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.