Quirky. Peculiar. Beautiful.

The weather this week has been rather dismal, but we’ve been here almost six weeks. The place owes us nothing. So I went out for a walk this morning since it wasn’t raining. There’s a dirt road that runs all the way up the western side of the lake. I walked up and back, around 3 miles. Only this time I wasn’t walking for the health benefits, I was just taking it all in since we’ll be leaving in a few days.

People often ask me questions like, “I’m sure Maine is great but…six weeks?” or “What makes Maine so special, Virginia has beautiful places too.” My honest answer to them is something along the lines of, There’s just something about this place that’s…different. But it is quite difficult to put it into words. This morning on my walk I ran across several examples of what I would call the peculiar charm of this place. There is a vibe here that can best be described as quirky. I took a few pictures that attempt to capture a bit of this quirkiness.

I have no idea what the story is behind this odd scene, but yes…that’s a hat perched on the top of a twiggy tree on the side of Pond Road. I inspected the hat to see if it was defective in any way and found it to be in good condition. Apparently, its former owner decided that the time had come to part company so he found a convenient twiggy tree on the side of the road to place it on the oft chance that a hatless person might come along, place it on his or her head and begin a lifelong relationship.

The trees up here are huge, in both height and circumference. Many of them are several hundred years old. But when trees grow so towering and ancient, it takes them forever to die. They just stand there, looking more and more diabolical by the year. I’m telling you guys, there are some scary-ass trees up here.

Another thing you see all over the place in Maine are rocks, huge, ponderous boulders strewn willy-nilly all over creation. I suppose since there are so many of them, it explains the existence of literally a thousand miles worth of rock fences.

Some are weathered by 300 winters, and starting their slow decline back into the soil from which they came.

Others are younger, more structurally sound, solid as the day they were built. Looking at them lined up in field after field reminds you that our fore-bearers carved a hard life out of this stubborn soil. They worked hard, and that work should be honored.

Again, since rocks seem to be everywhere, the good people up here never tire of putting them to no good use by erecting these weird small statues on top of larger rocks unlucky enough to have flat tops. As you can see, some of these statue builders go to great elaborate lengths in their artistic and architectural efforts.

But, even in Maine there is no escaping that scourge of 21st century artistic expression…minimalism.

Of course, one of the most arresting and beautiful sights in Maine are the labyrinth of dirt roads that snake their way through the deep forests leading you to your lake house. This one is typical of such roads and comes with the quite mundane name, Fire Lane 6. Every single one of these roads makes me want to walk down them. I just have to see what lies beyond that curve where the path is covered in pine needles. These lanes, paths and trails are all invitations, each one a delight.

So, all of this, in a delightfully quirky 3 mile walk along the western edge of Quantabacook.

Then later, we drove into Lincolnville Beach for lunch and I found this and I was almost undone with gratitude for this place. This is exactly what it looks like, a place where anyone can come and help themselves to free fresh produce, in the hopes that sometime later you will bring some of your own and place them in the coolers for the next person.

Quirky. Peculiar. Beautiful.

 

L’affair Lord’s Supper

Woke up early this morning, around 5:30. It was gray outside, a stiff breeze stirring around a fine mist, a very cool feeling 60 degrees. It’s supposed to be this way for a couple days, high temperature only 71. I quickly decided against shorts and a T-shirt, instead opting for my only long-sleeve shirt and a pair of black pants. As is always the case I’ve put on a bit of weight since I’ve been in Maine and I desperately need a haircut. Maybe we will head in to Belfast or Camden and putz around some today.

So, I suppose I should have something to say about the great Last Supper controversy, since it seems every one else in the world has an opinion. As a Christian the consensus seems to be that I should be offended and scandalized. But as a Christian I have had to endure the likes of Jimmy Swaggard, Jim and Tammy Faye Baker, the Catholic priesthood, and the following images that pop up on my Facebook feed every five minutes…

So for me to be offended and scandalized would take a miracle at this point.

I did not see the Last Supper send up live. The TV was on in the background because Pam loves watching the Olympics opening ceremonies, and I was reading. But even she didn’t notice at first. Apparently the entire first few minutes were tres weird, even for the French, lots of sexually charged themes and such. It wasn’t until the next morning when we both discovered what a huge mess had been stirred up not only here but around the world. So, we were both forced to revisit the scene via YouTube. There it was, an obese woman with a halo standing in for Jesus, surrounded by a Star Wars bar scene collection of transsexuals(?) on her left and right, then this blue guy comes out wearing nothing but vines or something, which was suppose to represent some long forgotten Greek God. It was maybe 30 seconds long…maybe.

This is 2024. It’s the French Olympic Games. The nation of France turned its back on Christianity long, long ago. The latest numbers suggest that roughly 1-2% of the French population identifies as Christian.. But it’s not just Christianity. Very few Frenchman consider themselves believers in ANY religion. I would guess that with the surge of immigration at play in France that the most popular religion at this point is Islam. Which brings me to the only strong feeling I can muster about this Last Supper thing. People who consider themselves uber progressive, and by this I mean the far left, humanist, artistic community love to think of themselves as cutting edge, the brave, enlightened few who are constantly pushing the envelope. But, thats not what this was, not even close. This was the very safest thing a French radical could do—insulting Christians. What I want to see the next time there are 1 billion people watching on television—I want to see some brave, progressive, avant guard artist do an irreverent send up of the prophet Mohammed. Try mocking Islam. See how that works out for ya. Oh, my bad, the French already tried that. Poor Samuel Paty and the newspaper Charlie Hebdo found out the hard way what happens when you mock the Prophet.

But getting back to the Last Supper. I find it hard to be offended by the French. If I had been in charge of programming the Paris Opening Ceremonies I wouldn’t have included any of the weird stuff I saw. But, I’m not in charge. This Olympic Games belongs to France. They get to choose how they wish to portray their nation and culture to the world. This was what they chose. I was not offended, nor was I scandalized. I am made of a little more sterner stuff than that

One More Week

One week from this morning Pam and I will have packed our belongings in the car and started the two day journey back to Short Pump. Just like that, five weeks have passed. We have no regrets, there is no sadness that this trip is coming to an end. For one thing, we will be back in mid-September for our four week Fall adventure at Loon Landing. So no, there will be no sadness, just profound gratitude that we are lucky enough to be able to do this every year.

Every morning two things happen here that are predictable and comforting. First of all at approximately 7:30 Pam emerges from the bedroom dressed for her morning kayak paddle. This year her outfit includes a bad-ass hat which I love that makes her look like Katherine Hepburn…

She never knows which direction she will head until she gets in the kayak. “Where will I go this fine morning?” She says to herself before heading out into the mist. She stays out on the lake for an hour and a half, sometimes two full hours. Usually she makes her way up to Sheep Island to check in with the family of eagles on the point. Sometimes she heads down to the dam to listen to the water rushing over the blocks and watch the lily pad blooms opening up. But, make no mistake, she’s out there every morning unless it’s raining or the wind is howling.

The second thing that happens is this…

We don’t let Lucy go down to the dock to see her off in the morning because she would jump in after her. Instead, she stays in the house and stands at this window watching every move Mom makes. She doesn’t stop this vigil until the kayak disappears from view. Then and only then will she drop her head, let out one small disgruntled whine, circle around three rotations then plop herself on the floor for a nap, where she sleeps with one eye and both ears open for the first tell-tale sounds that tell her that Mom is back. It is as predictable as the sunrise.

While all this is happening I am usually either writing or reading. Although I don’t stand at the window drooling and whining like Lucy, that doesn’t mean I’m not anxiously awaiting her return. When she gets back we eat breakfast out on the porch, Lucy gets her breakfast, and we listen to Pam’s report on all things Quantabacook. After breakfast it will be my turn. I pack my fishing gear in my kayak and head out for a couple or three hours of fishing and deep thoughts. Sometimes when I return, Pam and Lucy are on the dock getting ready to head out again, this time Pam is on her paddle board and Lucy has her bright orange vest on swimming right beside her. After securing the kayak on the rocky shore I slip my tired and aching body into the water for a swim of my own. Three hours fishing from a kayak plays hell with my back, so the cold water acts like a miracle cure.

Eventually one of us will ask the other, “You have any idea what time it is?” Neither of us do. We are always surprised when one of us says, “It’s one o’clock!”

Then the other says, “We probably should think about lunch pretty soon.”

After lunch I take a nap. Pam works on her cross-stitching or reads. Then around three o’clock or so, our dock is in the shade so we hop on our floats and attach ourselves to the swimming float around fifty yards out in the lake. The sun is bright and warm out there. We drift along chitchatting about various topics. Sometimes Lucy swims along in our little cove, keeping a sharp eye on us in case we decide to do something stupid.

Pretty soon someone will say, “I wonder what time it’s getting to be?” Both of us are again surprised how late it is. Where did the day go? After a while we drag ourselves back to the dock, dry Lucy off and head back to the house to make dinner. We eat out on the porch and Pam always asks the rhetorical question, “Wonder if there will be a decent sunset tonight?” It will be her last excursion on the lake for the day, her search for this sunset. Sometimes I go with her. No doubt, Lucy is standing at her whining window. We don’t say much to each other this time on the lake. It feels a little like being at church and listening to a really moving and powerful message…

Tomorrow we will do it all again.

A Tale of Four Photographs

This is the tale of four photographs, none of which have any connection to the other. My blog, my rules.

1. This morning I made the 35 minute drive into Rockland to play golf for the first time in nearly a year. Now that I am staring directly down the gun barrel of retirement I have been thinking that I should probably rekindle my interest in golf since soon I will have plenty of time to devote to it. So, on a perfectly dreary morning filled with drizzle and fog, I played nine holes at Rockland Golf Club. I shot a 45 which came as no surprise, after all it had been a year, the conditions were poor, I was using rental clubs and could hardly see further than 100 yards because of the fog. What was surprising was the number of really nice shots I hit, none better than this one. The ninth hole is a 220 yard par 3. I hit a 3-wood that felt great but I immediately lost it in the thick fog. When I reached the green, there it was 12 feet beyond the flag stick. The ball mark was six feet from the hole. Of course I missed the putt, but it was a great way to finish the outing.

You might be wondering why on earth I chose such a rotten, miserable weather day to play golf. It’s quite simple. If I had woken up to clear, sunny skies, there’s no way I would have left the lake. When the weather turns nasty, thats the time to plan outings. I am aware that this makes us sound pathetic, being so attached to the lake that we won’t leave it until bad weather comes, but it’s just the way it is. We can’t help ourselves.

2. Pam was having lunch a couple days ago on our beautiful screened in porch. It should be pointed out that every single meal we have had in our two and half weeks here has been eaten on this porch, even…especially…when it’s raining. Anyhow, she noticed one of the seven or eight birdhouses had a small red squirrel crawling around it. By the time she reached for her phone to take a picture, the tree rat had slipped inside, turned around and was staring back at her. Look carefully and you will see him in the door. My first reaction to this was…is there anything worse than a religious squirrel? Since we do not know what denomination this particular church belongs to, I’m guessing it’s Presbyterian. If anyone or anything has a firm grasp on the notion of total depravity, its got to be squirrels.

3. Lest any of my Virginia peeps think that Maine is some backwoods wilderness without access to modern services, this photograph should disabuse you of such ideas. Yes, we have full access to the United States Postal Service here in Maine, and I might add that the post offices up here put ours to shame. Think about that ugly monstrosity at the corner of Pump and Patterson Avenue, for example. Now, feast your eyes on the post office for West Rockport, Maine. I’m thinking that all post offices should be log cabins

4. Finally, today is July 24th, and my wife is multi tasking like a boss out on the screen porch. One lap top is playing last night’s episode of the Bachelorette, the other displays the pattern of the cross-stitching project that she has been tirelessly working on since the day we arrived. Most astonishing is the fact that she is wearing a long sleeved jacket and her legs are wrapped in a blanket. Outside the rain is softly falling on the leaves of the trees around the porch, making the kind of sounds that people pay money to play through their cellphones at night so they can fall asleep. 

Last night we came across a camp for sale on a nearby lake. It has potential. We might run by and take a tour of the place later on. Its a good day for such things.

The Antidote To Crazy

It was a delicious 54 degrees down on the dock this morning at 5:35am. I was chilly in shorts and a t-shirt. There was a mist crawling across the surface of the water. This lake seems unaware of the chaos afoot in Washington, DC. It knows nothing of Joe Biden, Donald Trump, and now Kamala Harris. It only knows that it’s time for the sun to rise over its calm waters. It’s time to show off its beauty once again. Quantabacook seems to have one job and one job only—to be the antidote for crazy.

Yesterday, Ron and Paula left for home, leaving Pam and I here for another two weeks. Eventually we too will have to reenter a world where the new Democratic nominee for President is a woman best known for her word salads, cackling laugh, and somehow making it to age 59 without knowing the tune to “The Wheels on the Bus”. But in 2024 the bar of qualifications for the highest office in the land has been sufficiently lowered to accommodate such inadequacy. Moreover, President Biden’s abdication suddenly leaves Donald Trump as the only old man in the race, perhaps the most shrewd thing Joe has ever done in his life. The only drama which remains is who Kamala will name as her VP. Being a Democrat, her choice will have to be put through the vigorous gauntlet of the box-checking identity politics her party is known for. Since she has the advantage of being a two-fer—both black and female—the early betting is that she will name a man to fill this most meaningless of jobs. But it can’t be just any man. After all, men have a long history is being…well, men, with their misogynistic attitudes and appetites. She will have to tread carefully with this, the first big life-changing decision of her public life. (Well, second if you include Willy Brown). As I survey the potential VP’s in the Democratic bullpen I see one clear standout, and if Kamala agrees with me, she just might win the White House.

Pete Buttigieg, Secretary of Transportation.

Pete brings an awful lot to the table. He’s a man. He’s young. He’s a veteran. He’s Harvard to JD Vance’s Yale. He’s ten times smarter than Kamala Harris. But best of all for the Democratic faithful—he’s gay. Imagine the unbridled joy on the convention floor in Chicago as the balloons rain down on these two young, attractive people, holding hands thrusted in the air, declaring the Age of Aquarius has indeed finally come. Meanwhile, over in MAGA world, fat and old Donald Trump and his Ivy League Hillbilly won’t have Crooked-Joe to kick around anymore. Could get very interesting by Election Day.

But, where does this leave someone like me? Many years ago I considered myself a small-government, communist-hating Republican. But neither of those two things exist anymore. Donald Trump’s takeover of the GOP has rendered it permanently radioactive for me. The Democratic Party has blown their potential opening where I am concerned by their lunatic left fringe and seeming deathwish-devotion to the existence of sixteen genders and all that goes with it. So, for me it’s no longer about the “issues” or anything as silly as “policy”. Nobody actually gets things done anyway. For me it’s about two things—basic competency, and human decency. Of the four people I theorize will be the candidates mentioned above, one stands out…Pete. If Pete Buttigieg were President, I wouldn’t have to worry about his intelligence. Have you ever heard him speak? The dude would never embarrass us with some rambling non sequitur, ignorant rant, or ear-piercing cackling laugh. Sure, he would be a devoted statist, government has all the answers guy like thousands of democrats before him, but honestly, who isn’t anymore?

So, my choices are between not voting at all and maybe, maybe pulling the lever for the ticket with Pete Buttigieg on it. 

But what if she passes over Pete for someone else? Suppose she goes all-female with somebody like Elizabeth Warren? What if she picks that slicked back pretty boy governor of California? Well, I’m out at that point.

Birthday Girl

Today is Pam’s birthday. I can hardly remember a time when we have been anywhere other than Maine to celebrate it and it’s just as well. I shopped for her presents in town yesterday. Hope she likes what I bought.

She started the day the way she always does up here, with her 7:30 kayak paddle…

She slips out of our little cove and disappears around the corner and doesn’t return until around 9 or so. What she does out there every morning is anyone’s guess. When I kayak its to fish. With Pam its more like she’s surveying her kingdom, checking up on the loons or something. When she gets back this morning there will be a pancake breakfast waiting for her courtesy of Ron and Paula. Then Paula will be taking her out for a shopping trip to the little red store in Lincolnville Center. Tonight we have a reservation outside at Fresh & Company. To honor her, God has presented us with the best weather day since we arrived four weeks ago. It was 60 degrees this morning at 6:00 and the high temperature today will be 80 with no humidity and light winds—finally—from the north!

I have known her since she was 10 years old, fell in love with this stunning blue-eyed beauty over 40 years ago when she looked like this. Can you blame me? But when you fall in love with someone you take a big risk, right? You fall in love with a person at a point in time, the person they are then. But, the risk you take is —what happens if the person they become ends up being horrible? After all, people don’t just stop growing and evolving as they age. Suppose the person you fall in love with evolves into a selfish, arrogant monster. I exaggerate but only a little. I mean, all of us are essentially under construction, a process that never truly ends. But in this regard I needn’t have worried. Pam is a better human being today than she was when I fell in love with her. I hope I am too, but that jury is still out.

So, the happiest of birthdays to this incredible human being!

A Meh Day

Today was one of the rare meh days here on Quantabacook. You wake up after a restless night of fitful sleep. It’s humid outside and a bit warm, almost sticky. Yes, I’m aware that practically everywhere else in America you have it much worse than we do, still the weather forecast was calling for upper 80’s with humidity. We have been spoiled by decidedly lower humidity as well as lower temperatures. Both Pam and I were out of sorts. We put very little thought into our adhoc plan to get some breakfast at Fraternity Village. After eggs and bacon we decided to drive into Camden to see if I could pick up some cheap fishing gear at Reny’s. No such luck. Instead, I found some ridiculously overpriced fishing gear at Maine Sport. Serves me right for hooking more limbs than fish of late. Anyway, as we were walking to the parking lot Pam says to me, “Let’s go to Camden Hills State Park and walk on the Shore Trail.”

It is one of our favorite and most beloved spots in the Mid-Coast area. In fact, a scene from my second novel, Saving Jack, takes place there. Like so many other spots around here it is filled with magic. We arrived at 11:00 and had the place literally to ourselves.

From the parking lot you enter into thick woods of towering pines. There is a stairway made from rocks and pine needles that you follow. In the distance you can hear the ocean and each step you take, the briny air from it becomes more dominant. Eventually through a break in the trees you see Penobscot Bay…

The first thing we noticed was the cooler temperatures the closer we got to the water. There was a great mixing and swirling of the winds above us, a fresh breeze from the direction of Mt. Battie with the powerful winds from the bay. Then we made our way down the great stone steps to the rocks below. They call the town of Camden, Where the Mountains Meet the Sea. The only other place where this happens on the Atlantic Ocean is in South America. It is quite a sight to see, especially when you’re having a meh day. 

I took the following picture once I had climbed down the rocks to the place where the waves were crashing. When I turned around I saw Pam sitting on a rock. The enormity of this place makes you feel so small…

Its hard to describe the sensation that comes over you the first time you break through those trees and see the sparkling blue waters of the bay, the massive rocks and the waves crashing against them when just a few minutes before you were walking through a forest. So, what was Pam looking at?

We sat down together on that rock. After a while I laid back and closed my eyes. After thirty minutes neither of us were ready to leave but we managed to get to our feet and head back to camp. On the way back through Camden we stopped to buy slices of Raspberry and Blueberry pie from the Camden Deli, then a bit further down the road, some sandwiches from the 207 Eats food truck.

So much for a meh day.

This Is Who We Are

We enjoyed a dinner of toasted tuna rolls and leftover side dishes from earlier in the week as the cool air from the lake whispered through the trees. It had been a very good day spent frolicking on the lake. Somebody suggested that we see if we can find the movie, On Golden Pond, that maybe it would be the perfect movie to watch after such a day. After dinner I took a shower, wondering how the old classic from 1982 would hold up after all these years. When I walked into the living room all fresh and clean shaven, Pam and Paula were huddled over their cell phones while the television screen in the corner screamed the headline about an assassination attempt on Former President Donald Trump. 

I watched the video, heard the sound of firecrackers and saw him reach for his ear then drop down behind the lectern. I watched the Secret Service storm the stage, eventually lift the man up, whisking him away to a black SUV. I saw him clinch his fist and yell at the crowd, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

And just like that…this national moment of chaos and despair just got immeasurably worse.

The photograph of Trump, face bloodied by a would-be assassin’s bullet, fist raised in defiance and anger, will become an icon. I am left with a profound sadness and memories of my parents. As a five year old child one of my very first memories of any kind was the ashen-faced reaction of Mom and Dad the day John F. Kennedy was killed. Then, almost twenty years later, I walked in the house and saw my father standing alone in front of our old black and white RCA Victor watching a breaking news report about Ronald Reagan being shot and whisked off to surgery at a nearby hospital. My dad had tears in his eyes. One a Democrat, the other a Republican, but both Presidents. Dad made a point to me about respecting the office over the man. I have never forgotten the scene, my Dad never having been much of a cryer.

We eventually settled down from all the news and watched the movie. It was transcendently beautiful. From the very first scene to watching the credits roll over the shimmering water, I was on the edge of remarkable emotion. Henry Fonda. Katherine Hepburn. A story about aging and family and a magical place that brings them together. It was a lot to process at the end of such a day.

Then, I was awakened by the morning sun filtering through the blinds. I glanced at the bedside clock…5:22. I got up, threw some clothes on and walked down to the lake. The sun had just risen…

I am at the point in my life where the sight of any politician on my tv screen makes me almost physically ill, none more so than Donald Trump. I have made my views on this man abundantly clear in this space over the past eight years. But, he was our President and very well may be again. Like my father before me, I respect the office he held, and hate seeing it diminished by violence. The only thing that feels different now is that nobody is shocked by this. Deep down, most people in America who have been paying attention expected this. I know I did. I wasn’t sure which one of them would get shot at, but I was sure one of them would before Election Day. The painful truth of the moment is—this is who we are now.

But, as Ernest Hemingway reminded us…the sun also rises. Today is a new day and the possibilities are endless. As I stood on the dock watching the sun peaking over the pines I said a prayer for my country.

Decisions, Decisions

Ok, some big decisions are going to need to be made today with regards to tomorrow, Saturday, July 13th, 2024. So far, the only thing that has been firmly established is the time for me to pickup our donut order at Ruckus Donuts in Rockland. That would be 7:30am. You read that right…this is a donut order, one that had to be placed on or before 7:30 this morning for pickup 24 hours later. This is a supply and demand phenomenon, this Ruckus Donuts outfit.

But, after our donuts there’s a universe of entertainment options available to us. All we have to do is prioritize them, do a cost/benefit analysis and make a command decision. Here are just a few of our options:

1. The North Atlantic Blues Festival in Rockland, Maine. This prestigious event will be headlined by Buckwheat Zydeco. I mean, how many chances are you gonna get to hear him??

2. The Moxie Festival at Beaver Park up in Lisbon, Maine. This event celebrates a truly horrible tasting soft drink indigenous to Maine…

Lest you dismiss this as not a viable option for our entertainment dollars, I probably should mention that there will be a…

3. Union Fair’s Maine Wild Blueberry Festival. How many times can I miss this?

4. Lincolnville’s Strawberry Festival and Parade. Last year we saw this parade and made the ghastly mistake of thinking we had time to head into Camden for breakfast first before attending the festival. Unfortunately, by the time we made it back to Lincolnville every single strawberry and every derivative dish featuring strawberries had been completely sold out.

5. Searsmont Library Book Fair and Sale. I love books, and Searsmont is our hometown of sorts here in Maine so shouldn’t charity begin at home?

Of course, as is nearly always the case, the weather forecast for tomorrow calls for gorgeous lake conditions. This just makes this decision all that much more difficult since it introduces a sixth viable option…

6. The “Lay around on floats on the lake all day soaking up the sun” Festival on Quantabacook Lake, or LAOFOTLADSUTS Day, as we like to call it. It features lazy white folks doing nothing productive while their dog swims in circles around them. Lunch will most likely come from Fraternity Village General store since none of the aforementioned white folks are industrious enough to actually make something.

So…what should we do? We are open to suggestions.

One-Eyed Jack

I have come to believe that historically cold and snowy places have a tendency to bake in a certain weirdness in the population. Take Maine for instance. This place is an icebox for five long months in the late fall and winter. Snow is everywhere, all the lakes freeze over, and after that the spring brings mud and lots of it. So what are a people to do when faced with this sort of dreariness? Well, for starters, they do stuff like this…

Meet One-Eyed Jack, an otherwise nondescript maple tree here at Fernwood Cottage. Someone—it would be presumptuous to assume its the owner of Fernwood—went to the trouble of adorning this tree a full twelve feet from the ground. The droopy eye, puckered lips and aristocratic nose suggest a level of sophistication. Did he/she start out with two eyes only to lose one during a particularly violent winter storm or was he born this way? It only adds to the mystery. It would be one thing if this was a one off. But in our years up here we have encountered these type of anomalies all over the Maine woods. There was one on a gravel path at Crawford Pond several years back who we fondly nicknamed Donald Trunk. You take enough hikes down random trails up here and you will meet all manner of decorated trees, weird stick men engaging in sword fights, the occasional display of gnomes decorated with outlandish beads and trinkets. It’s like a museum of oddities.

This guy here, One-Eyed Jack, is placed directly in the line of sight of whoever happens to be cooking dinner on the grill out on the back deck. At first it’s kinda cool, but after a while you start to think that he’s mocking you—“Look at this Virginian trying to cook steaks on the grill. He wouldn’t last ten minutes here in February. And how about that accent?! What a hick!” You can practically smell his attitude! 

But the snarky vibe that this guy gives off isn’t limited to dinner time. Yesterday I went for a kayak trip that was quite extensive…

 

It took over an hour and a half to paddle this 5.3 miles. As I was walking up the path to the cabin I passed One-Eyed Jack and could have sworn I heard him say…If you were a real Mainer you would have gone all the way around the lake. What a wuss!! It could have been my imagination, but honestly I wouldn’t put anything past him.

A Gorgeous Morning and an Annoying Swimmer

This is my view at the moment. It’s only my second morning here and yesterday’s was plagued by that rarest of conditions up here—humidity. But this morning, order has been gloriously restored. 67 degrees and a cool dry breeze drifts through these screens. The only ripple on the lake is being made by a single swimmer, slowly cutting through the silky water, a wide v-shaped wake drifting behind. The nerve of that guy, reminding the rest of us how out of shape and lazy we are. He probably will swim five miles then head back to his camp and eat plain yogurt for breakfast. Me? I’m thinking about doing some pushups, then I’ll broil up four English muffin halves, slather them with peanut butter and jam and thank Almighty God that I will never be forced to choke down yogurt in this or any other life.

It’s hard to concentrate on writing this blog out here on this porch. Except for triathlon dude, every sound I’m hearing is being made by something other than human beings. I am surrounded by a chorus of birdsongs, four specific melodies that I can pick out and a lone woodpecker tapping away in the distance. Every once in a while a loon call drifts across the lake. The clouds in the distance are slowly taking on a pink and orange glow which, blending in with the Carolina blue morning sky, reminds me of the cotton candy stand at the State Fair. Now that buzz-kill bro is gone the lake is still again, the only blemish coming from insects touching down here and there, their presence sending tiny rings out on the water’s surface. Now, another woodpecker, closer and from the north, this one whacking a softer tree. It’s almost unbearably beautiful.

I got my first sales numbers in from my publisher for A Life of Dreams. They weren’t very good. It was only for the month of May but still, I couldn’t help being disappointed. I’m a competitive guy. I’ve generally succeeded at most things I’ve taken on in this life, so I naturally took the low sales numbers personally. But then last night I got a text from a friend who wanted to let me know that her and her husband had just finished reading the book and they both loved it. She was by no means the first reader to tell me that the story had brought her to tears. The encouragement of her words helped my sour mood with the sales numbers. It also reminded me that I am not even halfway through spending six weeks in Maine and feeling sorry for myself is a very bad look. 

And here comes Mister Showoff back from his Olympic trial run…I must say that his swimming stroke looks quite awkward and choppy. Wait..hold on…it’s a woman. Great. Oh, and now that I’ve got the binoculars out I can see that she is a quite elderly woman. Wonderful. Yeah, well…but is she happy? That’s what I want to know. But, even if she is, there’s a bowl of plain yogurt in her immediate future. Pssshh! No thanks!

Moved In at Fernwood Cottage

Today was moving day #2. We packed up and left Summer Dreams around 9:00 am and took up residence at Fernwood Cottage on the west side of Quantabacook. There will be pictures to come later. So far we are loving the place. Also, Ron and Paula arrived today much to the delight of Lucy who continues to live her best life here at the lake.

This blog is about the one indispensable institution in the town of Searsmont—especially on moving day. Of course, I could only be referring to the Fraternity General Store. For lunch I picked up sandwiches, for dinner we ordered a pizza. Each meal was delicious and reasonably priced. The store is only 1.5 miles from our camp. Around 6:00 we were all sitting on the dock enjoying the gorgeous views and feeling the delightfully cool breezes blowing in our faces when someone said something about what we were going to do about dinner. Within a few minutes Pam was on her cell phone with Fraternity ordering our pizza and was told that it would be ready for pickup in 30 minutes. Paula made the wry observation of how incredible that we could be in such a secluded slice of Maine natural beauty and be enjoying a slice of fresh pizza in a mere thirty minutes!

So, I thought I would share with all of you just what sort of place Fraternity is. Each town, village, and glorified intersection in rural Maine has a store very much like Fraternity General…

As the sign says, it’s a combination cafe/general store/deli-bakery/produce stand/ pizza joint. Oh, and in its spare time it’s also a game inspection station.

This bakery produces some killer delicacies, everything from whoopi pies to blueberry muffins. But the real action takes place in this piping hot kitchen where an assortment or sandwiches, Italian subs and pizzas are expertly prepared on a daily basis.

Now, we try not to make a habit of eating meals from Fraternity. It’s the kind of food that could put 25 pounds on you quicker than a knife fight in a phone booth. But, when you’ve packed up one house, unpacked at another and are tired and sweaty, it’s nearly the best food in the world.

I do have one photo to share from our new home. This one was taken down near the dock around 7:30 or so. Look at the big smile on Lucy’s face, hoping that Uncle Ron might reel in a fish!!

A Lobster Roll Picnic

A wonderful July 4th experience was had on the lake yesterday. You know you’re in Maine when your Independence Day cookout features lobster rolls…

Here’s how this worked out. The folks who own the camp we’re staying at right now,( Summer Dreams), Matt and Sharon, invited us to a picnic at their other camp on the lake (Piper Cove) which happens to be next door to Loon Landing. Next door to Piper Cove is another great camp owned by Gill and Charles. The folks who own the place next to us here at Summer Dreams (Matt and Tuesday)were also invited to this picnic. It was a crowd of wonderful long time camp owners on Quantabacook…and us.

So, Early yesterday morning Matt drives into Lincolnville Beach and picks up a bunch of fresh caught lobsters directly from a lobster boat, brings them back to camp and cooks them up. Then, the indomitable Carolyn May (owner of Loon Landing) spent hours picking all the meat from these lobsters. Pam along with Matt and Sharon provided a salad, a bunch of snacks and adult beverages and of course Carolyn thought to bring a dozen or so oysters on the half shell. We ate this feast at an outdoor table just steps from the water as the setting sun splashed its reflection across the lake’s surface. Pam and I listened to their stories about lake life with great interest and just a twinge of envy. Around 8:30 or so we heard the first explosion of fireworks from the north end of the lake which was our cue to head back to camp to comfort poor Lucy. We found her curled up in a ball in the tiny bathroom, her nose scrunched firmly under the bottom edge of the vanity. This morning she seems to have recovered…

I approached Matt at the party and asked him where and how he managed to find that really cool Maine-shaped rock  right at the entrance to the dock at Summer Dreams. He looked at me with a confused expression—“What Maine-shaped rock?” I said, “You’re kidding me, right? The one right near the dock!” Nope, no recognition at all. I told him that I would take a picture of it and text it to him so I did this morning. You guys be the judge…

Here’s the State of Maine…

And here is their rock…

I think its a dead ringer!

July 4th Observations

Happy July 4th, everyone. Here on Quantabacook there will be the famous July 4th Boat Parade. Then a cookout with some homeowner friends where lobster rolls will be served. After that poor Lucy will have the worst night of her life trying to endure the fireworks show! Pictures will follow from all the fun.

So, yesterday something popped up on my Facebook wall from someone I didn’t know, probably a friend of a friend sort of thing. It was a 4th of July meme thing and it said—Chose wisely in November or this might very well be the last time you will be able to celebrate the 4th of July. 

STOP! For the love of God, just stop.

This type of political hyperbole is the bane of my existence. It infuriates me what politics has done to us, worse than that it infuriates me that we have given politicians this much power—to turn otherwise rational adults into blithering idiots. This particular poster did not tell us who she or he supports for President, so it could have been either of them. It doesn't matter because in either case this message is complete horseshit. I will here and now declare without equivocation that next July 4th I will celebrate our nation’s independence with great enthusiasm regardless of who wins the election!! And, so will you!!!!!!

Here’s the thing, people. I have been in the financial advisory business for over 4 decades and every Presidential election year its the same old story. Maybe 10% of my clients are what I would call political partisans, the sort of people who are really into politics.(not that there’s anything wrong with that). They are roughly evenly divided by party affiliation. Every election its the same story—“Doug, if candidate A wins this election I’m going to sell everything I have with you because if he/she wins the country is finished!!” I spend days, sometimes weeks talking them off the ledge. Oh, the horror stories I have heard from these folks telling me what was about to befall the country if their candidate loses. The economy was going to be destroyed, religious liberties revoked, gay people dragged from their beds, homeschoolers arrested, and microchips implanted in every brain in America. I have been warned about the nefarious intentions of Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, Al Gore, Tipper Gore, George Bush, Dick Cheney, Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, Donald Trump, Joe Biden, Kamala Harris. Everyone of these people was going to usher in the four horses of the apocalypse. Oddly enough, the only President and First Lady that got a pass from these folks was George H. W. Bush and Barbara. Go figure. I shouldn’t have to point this out but in none of these cases were the dire predictions true. Not even close! All of these Presidents enjoyed booming stock markets and largely thriving economies.

The question I have always anted to ask these partisans is a simple one…Has any American president in your lifetime had a major negative impact on your life? Here’s my answer—no. Republicans come and Republicans go. Democrats come and Democrats go. My life continues on its merry way, its quality almost entirely dependent upon my actions and my decisions. Do Presidents have any influence? Sure they do. Some policies that have been enacted over the last 40 years have not been my preferred prescription for how to run the country. This is also not to say that politicians cannot do major harm to the pursuit of happiness. They can and do from time to time. But every election year I listen to the dire warnings, I take note of all the people who promise to leave America of so-and-so wins the election but without fail—they never do. Somehow they just can’t bring themself to quit America. And neither will you!! 

So, just knock it off with your doom and gloom. This nation has survived much worse than either Joe Biden or Donald Trump. Turn off your TV. Shut down your computer. Go for a walk. I’m betting that there’s another Barbara Bush in our future.

Hard Choices

I have been informed by my creditors that I will not be given a six week grace period on paying my bills, this after intense debate with them over the fairness of charging me for electricity while I’m not even living in the house. Unfortunately, Big Utility won the argument so I must spend the morning paying them along with a host of other unused products and services I continue to be billed for while I am away. The struggle is real.

In other news, yesterday was our most glorious weather of the trip and today promises more of the same. High temperature 79, very low humidity with sunny skies and diminished winds. Ideal conditions exist for fishing, kayaking, swimming and anything else it is possible to do legally while out of doors. The only thing that will be missing are our kids. Kaitlin and Jon aren’t here because this summer is their 10th wedding anniversary and they have a big trip planned to the British Isles in store for much of July. Meanwhile, Patrick and Sarah just celebrated their 6th anniversary spending a long weekend in Philadelphia. They plan to visit us when we are up here for four weeks in the Fall. So it turns out that our kids have lives of their own. Although this revelation has been disappointing to us we are told that it is totally natural and in fact healthy. Whatever…

At some point very soon Pam and I are going to come up with the resolve necessary to actually drive into town for dinner at a restaurant. One would think we would have done so already. First of all, we’ve been here for eleven days now and second of all, Camden and Belfast are packed with so many fine eateries, an embarrassment of culinary riches. All it requires of us is the effort it takes to come inside, take a shower, get properly dressed and pick a restaurant. So far this has seemed like a daunting task to us. It sounds like such hard work and it would require pro-active decision making on our part. This isn’t nearly as easy at it appears at first glance. Feel like Italian food? Well, there’s Ports of Italy and Delvino’s. Try making that decision! Or maybe you’re thinking seafood. There are only a half dozen great places to decide between. Good luck. Then, there’s the lake. If we leave here to go into town for dinner it would be just like Quantabacook to put on a light show of a sunset while we’re gone, and we would miss it! Either that or a dozen loons would show up in our cove and perform an hour long concert in our absence. I mean…do we risk it?

Here’s What We’ve Been Up To

Now that we are firmly ensconced into Week Two here in Maine it would be a fair question to ask—What have we been doing? Well, aside from an unscheduled emergency room visit, things have gone swimmingly… see what I did there? When you’re up here you have lots of time to hone your dad joke skills.

So, there have been a few highlights. First, our introduction to a new place to get fat—Ruckus Donuts in Rockland, Maine.

These babies take five hours to make from scratch, taste like heaven, and the owners promise to give you 25% off your first bypass operation.

Last night Pam and I had a delightful sunset paddle. It’s been quite windy here since we arrived but last night the breeze tapered off just in time for a sunset show.

We even got a glimpse of a rainbow.

As sunsets go here on Quantabacook, this one was nothing special, but it was so peaceful out there on the water watching the changing colors, listening to the loons and watching Pam in her element.

Of course, Lucy and I have had many long conversations about life…

She does this a lot. She will see me seated in a chair and immediately plop herself across my lap where she expects me to tell her what a good girl she is. After I have sufficiently extolled her many virtues for ten minutes or so she plops down and goes about her business. We also take naps together…

Yeah, so that about covers it. We eat delicious food, we spend lots of time in and on the water, we take naps, read books, fish, Pam does cross-stitch and we talk about things.

Just living the lake life.