Breaking My Silence on a HUGE Issue

 Despite the fact that I am currently on vacation and in general avoiding the news, sometimes a story comes along that demands my attention. Vacation or not, some things are so important, so potentially disruptive to our lives, a blogger like myself feels a certain responsibility, an obligation to address the issue that is utmost in the minds of my fellow Americans at this moment in time. Which issue am I referring to? Let me quote the Center for Disease Control:

A multistate outbreak of cyclosporiasis—a parasitic infection causing, EXPLOSIVE WATERY DIARRHEA* and stomach cramps.

Needless to say, this story got my attention. I mean, the very last thing I want to experience while on vacation is a case of EWD. My first response to this scary story was to ask the obvious question—“Was Taco Bell involved?” Upon a deeper dive into the story my fears were justified when I discovered that many of the cases were in fact connected to the historically bowel-stewing fast food franchise which I have successfully avoided for the past 30 years. The culprit, according to the CDC, was lettuce imported from—where else? Mexico.—and processed by an American company, Taylor Farms. Over the weekend, the CDC linked what has become known as raging diarrhea in the press, to the company who immediately placed a recall on all suspect lettuce. Of course, in a turn of events which should have come as a surprise to absolutely no one, the CDC then backtracked on their previous conclusion about Taylor farms and contaminated lettuce, saying that the test that had precipitated the recall turned out to be a false positive. Stinks for Taylor Farms. But as the government scientists proved back during the COVID fiasco, nothing has a shorter lifespan than a CDC press release.

Still, the very thought that there could be thousands of people out there about to be overcome with days of EWD, up to two weeks after a trip to Taco Bell sounds positively horrifying. Usually the symptoms of a meal at that place present in less than 24 hours, occasionally before you even make it back home! Now if you were stupid enough to toss back three tacos at midnight after setting through The Odyssey, you’re on the clock for 14 days?? What kind of fresh hell is this? It’s 100 degrees outside all over the country. We’ve been forced to watch soccer for the past 30 days. Donald Trump is in the White House and the Mayor of New York is a Communist. Haven’t we all suffered enough at this point?

* Is there any other kind? I mean, isn’t diarrhea, by definition…watery? 

Whatever Happened to the Pioneer Spirit?

 I am taking a huge risk with the post I am about to write. There is the very real possibility that it will not land well with some of you. I mean, I am in the midst of a six week vacation on a beautiful lake in Maine where the temperatures and humidity levels have been near perfect. By writing this I risk coming across like the guy on his private yacht off the shores of some Greek Island in the Adriatic complaining that the crackers on his seven meat, eight cheese charcuterie tray are too stale…or even worse, like that annoying Dodger fan who whines about  how many injuries his 400 million dollar roster has suffered. Nevertheless, I forge ahead.

Roughly 48 hours ago, a freaky storm cut a path through Maine’s mid-coast region. The entire thing lasted maybe 15 minutes or so, very little rain, no lightening and no thunder.  When it was over a ton of people were without power—including us. What this storm did have was tornado style winds. All of the furniture on our dock was swept away. Other people’s docks were lifted off their foundations. Trees were snapped in two bringing down power lines all over the place. Thirty minutes after the storm passed it was gorgeous outside, 75 and sunny, sky the crystal clear blue of Paul Newman’s eyes. 

We immediately alerted Tif, the all-powerful, all-knowing superstar of the rental market around here and also a wonderful friend. She assured us that all would be well soon. Then we texted our homeowner buddies on the lake to get their take on the situation. “No worries,” was the general consensus. “Happens all the time up here, it’s part of the Maine experience”, they all agreed. This all happened around 2:00 pm Thursday afternoon. All of our homeowner buddies had their power restored almost right away since they are all on the eastern shore of Quantabacook. All of us chumps on the west side were not so lucky.

The following 48 hours were instructive of several things, not the least of which is the fact that  neither Pam nor I would have made very good pioneers. As fate would have it, Pam and Kaitlin had started watching a remake of Little House on the Prairie week or so ago. Compared to the Engle clan, we look like a couple of helpless babies—although I should add that I was able to retrieve all of the deck furniture from the depths of the lake without a trip to the ER, so I’ve got that going for me.

Luckily, Paula and Ron are staying twenty minutes away from us on another lake, and they never lost power, so we were able to go over there the past two nights for dinner and a shower. Also, we were fortunate enough to have spectacular weather Friday, so the house never got hot. Still, it was embarrassing how annoyed we were that our phones and iPads were constantly running out of battery life. Aside from the annoyance of life without electricity, life has continued on its merry way. I caught the biggest bass I’ve ever caught up here a couple nights ago, and Pam persevered through the pitch black darkness of the house at night by continuing her cross stitching efforts with the aid of a battery operated light that drapes around her neck, shining light directly on the project at hand. I swear that women always finds a way to get it done.

All the while we kept getting updates from Tif via text—“should be back on by 8:00!” Then once 8:00 came and went—“Lying bastards! Now they’re saying 2:00! But today was going to be the day, no question about it—“Noon. Power will be on by noon!” Then, bless her heart, she starts apologizing all over the place like an act of God was somehow her fault. At one point she even offers to pay for us to replenish the fridge once the power was restored! Sometimes, she’s a little crazy.

But then, around noon today the power suddenly came on and we were so grateful…until five minutes later it went dark again. That head fake was painful. Despite overcast skies and windy conditions I headed out on the lake to take my frustrations out on the fish. A little over 3 hours later it finally came on for good. Pam is now in Belfast buying new groceries. I have finally taken a proper shower, shaved, and am now telling my whiny story to people who are probably rolling their eyes as they read. Well…sure, its not famine, pestilence or bloodshed…but you try going 48 hours without your back-massaging heating pad!

Lincolnville Strawberry Festival. A Review

 Yesterday was our busiest day yet. It all started when we made the snap decision to attend the Lincolnville Strawberry Festival, about a fifteen minute drive from the lake. This is a delightful event which we have attended three years in a row now. It was a picture perfect day, upper 70’s with abundant sunshine. But this being Maine, there were several oddities. How to explain the appearance of Rocky, for example. Although the fifteen foot long crustacean is certainly a show-stopper, one wonders what he’s doing crashing a strawberry festival. I mean the sign says Maine Lobster Festival, and Rockland is thirty minutes away! Old Tex here was no help, offering no explanation for the appearance of a lobster from a rival town showing up in Lincolnville. Tex did however take great pride in doing his job of traffic control, barking out loud exhortations to any stray visitors who happened to be standing in harm’s way, with no drawl whatsoever.

Then there was the photo op with the Strawberry Festival Clown. When I first suggested this to Silas’ father his response was decidedly negative, something like, “Wait, there’s a clown here? This is Maine. I’ve read IT. Hard pass!!” But eventually I persuaded him that the clown in question could be trusted. Silas wasn’t entirely sure and maintained an appropriate distance.

The event started with the much ballyhooed “Parade”. The two lane road which connects Lincolnville with the rest of the world was commandeered for the event by experts from local law enforcement. We heard a band playing then saw the huge tractor trailer that was pulling them arrive, all twelve members of the band playing a rousing rendition of some song I couldn’t recognize above the sounds of sirens. Then a gaggle of strawberry decorated kids on bicycles raced by, followed by several impressive antique cars. About the time I was really getting into the vibe, Rocky shows up, after which I had a hard time shaking the cognitive dissonance. Then the local shiny red fire trucks from the town fire department pulled up the rear of the parade, which ended ten minutes after it began—exactly the amount of time it took for the entire July 4th fireworks show in Camden. Must be some sort of local fun time limit ordinance at play.

All in all it was a glorious event, with delicious ice cream, lots of nice people and even a couple miniature ponies for the kids. I’m just puzzled by the lobster thing.

Maybe it was because he was red. Strawberries are red. Maybe the city fathers thought, “What the hell? He’s just sitting over there in the warehouse collected dust. Rockland owes us!”

A Day With Pictures

 Yeah, I know. Lots of stuff has happened over the past couple of weeks, political stuff that I should care about but don’t. Instead of offering up my performative outrage online like everyone else I have been distracted by the transcendent gift that is the State of Maine and the miracle that is my grandson.

Today began at 5:47 with another dependably comforting sunrise. I drank my coffee on the dock and caught a nice bass before heading back up to the house around 6:00. After a breakfast which consisted of one giant pumpkin muffin stuffed with some sort of white fluff I headed out for my morning fishing trip. Over an hour and a half later I returned to the dock having caught eight large mouth bass, all about the same size (pound to pound and an half) and full of fight. Somehow in the rush of leaving the dock I managed to drop my cell phone into the water at the where it sat for all one and a half hours of my fishing adventure. When I finally found it and retrieved it from the water it still worked and now, nine hours after its lake bath, the thing still works. Considering how much I have earned off of Apple stock over my lifetime, the outfit owes me nothing. Still, I’m impressed and grateful.

Around lunch time we all piled into the car and made the 25 minute drive in to Camden Hills State park where we introduced Silas to the glorious views to be had of stunning Penobscot Bay from the tree-lined coast of the park and Shoreline Trail. Along the walk we found wild raspberries, which taste nothing like the raspberries you buy at the grocery store. Wild ones that grow in Maine are sweet and juicy and come with a reminder that nothing mass produced is nearly as good as the gifts you find on a walk through the woods in Maine.

Silas’ parents took the afternoon off to discover Lincolnville Beach and Ducktrap, where they searched for and found a delightful coffee shop. Meanwhile, Pam and I took care of the little boy while preparing dinner. When they got back from their adventure we sat down on the screened in porch to eat dinner while a thunderstorm passed by. Listening to the sound of the rain pouring down while we ate was magical—right up until a massive lightening strike hit less than a mile away, sending a crackling jolt of electricity through the trees, introducing little Silas to the violence of creation. He was not a fan. Scared the little guy half to death, along with the rest of us! Luckily, we all quickly recovered, finished our delicious dinner and spent some time with Silas playing with all his toys on the floor. When it was time for his bath we both had a little trouble getting up off the floor—yet another reason our daughter should have made us grandparents when we weren’t quite as—-mature—-as we currently are. Nevertheless we are so thrilled to have this little boy in our lives. 

Oh…one more milestone from this day. The boy learned how to make fart sounds with his mouth. I mean, does it get any better??

The Perfect Vacation Photograph

Like all families who go on vacations we have a “shared photo file.” That’s the twenty first century gift bequeathed to us by our digital overlords that offers a way for all vacation participants to send their favorite pictures to one common depository where everyone else can make comments. So far there are over 120 pictures in Fernwood Fun 2026…and we’ve only been here six days. It will come as no surprise to any of you that the vast majority of the total feature either Silas or Frisco in some form of adorability. However, the photograph that I have included with this post is not one of the 120. I took it at 6:20 this morning because as I opened the screen door to walk down to the dock it struck me as the perfect vacation photograph. Let me explain.

This particular shot featured no human beings and no animals. There was no staging involved. No one complained about it being unflattering. Nevertheless you will rarely see a photograph that communicates better than this one. If I had to give it a title I would say—proper use of a lake house deck. This picture tells lots of stories and all of them speak well of the inhabitants of this camp.

Hanging over the railing you see evidence of yesterday’s adventures. There are two adult swim towels, one toddler swim towel and two exhausted and drying adult male swim trunks. Here’s a pro-tip—if your lake house deck railings are not similarly festooned with these items at the end of the day you are not doing vacation correctly.

Moving on we notice the grill. We see that one emptied propane tank covered with sauce stains has already been used up and set aside. The plastic cover that covered this grill when we arrived is in a heap behind the spent tank where it will remain until we leave.This is a working grill, not a store display. We have so far worn this guy out with four triumphant meals featuring three different kinds of meat, grill baskets full of vegetables, naan and pineapples. It has all winter to rest.

You will notice the lovely red Adirondack chair with the matching side table. If I had taken the opportunity to better stage this picture I would have dragged the second chair in to the shot to make it feel more symmetrical. But, currently chair number two is serving the higher purpose of blocking the stairway down to the lake so Frisco doesn’t go rogue on us and make a break for it. However, the contents on the top of the side table are instructive.

First, you notice a can of sunscreen. SPF 30–which translated means, the number of years until you die of skin cancer. To the right of this can-o-death alert viewers will notice the battery operated swim float inflator. That giant blue syringe is the hand-operated version, for those of us who are concerned with the environmental impact of all those used D batteries. Frankly, this device seems for decorative purposes only since I have seen nobody using it.

Finally, you will notice the small red tennis-racket looking thing. This is a battery operated bug zapper to protect the grill master from the most common predator in the State of Maine…the black fly, or stinging fly, sometimes referred to as that f&^%**ing piece of s*#@!!!! Last night was a particularly rough night for the grill master. The meal took 50 minutes and dinner was served later in the evening—their feeding hour apparently. The sound that this device makes on the rare occasion when it actually connects with one of these monsters is quite satisfying..ZZAAPPPPPPPP!!!!

So, there you have it, the perfect vacation photograph that tells you every single thing you need to know about how the vacation is going.

Go thou and do likewise.