camp. I wasn’t really worried that Pam would kill me. I simply felt so much anguish over the fact that I had lost my wedding ring. I am not a jewelry guy. In fact, that wedding band is my only ring, my only any kind of adornment. But a wedding ring isn’t just a piece of jewelry, its part of who you are. It tells the world that you are married and that there is someone else out there who you would kill for. And now, mine was laying somewhere on the grounds of Rockland Golf Club, most likely in deep rough!

I got back to the cabin and tidied up a bit then joined Pam on the dock. No. I did not immediately tell her. I gambled that she wouldn’t notice, perhaps for days. That would give me time to craft an acceptable narrative. I merely gave her a kiss and sat down in the Adirondack chair next to her soaking up the perfect Maine day.

Then my cellphone rang. 

I didn’t answer. In the two weeks I’ve been here I have received no fewer than 20 random calls from unknown numbers from people trying to sell me this thing or that. If it was important they would leave a message. This one did…

“Mr. Dunnevant? This is Beverly at Rockland Golf. Just wanted you to know that someone found your wedding ring. I’ve put it here at the front desk. You can pick it up anytime you want. Congratulations!”

I turned to Pam with a sudden burst of confidence in my communicative abilities. “You are never going to believe what happened to me today at golf!!” She listened respectfully without expression then when I was done said, “Good thing you found it. No way you were going to get rid of me that easily!”

Week One. A Summary

We begin week two with indifferent weather. Clouds have dominated so far, although we’ve had a few gloriously sunny days mixed in. You take what comes on the lake, the good and the bad, while never having to worry about the ugly because there is none. The highlights of Week One are as follows…

Yesterday I fished this spot to within an inch of its life. Everything I threw at it, they devoured. Must have caught a dozen or more 1-2 pound bass in just 45 minutes. Since the water levels here are quite high I had to stand on the ledge of the dam, feet submerged in very cold water. Small price to pay. Pam would have had a heart attack watching me shuffle along the edge back and forth being careful not to slip and fall, busting my assets. But there’s just something about this spot. Its at the far south end of the lake, just over a mile from the cabin, with no sign of civilization anywhere, just the roar of the rushing water. 

I’ve plowed through three books already, thanks to the clouds. Two John Le Carre spy novels, and a third spy-themed WWII home front novel by Mary Anna Evans. Now I’ve started a third, an Eric Larson spellbinder about the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 called The Devil in the White City. Fabulous.

Then there’s the girls in my life. These two…

Safe to say they are both living their best lives right now. Lucy’s days are a blur of fishing with dad, sniffing the treasure trove of smells wafting off the lake, and swimming for literally hours along side Mom on her paddle board. She has no complaints about Summer Dreams, has designated six different locations around the house as her official sleeping spots, like she owns the place.

Then there’s this beauty…

She will probably kill me for posting this photograph. Up here she does nothing with her hair, just washes it and lets it dry on its own. She hates it, I absolutely love it, mostly because I think she looks amazing but partly because it takes off 45 minutes from her prep time getting ready in the morning! Once again Pam is the queen of the lake. She has established herself as a paddle boarding fixture along with her morning kayak trips. She has organized the kitchen like a boss, prepared killer meals and spent hours and hours cross-stitching her heart out…

Last night we closed out the week by going to church…kinda. We sat down on the sofa and watched Hope’s live stream on YouTube. We saw Isaac playing his guitar on stage, then listened to Pete deliver the message from The Beatitudes. Looked like they had a packed house.

I have no earthly idea what the plan is for today and neither does Pam who at the moment is sound asleep as any self-respecting vacationer should be at this hour. Once she’s up something will come to us. Maybe brunch at The Hoot and a trip into Belfast?

Art, Books and Strawberries

So, yesterday was an adventure day since there were two local Festivals afoot, one in Lincolnville and the other in Camden. We left the cabin around 9:30. To get to Camden you first have to drive through Lincolnville, which was hosting their annual Strawberry Fest. I had to stop for gas and the only gas station available was at Drakes Corner Store which offered regular for $3.59 without any identifying brand name for the gasoline you bought. I simply had to take their word for it as I tried to figure out their circa 1960’s pump handle. Drakes is a mile or so outside of town and served as the rendezvous point for the Strawberry Fest Parade. The parking lot was filled with fire trucks, streamer-festooned pickup trucks and one flatbed containing a gigantic plastic lobster. Since the proceedings weren’t scheduled to begin until 10:00, we made the fateful decision to head in to Camden for the Arts and Books Festival and catch the Strawberry deal on the way back. Unfortunately, when we did, the excited lady at the Community house informed us that for the first time in Strawberry Fest history, they had been wiped out by noon! Every strawberry, every upside down cake, every muffin, biscuit, loaf of bread, every cake, pie and scone—all gone, a complete sellout. even the strawberry ice-cream sandwiches had been devoured by the great unwashed who had descended on this sleepy town like a plague of locusts. The only evidence that there even HAD been a strawberry festival was the giant red flags draping from the town hall windows…

In retrospect however, this shocking turn of events was the only thing that saved me from bankruptcy because of what transpired roughly between the hours of 10 o’clock and noon in Camden.

After a lovely breakfast at the Camden Deli, Pam and I attended the annual Arts and Books Fair. This Fair is no stranger to us, both of us having fallen for its considerable charms many times before. Basically, all the streets and grounds around the Camden library are filled with white tents featuring artists and craftsmen from all over Maine selling their wares…

The misty conditions did nothing to dampen the crowds. Pam’s eyes had that certain dangerous sparkle they get when she is surrounded by art. Its funny since she has never been a museum girl, but you put her at an art fair where she can listen to the actual artist explain how they created their work and what their inspiration was, and she goes into something very much like a trance. Unfortunately, this trance-like state involves a great deal of credit card usage. When she found this one particular booth I thought she was going to wipe them out! “Oh, I love this! And look at that!! I just have to have that!!

By the time she was done, she nearly had. Pam and the artist have a lunch date for next Thursday!

But she wasn’t done. I’m guessing that in total there were close to 100 booths at this Fair and my wife toured them all. When she finally was satisfied with her haul on Day 1 (this is a two day event—gulp), I was carrying around a bag of stuff heavy enough to give me shoulder cramps. I got a text from Capital One warning me of excessive use of my card, and wanted confirmation that it was indeed us. I relied with…Pam at Arts and Books Fair in Camden. They responded with a knowing…Never Mind. 

On the positive side, Pam did get an early start on 2023 Christmas shopping.

What We do When it’s Hot

So far I’ve told you, faithful reader, what we do here when it rains.  Today I will inform you about what we do when its hot in Maine, or HIM for short. First of all a definition of what exactly qualifies as hot. Yesterday’s high temperature in Searsmont was 89. While depending on where you live and humidity levels this might not seem particularly severe as hot goes. There have been many summers in Short Pump where any day not in the 90’s would seem pleasant by comparison. Not here. In Maine high 80’s qualifies as brutal heat for one simple reason—the absence of air conditioning. Take last night for example.

By the time dinner time rolled around Pam had already fled the premises to Belfast for an iced coffee and AC time at Reny’s. Heat is my wife’s mortal enemy, the bane of her existence. It is the only force in the universe capable of turning her to the dark side. She got out of the shower yesterday afternoon and immediately found herself covered in sweat. I knew she wasn’t long for the cabin. Her two hours reading and drinking iced coffee lounging in the soft seating inside Dunkin worked wonders for her psyche. She returned to the lake her delightfully reliable self. 

At this point I knew that there was no way she was going to cook anything that required her to turn on the stove. I wisely volunteered to head over to Fraternity General to pick up one of their fabulous pizzas. Since it was near six o’clock I know from experience that you need to call first, then allow thirty minutes before making the 3 mile drive to pick it up. I called again and again for ten minutes and the line was busy every time. Throwing caution to the wind, I drove there without ordering first. Upon arrival I noticed a sign on the door:  Due to extreme heat, the kitchen is closed to anything that requires an oven. Cold sandwiches available.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking…Oh, thats adorable! Poor Mainers can’t even handle a couple of warm days!! Nothing could be further from the truth. Fraternity General is a 100+ year old colonial structure built without air conditioning. The kitchen sits in a windowless, low ceiling section of the first floor. It is roughly 10x12 and has two pizza ovens and one regular oven. The girls take your order at the counter. When I walked in the place last night it was 85 or so outside with a lovely breeze that had come up. But inside that store it had to be 100. The two cooks had bright red faces covered in sweat. I noticed on the glass covered turn table a piping hot pepperoni pizza that looked of relatively recent origin. “Can I have five pieces of this one?” I asked. I walked out with the last pizza of the day, feeling like the great white hunter.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Pam had lowered the blinds across the front of the house to shade the interior of the cabin from the bright reflection of the setting sun now blinding us from the surface of the lake. But now the wind had picked up nicely and she had turned on every ceiling fan available and had the floor fan on the maximum speed. It sounded like the tarmac at LaGuardia but it was cooler. The hardest part of a HIM day are the hours between 5 and 9.

The rest of our HIM day was spent on the water. I fished, kayaked, and floated around on the float. Pam spent lots of time escorting Lucy around the lake on her paddle board. I swam…a lot. It was delightful. Today, the weather people are unanimous in their opinion that another scorcha is in the works. High temperature of 87 with a 40% chance of thunder storms late in the day. After that it looks like we will be in the 70’s for the next four days.

Freaking Poker Game!!

The weather here has turned sunny and fair for the last couple of days and this has been the occasion of much celebration here at vacation central. With the appearance of the sun our schedule becomes dominated by the lake. We spend almost all of our time either in it, on it, or gazing at it. What follows are just a few examples.

Around 6:00 am I took my morning coffee on the dock with Lucy who patiently waited for me to stop Lolly-gagging around and start fishing already. This was my view…

By 9:00 or so I was ready to head out in the kayak for a more serious fishing excursion a mile and a half north of our dock. Shortly after heading out I encountered a traffic jam when I met up with this beautiful woman…

Incidentally, the White House in the background of this photograph has been a consistent irritant to me ever since its construction several years ago. We have watched it’s progress each year with a mixture of admiration and resentment. Because it sits on an island, most of the heavy work gets done in the winter when the lake freezes over and heavy loads of lumber and such can be driven across the surface of the water by truck. The final result of all the work is a fine house with commanding views. The thing that sticks in my craw however is the way in which the owner of this house came about obtaining the large parcel of land where his lovely house rests—he won it in a poker game. I must admit to a small degree of bitterness at this mindless, haphazard stroke of luck. Every time I paddle by the place I mumble to myself, “freaking poker game!!” But, what’s done is done.

At this point I feel it necessary to introduce a new physical ailment that has visited my rapidly deteriorating body. I think there might be something wrong with my left hip. Whenever I find it necessary to sit down for anything longer than thirty minutes, like driving long distances or fishing from a kayak, the offending hip begins to protest rather violently. The pain is quite intense and gets progressively worse the longer I go. So yesterday’s two and a half hour expedition was a very bad idea—a literal pain in my ass. Half way in I had to find a spot to park the kayak so I could go for a swim in the cold water. Had I not I doubt I would have made it back to the dock. So, for the rest of my time here I will limit my fishing paddles to less than two hours and will make generous use of muscle relaxers, heating pads, and this nifty device I got for Christmas…

Even in THIS picture, the Poker House mocks me!

But, enough about me! On lake days I have a steadfast companion. Miss Lucy had a day of days yesterday. She swam about all morning at Pam’s side as Pam took the paddle board out for a spin. She literally never tires of swimming. Could stay out there all day if we let her, and we nearly did. Later in the afternoon  we took the swim floats out and Lucy came out with us stopping every now and then to rest her head on my float so she could let her paws hang free in the water. She then closes her eyes and lays there taking a snoozle while I scratch her head. Finally after a very long day of great fun she laid down on the dock looking like a furry life guard…

Around 5:30, we drove into Camden for dinner at Sea Dog and ice cream at Riverducks. Our food and our view at dinner was first rate, and Riverducks never disappoints…

Who knows what today will bring?

What Do We Do on Rainy Days?

The last couple of days have been very rainy with lots of fog and flood warnings flying about. The forecast is for more of the same until mid-week. Everyone around here says that its been like this for at least six weeks. So what are we doing? Yesterday was fairly typical for a rainy day.

We decided to head into Camden for breakfast at The Deli. Its nice when the owner of the place greets you by your first name despite the fact that he hasn’t seen you in seven months! The blueberry pancakes were sublime along with some delicious coffee…

Then we putzed around the damp streets for a while stopping in to some of our favorite stores. On our way back to the lake we stopped at Lincolnville General Store to pick up some coffee from our favorite Maine photographer, Dan Dishner, owner of Coffee on the Porch—Camden. The store is an absolute beauty.

But, it ain’t cheap. One pound of coffee cost me $16! Oh well. Its only money, then you die.

Right across the street from the General Store is a place called the Red Cottage. Since we drive through Lincolnville Center on our way into Camden, we have watched this place blossom from a run down shack to the loveliest little shop you’ve ever seen over the past four years. But we never stopped to check it out until yesterday.

The proprietor, Janis Kay and her husband saw potential in this shack several years ago and put in a bid to buy the place. They outbid a contractor who was planning to tear it down and build a new house. After four years of hard work and lots of sweat equity, the Red Cottage is a gem. Pam saw several things she just had to have, and we made a new friend.

For the rest of the day and night Pam worked on her latest cross-stitch project. I enjoyed a world class nap and nearly finished my first book of the trip, John Le Carre’s The Spy Who Came in From the Cold. When it was time for dinner Pam whipped up some tacos and a salad made from vegetables she picked up at a farm stand in Belmont. After dinner, courtesy of Roku and the wonders of technology, we settled down on the sofa with Miss Lucy to watch the Livestream of Hope’s worship service from yesterday morning. At that point the rain was coming down in torrents, slashing the metal roof above us and making a sound like none other. This morning we woke to 60 degrees.

I imagine that today will be much the same. Lots of reading, a little fishing with Lucy down on the dock. We might wander into Belfast later on. Or not.

Here

I was the first to spot the green bridge arching in the distance through the fog at one o’clock in the afternoon. But this was real fog, not the noxious Canadian smoke we had been driving through for two days. Pam took a photograph, like she does every single time we pass under the green iron rails of the Piscataqua river bridge. She says that crossing the bridge is when vacation starts. Once on the other side she busied herself with making a grocery list. She will want to make a quick run into the Belfast Hannaford before the Saturday crowd descends.

By the time we exited off 295 just before Augusta, the sun had come out. The sky was a radiant blue, the temperature an idyllic 74. Despite the sharp pain radiating through my left hip and hamstring—an unfortunate physical staple of post-60 long distance driving life—I felt my spirits soaring. We were less than an hour away. Lucy, as always, lay curled up in her space in the back of the car, oblivious to the glorious sunshine. Then, I made the turn onto New England Road, ten minutes away from the lake. Lucy stood up and began sniffing the air, big goofy smile on her face, staring out of the rear window, ears perked up expectantly. How could she know?

Its hard to explain the feeling that comes over us when we see the lake for the first time every year. Quantabacook can’t be seen from any State road, one of the few Maine lakes for which this is true. In fact you don’t even see it when you first pull off the dirt road into the driveway. You have to clear the overhanging trees first. But once you do, there it is, bathed in sunlight, the water glistening as if on fire. Dan the Man from Ducktrap Kayaks has delivered as promised. There are brand new Adirondack chairs on the dock. The girls at On The Water In Maine had dropped off the package that Pam had shipped to their office—something she had bought for the trip but worried would arrive at home after we had already left. They are used to this with us. One year Pam left her contact lenses at home. Another year it was all her bathing suits! We don’t even have to ask tell them anymore. “Hey, you guys have a package. We can bring it out there or you can pick it up the next time you’re in town.” Customer Service isn’t some strange and novel concept to OTWIM. Its how they roll.

I texted this photograph to Tif, the owner of OTWIM, upon our arrival. She replied with one of her own from her front yard on Owl’s Head, a forty minute drive down the road…

“ ohhh. You have sun!!” She said.

“Well, I specifically ordered it for my arrival,” I replied.

I woke up this morning at 5:20. I always wake so early up here. Pam is still asleep and Lucy has hardly acknowledged my presence…

Yes, we cover the sofas here with her favorite blankets, she being a creature of quite specific habits. Plus we don’t want her getting dog hairs all over the furniture. Summer Dreams is such a delight. Anyone lucky enough to own a place this lovely deserves to have it taken care of. If this place or Loon Landing ever come up for sale I would write a check so fast, Wells Fargo would have a hernia.

Last night we slept with the windows opened. Its foggy out and cool. The only sounds are the occasional loon call, a persistent chickadee and the pulsing bellow of a bullfrog at the water’s edge. I’ve finished my first cup of coffee. The fog seems to be lifting, the sky  brightening. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.