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.

Full Hearts

 Yesterday was our first full day in Maine. In every conceivable way it checked all the boxes. I took pictures and they’re nice but as always they fail to tell the story.

The first thing we did when we arrived on Saturday was to open all the windows in the house. Although Fernwood has AC it is only used in emergencies. Yesterday was no emergency. Waking up at 5:45 to a 58 degree house was a wonderful reminder that we weren’t in Short Pump anymore. I took my morning coffee on the dock and watched the lake wake up. About 8:30 or so Pam and I had breakfast on the screened porch listening to the birds serenading us.

Just before I took the kayak out for some fishing I had to listen to Pam make the reasonable suggestion that seeing as how I had just spent two days driving from Virginia I should probably limit my fishing expedition to no more than an hour or so on account of my famously temperamental back. I nodded politely, having no intention to do anything of the sort. I have been waiting since last Fall to do some fishing on this lake and I wasn’t about to let a lousy back stop me. The first catch of the summer will not soon be forgotten—down by the dam I pulled in not one but two bass—on the same cast! I have attached photographic evidence to this post lest any of you suspect me of exaggeration. 

Lunch was taken on the porch by which time the high temperature had crept up to a sizzling 78 degrees. Today they are saying we might reach 80. I am aware that most of you reading this blog are enduring a 100+ heat wave with staggering levels of humidity. For a brief moment I thought about not mentioning our gorgeous weather situation here on Quantabacook out of respect and courtesy. But then I snapped out of it. After all, what’s a vacation if you can’t Facebrag about it!

By the time I was due for my afternoon nap Patrick and Sarah arrived, their wonderful golden retriever Frisco in tow. There was much unpacking to do and getting situated. Then Pam and I made the first of many dinners from the grill—sausage and shrimp, roasted potatoes and fresh sweet corn. Then, of course this being Maine, we simply had to hop in the car and drive up to Super Scoops for some ice cream. The selfie that Pam took captured the moment quite nicely.

Last night I slept like a man who feels like he’s gotten away with something. That’s because I kinda have. Tomorrow Kaitlin, Jon and Silas arrive. Pam and I will drive down to Portland to pick them up at the airport. Then the house will be full…along with our hearts.

The Fog

 Most days in this life aren’t a whole lot different than yesterday was or what tomorrow will be. Much of life is repetition and that’s ok because most things that you do over and over again you get better at, right? But every once in a while a day comes along where your brain functions at a different level. When the day is over you find yourself wondering what the heck happened? Was it something you ate? 

Take today for example. 

What follows is an attempt to explain what it was like to be me today, to give you a sneak peak into my thought processes for the day. Thankfully this isn’t what I would call a normal day, far from it. However, this sort of thing happens to me more often than I would like to admit. The problem I will have will be finding a way to describe this phenomenon without the reader coming to the conclusion that there is something wrong with me, which is a chance I will have to take.

The day started with me taking Patrick and Sarah to the airport so they could catch a plane to New York City for business. Once I dropped them off I planned on driving to the Cafe at Hope  for my morning ritual of coffee, breakfast and making a pest of myself to anyone who was unlucky enough to walk by. Instead I drove all the way to the entrance to my neighborhood before I realized that I was not, in fact, at the Cafe at Hope. I chalked it up to a brain freeze and although a bit irritated, I made the course correction and made it to the Cafe. Next on my agenda was a trip to Short Pump mall to buy a birthday present for Pam whose birthday always comes while we are in Maine. After completing this task, the plan was to run by CVS to pick up a couple prescriptions. Instead I discovered that I had driven home instead. Lucky for me Pam was happy to see me since she needed me to drive her over to the Hyundai  dealership to get her car which had been inspected and was ready for pickup. I accomplished this task with no trouble after which it was my intention to head over to CVS. Unfortunately, while on my way a really cool plot idea for the book I am currently writing popped into my head. So, I detoured back home so I could write the idea down before I forgot it. On my way home it occurred to me that I didn’t have my sunglasses with me. The sun was super bright and I remember having them on when I drove to the airport. First I thought maybe I left them at the Cafe. I sent a quick text to a friend there but got no response. Then I was sure I had left them at the store where I had bought Pam’s birthday present. I drove all the way to the mall only to discover that there were no sun glasses to be found. This time I was pissed because this makes the second pair of sun glasses I have lost in the past month. I drove home in a foul mood but on the way I remembered that a friend was closing on a house and was feeling a lot of anxiety about it so I sent a text to encourage her. Then I got a Marco Polo video of my grandson playing with a toy we had bought him for his birthday. Adorable. But as soon as the video was finished I remembered a dear friend I had lunch with last week who shared with me that he had four grandchildren he had never met because he was estranged from his daughter. I was overcome with sadness for my friend which reminded me that another friend had just been made a grandparent for the first time in the wee hours of last night. That cheered me up. But then I remembered that my former assistant had become a grandparent for the first time two days ago but she wasn’t going to know the little girl’s name until they arrived in Boston for a visit. That was two days ago and she still hadn’t text me the child’s name! When I arrived home I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the prescriptions at CVS—again. The good news? My sunglasses were on the kitchen counter. 

Smack dab in the middle of the day I had a very important appointment concerning very serious financial matters, the kind of thing that requires you to have your wits about you. My recollection of that meeting was that I was on top of my game and that it went quite well…except for the fact that half way through the appointment a former colleague popped his head into the room to say that he needed to speak with me before I left. I totally forgot about it until I picked up my sunglasses on the kitchen counter, approximately three hours later.

Other than that, it was a great day.

I have often complained about how old our recent Presidents have been, but I think I may have stumbled on an overlooked benefit of octogenarian leaders. If I was President and I wanted to go to war with some country for some reason—all that country would have to do is chill out for a couple days and by that time I will have forgotten why I wanted to go to war with them in the first place!

Passing the Torch

 The great one week countdown has begun. In exactly one week from this very moment Pam and I will be AIS, leaving Short Pump in our rear view mirror, heading for the big green bridge. In a first, this time we will be accompanied by my son and his wife who will also be driving up to Maine. It’s a long story but they will be driving their cool new EV car with their pup Frisco onboard. We will probably leave at roughly the same time but since their stops will take longer and be more frequent than ours we won’t be convoying or anything. However, it will be so cool to have them with us that first week at the lake.

A few days after we arrive, my daughter, son-in-law and grandson will touch down at the Portland Airport and for six wonderful days the house will be full of all seven of us for the very fist time. We will be introducing Silas, along with Frisco, to lake living in Maine. 

This will be a summer in Maine like nothing before it in our experience. We haven’t spent any time in Maine with a toddler in—I don’t know—since our kids were toddlers over three decades ago. This fact is almost impossible to believe. It can’t have been that long ago, could it? Nevertheless Pam and I both understand that this year will feel different. Hosting an energetic Golden Retriever with no lake life experience can be challenging. Having a 13 month old child there will change the dynamic in a thousand ways. There won’t be as many lazy moments, we won’t be able to succumb to whatever spontaneous impulse pops into our heads. If we are feeling an ice cream run over to Super Scoops we can’t just hop in the car and go. We will have to work around nap schedules…and this time not just mine.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever looked forward to Maine more than I have this particular adventure precisely because it will be so completely new. Having the opportunity to watch Frisco’s first time reaction to the lake will remind me of Lucy. Getting to watch Silas’ first moment in the water, his first lunch on the dock. His first walk on the footbridge at Riverducks will take me back to when I watched my two kids eating fluffernutters on the sandy beach at Dummer’s Beach all those years ago. For us it will feel like passing a torch of sorts, a torch of shared memories and experiences that have defined our family for the past forty two years…a very good thing.

What’s Going on at The Tempest?

 I have had more than one person ask me why I’m writing fewer posts in this blog than I used to. They have pointed out that in past years I routinely churned out over 20 posts per month and lately it’s half of that. Am I running out of things to say? Am I planning on winding The Tempest down? My answer is, no and no. 

No, I have not run out of things to say. If I wanted to I could write something here every day. There is always something to say. But over the past several years I have become more selective. Part of it is the fact that this isn’t the only thing I write. Over the past decade or so I have managed to write six novels, number seven is currently in the works. That soaks up a lot of imagination and mental bandwidth. 

But I have also become less self-indulgent when it comes to this blog. In the ten years between 2013 and 2022 I was cranking out on average 250 posts a year, much of it amounted to me venting my frustration on the subject of politics. The Presidential elections of 2016 and 2020 ignited a million opinions on the internet, most of them unhinged and counterproductive. I was no exception. Once you realize that you are part of the problem you complain about, it humbles you. Since 2022 my production here has averaged 125 posts annually. Most of that is the result of me asking myself a few questions: Is this piece helpful? Is it fair? Is it kind? Is it sufficiently informed? Under those rules many of my political rants didn’t make the cut. It’s not that I no longer care about political things, it’s more like a feeling that I can’t escape—the absolute last thing this world needs is another blogpost about politics.

I am not planning on winding down The Tempest. I love this forum. I’m proud of much of the content I’ve produced, embarrassed by some of it, and grateful that so many of you keep reading. Which brings me to another concern.

It took me 13 years to reach one million views in this space. It only took the last 12 months to reach two million. I don’t believe any of it. I have a growing suspicion that the internet has more bots than people. Especially over the past two or three years, the readership numbers here have exploded beyond believability. There is an environment of algorithmic bullshit that pervades the internet. The false and the fake are close cousins. I look at the numbers here and wonder, who the heck are these people in Singapore who read The Tempest? I have no idea but I am 100% convinced that they are not flesh and blood human beings. This knowledge leaves me cold and frustrated.

But what I do publish in this space are the things I truly want to write about…my family, my dog, my grandson, things that I think are funny and fun about being a 68 year old man. 

Birthday Week Thoughts…

 Second birthday party for Silas is in the books. The Toddler Era has officially begun. The party was attended by the Dunnevant side of his family along with Jon’s sister, her husband and two adorable kids who came down from Maryland. A good time was had by all. It is safe to say that Lolli and Pops are birthdayed out but delighted that we got to experience such a milestone. 

In the middle of the festivities yesterday the thought occurred to me that this little boy will have no excuse for failure in this world. He has two parents who love him and each other. He is surrounded by loving family on every side who adore him. He has a community of dear friends and a church family in Columbia who have his back, including one particular family who would move heaven and hell for him—I’m looking at you, Wolfers. Of course none of these things guarantee a great life. The world can be a brutal place, enemies of peace and virtue are everywhere. But being blessed with such an array of people who love you cannot be underestimated. Much is made of the concept of privilege these days, most of the time the word is slung around as a pejorative. I am proud of this little boy’s privilege. It has been hard won, this supportive foundation he stands on. Luck had nothing to do with it. 

At the same time, I think about the thousands of children out there the same age as Silas who have been abandoned by the world, parents succumbed to addiction, extended family eviscerated by divorce and neglect. Through no fault of their own those children—created in the image of God just like Silas—will struggle to find their way. Some will. Many will not. The thought breaks my heart.

So, I am grateful for everyone who celebrated this first birthday with us. Everyone of you are a blessing beyond measure.

Lucy’s Last Trip to Maine

 Two weeks left before we leave for Maine. The 100 degree heat is a dead giveaway that the time is near. We have a thousand loose ends to tie up before we leave, but it’s always that way whenever you go somewhere for six weeks. But this year there will be some extra room in the car, the place that has always been occupied by Lucy and all her things. I try not to think about it because it will be disconcerting to look in the rear view mirror and not see her back there curled up in a ball sound asleep. 

This year will be a year of many firsts, our first trip without Lucy since 2015, and our first ever trip with a toddler as we introduce Silas to the lake. It is also rare when we get to have all of our kids up here at the same time, but this year that happy condition will exist for 6 days in July. Jon, Kaitlin and Silas will fly up and Patrick and Sarah will drive up with their Golden, Frisco—his first trip to the lake. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know that at least for that one week I’ll have a dog here with us. It will take a bit of the sting out of Lucy’s absence.

We have her ashes in a lovely jar along with an impression of her paw print in a little display box. The plan is to take her ashes to the lake. We figured it to be her perfect final resting place. So in a sense this will be her last trip to Maine.

This might appear overly sentimental to some, to feel such grief over a dog’s loss months after her passing, and maybe it is. But watching Lucy’s eyes light up whenever she climbed into the back of the car when she knew we were heading to Maine was a joy like no other. Watching her dive into the water following Pam everywhere she went on her paddle board always brought a profound peace to my heart. Having her stand by my side on the dock impatiently waiting for me to catch a fish was one of the most delightful experiences I have been lucky enough to enjoy. More than any of us Maine was always Lucy’s place. So, we will take her there one final time, adding her ashes to the very special waters of Quantabacook.

Silas Has His First Birthday Party

 Young parents, along with new grandparents, are quite familiar with the books by famed children’s author Eric Carle, specifically his The Very Hungry Caterpillar series. The plot of these stories centers around a tiny caterpillar with a voracious appetite who devours everything in its path during one unrestrained binge-eating session after another. Although the specter of childhood obesity hangs over each of these books like the sword of Damocles, somehow they have become classics of children’s literature. They also happen to be among Silas’ favorite books and became the theme of his first birthday party. Lolli spent the past month scouring the interwebs for all things caterpillar. The results are displayed in the pictures which accompany this post.

The amount of planning and labor that went into this party are off the charts. But a child only has a first birthday one time so you’ve got to make it count. This one was in Columbia and was attended by all of his home town buddies and their parents. The kids had a blast. Their parents had a blast. There were homemade cupcakes, an ice cream bar and a smash cake. Silas picked at the smash cake, never once putting any of it in his mouth, preferring to fling the icing on the wall behind him instead. Later, when Lolli offered to feed him the cake with a fork (like civilized people do), he devoured it with great glee and enthusiasm.

By the time everyone left the party, the grownups were wiped out. The four all-stars included Lolli and Pops, and Grandma & Grandpa who flew in from Ohio and were indispensable in the three days of preparation required to throw such a grand soirée.

I cannot begin to describe how wonderful it is to know that my grandson is loved by so many. He is lucky beyond knowing, and I am grateful beyond telling.

Now, we head back to Short Pump to prepare for part two of his first birthday party—the Dunnevant family version next weekend. Everybody does this right? Two birthday parties at two different locations—right?

I Win at Life!!!!

 Ok, one thing nobody tells you about retirement is that there are some things you miss from your working days. For a guy with my particular wiring its the charge of adrenaline that accompanied a big payday. Yes, I know that might sound a bit superficial, but the feeling that came over you when you landed a big case was pretty cool. It was a moment of victory in a sometimes unforgiving season of loss and it felt incredible.

Well…let me tell you about an experience I just had that was even better.

The first part of this will sound dumb to most of you because basically it is kinda dumb. Pam and I are leaving for South Carolina in the morning for my grandson’s first birthday Lalapalooza and it just so happens that both of our key fobs for the Hyundai were on the fritz. So Pam sends me this video of some random woman giving a two minute talk about what to do when your key fob goes on the fritz which amounted to A. Replacing the battery or B. Buy a new one. I didn’t find this woman particularly helpful especially since there was not an accompanying video showing just how to replace the battery in a 2016 Hyundai key fob! So, I went straight to YouTube and dialed up a helpful video of some guy with a southern drawl doing the deed. I followed his instructions to the letter and discovered that I would need two 2032 disc batteries. To my great astonishment my giant hard plastic battery organizing mini-briefcase thing had the exact two batteries I needed—something that has never once happened in my 68 years. I popped those babies in and marched myself out to the garage and pressed the appropriate buttons and was thrilled to discover that they worked!! Look, I have many talents but nobody has ever accused me of being…handy. So, this was something of a triumph.

So, that was the dump part. But this next thing that happened is the greatest thing in the world. I hear a blip from my cell phone and it’s a text that my daughter sent to Pam and me. She said:

“I’m just gonna leave this little clip right here…”

I clicked on the video and it was Silas getting ready for bed. His mom asked him, “Silas, who are you looking forward to seeing tomorrow?”

The boy immediately says, “Pop!”

I win at life.

SUMMER KICK OFF PARTY!!

 It’s easy at this moment in time to become depressed about the state of our country. If you watch the news it’s easy to conclude that we are hopelessly divided over politics, religion, race and basically everything else. But watching the news doesn’t tell you the whole story. It never has but especially now. It’s like when someone visits the United States for the first time and only goes to New York City. Yes, that’s part of America but it’s nowhere near the whole story. If you want to see the best of America, I suggest attending a—“SUMMER KICK OFF PARTY” in my neighborhood.

We got the email a week or so ago. Jinu Patel, the social committee chair of our HOA pitched it this way:

⭐🇺🇸⭐

Hello Neighbors!

This year, America celebrates a milestone — her 250th birthday! To mark the occasion, watch for festive patriotic decorations going up at the neighborhood entrance. If you have flags or patriotic décor at home, now is the perfect time to display them and help make our neighborhood shine this summer!

The HOA would provide pizza and each neighbor was asked to bring either a side dish or a dessert depending on whether your address was an even or odd number. Oh, and there was to be a red white and blue tye-dye station set up for anyone who wanted to bring a white t-shirt, and a giant inflatable frog that the kids could run through to get wet.

All of these neighborhood social events take place right in front of my house. For one thing, our place is on a not so quiet culdesac, but more importantly we have folding tables and 16 metal chairs. The last words Pam said to me before the party started was, “Please don’t throw out your back playing with the kids like you did last time.”

It lasted around three hours or so, the street jammed with young couples, older couples and kids darting this way and that in wet bathing suits. There was Greek salad, pizza, an Indian street food station and a whole host of amazing desserts. I tried a bit of everything and it was all delicious.

We got to catch up on all the neighborhood gossip, all the latest from the kids who were off to college somewhere. There were parents there, grandparents and folks with no kids. There were  white families, black families, Indian families, native Virginians like us and transplants from all over the country.

Funny thing—Pam and I moved here when the very road we were partying on hadn’t yet been paved. We are the only people who have ever lived in our house. Some of the folks at the party have been here just a couple years. I have no earthly idea who any of these people voted for in the last election or any elections before that. I have no idea where they go to church or even if they go to church. None of that matters because…these people are my neighbors. And that friends is what it means to be an American.

Oh…and although I was sorely tempted to take a run at that sprinkler frog thing, I resisted the temptation. 

Sights, Sounds and Smells

 I can’t remember how long ago it was when I first walked down this path. Probably fifteen years ago? This is a place called Owl’s Head, Maine. It looks like a thousand other hiking paths in Maine that invite you in, making it virtually impossible to resist. The woods in Maine are deep, dark and mysterious. For someone who writes and tells stories like me, this path is practically begging me to enter. You just know that there’s a story in these woods. But this is Maine, a place where you never can be sure of anything.

After maybe a couple hundred yards, the canopy of trees clears and there you are standing on a rocky beach of Penobscot Bay, a protected sanctuary of the Atlantic Ocean, a towering cliff of rocks jutting out from the wilderness. You shake your head in disbelief. This isn’t how the ocean introduces itself if you’re a southern boy from Virginia, so your first time seeing it brings wonder. How could you be in a thick forest one minute and at the ocean the next?There’s a lighthouse at the top of that cliff. From the beach it’s hidden, but it’s up there as it has been for 200 years. There’s no charge to visit this place. It is one of 65 lighthouses along the rugged coast of Maine. We visit it every year. It’s a fifty minute drive from the lake. It never changes. It always delights.

Owl’s Head Lighthouse if just one of a thousand places that beguile us in Maine, the sights sounds and smells too many to list.

But, who’s counting?

A Big Day

 It’s a rare thing when one day on the calendar contains three significant events. Such is the case with today, the 25th of May, 2026. 

Memorial Day for me is the first of the Big Three days devoted to patriotism, the other two being Independence Day and Veterans Day. This year being the 250th birthday of our Republic, these days hold special meaning. Of the three, Memorial Day is the most moving, since it asks us to remember the countless fallen, the lives sacrificed on the field of battle. every Memorial Day I think of the words of General Patton. Like everything with George Patton you take the good with the bad, but he said, “It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who die in battle. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.”

My Son’s Birthday. 37 years ago today, Patrick was born, my one and only son. Super smart, super talented, witty and wise. Most of his finer qualities he inherited from his mother, but he picked up a few traits from me, like…his love of baseball, Golden retrievers and his choice of a wife. So, happy birthday to my boy.

On May 25th, 2026 we are 30 days from Maine, always a day of celebration. It has been over 7 months since last we crossed the great green bridge. But now it’s so close we can smell it. There’s lots to do between now and then, but mostly fun stuff.

So, today might be gloomy and overcast, but there’s a lot to celebrate.

Our Devious Plans

 Last night Pam and I got to do something we seldom get to do. We celebrated our anniversary with Patrick and Sarah. We had dinner at the Boathouse down at Rocket’s Landing and it was wonderful. 

A week and a half ago they drove up from Nashville to drop off their dog Frisco with us so they could go on a long-planned vacation to London. They returned this past Sunday and since this was our anniversary week and since they both work remotely they have stayed here this week. We have enjoyed spending time with them (and Frisco!). The other night after dinner we sat down in the living room and watched over an hour’s worth of pictures from their London trip, listening to their stories. So much fun!

When your adult kids live far away you don’t have many opportunities to just hang with them for no particular reason! This week has just been a normal week. After breakfast they go upstairs, get on their computers and go to work. They break for a homemade lunch with us, then when they are done working for the day we have dinner together. The only downside is I’ve been denied my favorite afternoon napping station (my ancient recliner in the den upstairs) which has been commandeered by Patrick as his work station. Small price to pay to have my kids here all week.

The problem with my kids is that they are too smart. They are both probably on to our devious plan. There we were driving them around Shockoe Bottom, then the canal walk, then Rocket’s Landing, speaking glowingly of how Richmond has become a very popular place for younger couples to live. This morning I may or may not have sent them a link to a delightful condo which came up for sale a stone’s throw from the Boathouse. Maybe one night before they return to Nashville we’ll have a meal at one of the hip and trendy eateries in the up and coming Scott’s Addition neighborhood. 

You can’t blame a guy for trying, right?

The Benefits of Getting Older

 Getting older is a mysterious business. In some ways it doesn’t seem real, as if it’s not even happening. You wake up, go about your day feeling no different than you ever have. Other days every step feels labored. But as soon as you start to worry about decline a new day dawns and you roll out of bed with a thousand ideas. Life starts to feel like there’s a cycle to it, days of growth and days of regression, and each comes without warning and each feels like a surprise.

There are great benefits to be had from getting older. You start to come to some final conclusions about things that have baffled you most of your life. When you were 40 you weren't sure how you felt about politics, now you’re absolutely sure you hate it. You used to worry about what people thought about you, how you were perceived, but now you’ve stop worrying because it’s too late to change anybody’s mind—a monumental relief.

I was fortunate to have inherited a quite reliable bullshit detector from my mother, she being famous for her ability to see through human disguises. I have noticed that this particular inheritance has, if anything, gotten sharper and more powerful with time to the point where I am now much better able to spot my own bullshit. It is often said that it is the young who challenge the status quo and the old who defend it and I think this is generally true. But in my case I have discovered a growing tendency to question my own long-held assumptions. It has been a wonderful thing to discover that so many things I believed as a young man are still solid and true. But, I have also found that I have been wrong about some things, which is humbling.

Everything decays. We are about to get a new roof for our house. The old one has worn out due to a hailstorm and 28 years of weather. Our two vehicles, both of the low mileage variety, are showing signs of wear. They will eventually need to be replaced. I’m decaying and so are you. It started the day we were born, this decaying. You know what doesn’t decay or wear out or grow old? The beauty of a sunset. Seeing the face of a friend across the way. Having a dog jump up beside you on the sofa to take a nap. Hearing someone you love tell you that they are proud of you. The smell of balsam that greets you when you get out of the car after a two day drive to Maine. Being out somewhere and seeing a Mom and Dad walk into a restaurant with their two little boys—wearing their Little League uniforms.

Here’s one thing I’ve noticed since I retired. Most of the things that have the most life in them, the things that give me the most joy, are things that I don’t own.

Forever Neighbors

 It’s funny how life works out. Whether you believe in cosmic chance or divine appointments, there are times in your life where you find yourself in the right place at the right time. Such was the case around 13 years ago when the house next door became vacant close to the time when we were about to become empty-nesters. When you live in the suburbs you don’t get to choose your neighbors so when someone moves out there’s always the possibility that the people who move in wind up being a family full of tuba-playing narcissists. So when the house went up for sale Pam and I were nervous.

We both hoped that a young family with kids would move in rather than an older couple…er, like us. I mean, I’ve got nothing against the elderly, in fact I hope to be one some day. It’s just that having children around brings life. It also brings noise, chaos and a yard full of toys, but that’s part of the grand bargain. So we prayed that God would send us a young family with kids who could help us deal with having just spent the last 25 years of our lives raising our own, then watching them grow up and move away. We got exactly what we prayed for…and last night the doorbell rang and there they all were standing on our walk telling us that they had just put a contract in on a house and would be moving a few miles away. The Mom told us that the three kids would only sign on to the move if their parents promised to have us over for dinner at least once a month! 

When they moved in they had a a toddler and Mom was pregnant. Now that toddler is damn near as tall as I am and he has two sisters. We have watched them grow up. It has been a joy and an adventure. One of them fell out of a second story window, there have been multiple broken bones and tons of noise. We went through COVID as neighbors. They looked after Lucy a thousand times for us over the years. We have filled their house with trinkets from Maine, bought every single thing the kids have sold over the years from lemonade to raffle tickets. We’ve watched each of the kids change over the years both physically and emotionally. Each of them have developed unique personalities. We’ve also watched their parents navigate the impossible job of parenthood, from wide-eyed terror to fierce confidence. The fact that they are moving is perfectly predictable and proper. They need space not just for their kids but for their friends. Mom very much wants to be that house where everybody hangs out, just like we had for years before they all grew up and disappeared.

Before I became an actual grandparent last June, I had been honing my Pop-skills with the three goofballs who lived next door. I have enjoyed every minute of it. But now they will be moving out soon and Pam and I will be bracing for whoever replaces them. But on some level nobody ever could. 

I’ve always loved the expression used to describe when a family adopts a pet from an animal shelter. It is said that the dog or cat has found their “forever home.” Well, when The Garlands moved in 13 years ago we didn’t know it at the time but we found our “forever neighbors.” 

The address doesn’t matter…

My Encounter With a Gas Pump

 I have spoken many times in this space about my cluelessness about how much things cost. For one thing most of the buying of things required for daily life in the Dunnevant household is done by Pam. But I do my share of grocery shopping while she is away and I never notice the price of anything. I just put it in the cart and pay for it at the register. End of story.

But the other day I had a moment. I had not bought gas since returning from the Columbia trip and my dashboard was hitting me with lots of flashing red lights and pictures of near empty tanks with the words WARNING: LOW FUEL LEVELS. So I pulled in to a Shell station on Patterson Avenue. I flashed my debit card and selected regular. Then, as is my custom, I busied myself with cleaning the windshield and gathering up trash to throw away. Then I heard the familiar click informing me that the fueling was over. It was then that I removed the nozzle and put it back in place. I almost missed it, but something made me glance up at the meter where I was confronted with the picture which accompanies this post.

First of all, you will notice that I pushed this particular tank to the brink. It’s never wise to drive around with less than a half gallon of gas in your tank! But the top number grabbed my attention. $83.41…for gas. If you do the math that comes out to $4.25 per gallon. Yes, I’m aware that the price is currently inflated due to Straight of Hormuz difficulties, and could just as suddenly drop back down to previous levels when an end to hostilities can be found. But…man-o-man.

I can remember like it was yesterday the very first time I drove my 1966 VW beetle to the Gulf station across the street from the ball field at Hunton Baptist church to fill up the tank myself, with my own money. I was 16 years old or so and feeling free as a bird in the heady days of first responsibilities. My old Beetle had a 10 gallon tank and it was close to stomp empty (clearly an inbred character flaw). I filled it up to the brim, put the nozzle back in place and walked into the store, reached into my wallet and gave Mr. Higgins a fresh, clean five dollar bill. He gave me change back. It was .36 a gallon.

Before we get all nostalgic, I should point out that 1972 was the last year of the cheap gas era since 1973 would produce the Arab Oil Embargo and the rest is horrifying history. Still, if you were to adjust that .36 per gallon price for 52 years of inflation, in today’s money that would be $2.60 a gallon—which, I should point out isn’t far from where gas was priced before the current war with Iran. So…not bad.

Still, it was a bit shocking to see that $83.41 price staring back to me. I looked at that number and thought about a young couple with a kid or two just getting started and wondered how this would hit them? Then I thought about older folks less fortunate than me. What other necessities will they have to forego to fill up their tanks?

While the cost of things might be an irritant to me, it’s make or break for a lot of other folks. We all need to keep that in mind as we go about our daily routines. Keep your eyes open for people who might be struggling. If you are in a position to help, do so with wisdom and discretion.

A Rough Ten Days

 The last ten days have been a lot.

Last week Pam and I went down to spend a week with our grandson and his parents. While we were there we had to take him to the Pediatrician three times. He began breaking out with what first looked like a rash, then perhaps chicken pox, mostly on his back and the top of his head. While none of this is life threatening, it is still a helpless feeling when one so small and innocent has any kind of health concern. Since this is the first time it has happened to him and me, it kind of breaks my heart.

To add insult to injury, towards the end of the week three of the four adults in the house came down with strep throat. For cosmic reasons that defy all notions of fairness, I somehow dodged the bullet. We drove back home last Saturday and “rested” for 48 hours, then Pam headed back down on Monday to keep him at home this week until he turns the corner and these rashes get under control. I am here in Short Pump, holding down the fort preparing for the arrival of Patrick and Sarah from Tennessee this Saturday for one night, hand off their sweet pup Frisco and then fly to London for an long-planned vacation. Pam hopes to arrive back home before they arrive.

The only good thing about Silas’ situation is that so far these rashes have not changed his behavior and outlook on life. The boy has been his adorable, laughing, adventurous, playful self through it all, gobbling up everything on his plate, crawling everywhere, and babbling on like nothing whatsoever is wrong. Still, I can hardly stand to look at the photographs of the rash on his back. I want to take them away. I want them to be on my back and not his.

It’s the exact same feeling I used to get whenever Kaitlin or Patrick got sick when they were little. I always feel like it is monstrously unfair when children get sick. They don’t understand what’s happening and you can’t explain it to them. You just have to die inside a bit while giving them their medicine…and you do a lot of praying.

I have been a Christian for over 50 years and in all that time I have always struggled praying for myself. Asking God for help with personal issues always felt too much like whining, especially since what I was praying about was usually the result of my own stupidity or hubris. But whenever one of my kids got sick I had no problem storming heaven’s gate. With Silas it’s at a totally different level. Let’s just say that over the last 48 hours or so, God and I have been on a first name basis.

Update From Columbia

 Update from Columbia:

Pam and I have survived the first two full days of Silas-Care without major incident, although I just took my first muscle-relaxer of the week. A bad back does not mix well with a 21 pound child who has mastered crawling. Other than that it has been a wonderful couple of days. Among the highlights was our first appointment with the Pediatrician.

When we first arrived on Monday afternoon we were informed that Silas had a minor but worrisome issue that Kaitlin wanted the doctor to take a look at. The appointment had been set for Tuesday at 10 am and neither parent could make it—so next man up. The little man was as good as gold until the nurse whipped out a thermometer. Ever since his recent bout with hand, foot, and mouth,—DON”T ASK—he has turned on anything that resembles a thermometer or syringe. He let the nurse know about it in no uncertain terms. But other than that, the boy was a prince.

Today we took him to Chick-Fil-A for lunch. As usual he loved being around crowds of people. He smiled at everyone and chowed down on nuggets and waffle fries like it was his job.

But the best moment of the week so far has been me introducing Silas to the concept of rough-housing. The guest bedroom has a bed which comes festooned with far too many decorative pillows, a common affliction among Dunnevant women. But for once all of that unnecessary softness came in handy. I began tossing the little guy into the middle of all those pillows and he would giggle his head off, to the point where he eventually figured out how to throw himself into the pillows with admirable recklessness. By the end of our first session his face was red from the exertion and his Pops was out of breath. Later on in the evening I demonstrated this new skill to his mother and she laughed nervously as she watched her son flying through the air and landing in a pile of pillows. She seemed to feel better when I reminded her that this was one of her favorite activities when she was his age.

Pam and I have both noticed how much harder it is to take care of a crawler than it was taking care of a baby. Definitely takes two and even then, you get distracted for thirty seconds and the next thing you know he’s ripping the first page out of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Makes me respect single mothers and single fathers who do this every day.