The Smell of Progress

I visited San Francisco once. Took the wife and kids. Beautiful city. My son spent the first week of his Honeymoon in the area. By all accounts, they had a great time.

But there’s something...rotten... in Frisco.

This beautiful city has benefitted greatly from its proximity to Silicon Valley. The coffers have swollen so much at City Hall, it’s annual operating budget is now over 11 billion dollars. And from the smell of things, it looks like they will need every dime of it.

San Francisco is perhaps the most progressive demographic in all of America. It’s government has enjoyed virtually unanimous one party as well as one ideology rule for most of my lifetime, and with such hegemony of thought comes the occasional overreach. Sometimes, the government there just lets it’s progressive freak flag fly...like a while back when the powers that be decided to de-criminalize public defecation.

Ivan P. Freely, Assistant to the Under-Secretary of Homeless Affairs, explained the new policy this way:

These are merely basic, ordinary bodily functions, no different than sneezing, or coughing. When we make it illegal for the homeless to urinate or defecate in public, we are guilty of elitism, of enforcing our homeowner-centric ethos on the dispossessed.

Unfortunately, the burgeoning homeless population of the city has taken San Francisco up on its new libertine attitude towards public sanitation. Now, the cost of cleaning up the mess has been, er...piling up.

That’s twenty pounds of fresh human waste, deposited on a public sidewalk, collected by some very brave volunteers. But, public minded volunteerism has its limits. So, the city government...flush...with cash, has decided to hire five elite sanitation engineers to deal with the growing public health implications of 7,000 people using public sidewalks as an open latrine. Here is an actual photograph of them in action. And no, I am NOT making this up...

Before you jump to the obvious conclusion that you have finally discovered the absolute worst job in America, you better sit down. The annual compensation for these public servants is...$184,000. It’s hard to begrudge these poop policemen their outrageous pay packages though. How much would you demand to be paid to literally shovel shit all day? But, that’s not all. San Francisco, being a city fully in the throws of the power of government spending to cure every ill, recently announced an even more ambitious plan to deal with the number one and number two problem...

• A $72.5 million-a-year street cleaning budget
• $12 million a year on what essentially have become housekeeping services for homeless encampments
• $2.8 million for a Hot Spots crew to wash down the camps and remove any biohazards
• $2.3 million for street steam cleaners
• $3.1 million for the Pit Stop portable toilets
• $364,000 for a four-member needle team
• An additional $700,000 set aside for a 10-member, needle cleanup squad, complete with it’s own minivan

Unless my math deceives me, that’s almost 100 million dollars. According to the city, San Francisco has roughly 7,000 homeless citizens. So, the city could write every homeless person a check for over $14,000 a year with the cash they are spending to....clean up after them.

Homelessness is no laughing matter. Neither is encephalitis and typhoid fever.  Far be it from me to advise a city as Progressive as the City By The Bay, but I’m thinking they better wipe out this problem sooner rather than later. The long suffering property tax-payers out there might eventually get tired of having this problem dumped on them.

But, on the other hand, at $184,000 a year to shovel crap...who says the government can’t create good paying jobs??

In a rare moment of candor, Assitant to the Under-Secretary of Homeless Affairs, I. P. Freely, did acknowledge the difficulties associated with being a self-described Mecca for the homeless...

Sure. Compassion isn’t easy. This sanitation problem is a tough one. We were offered several competing ideas of how to fix it but none of them is guaranteed to come out right in the end.. 

In other words...it’s a crapshoot.

What To Do?

Bad news is back...with a vengeance.

The horrific grand jury report out of Pennsylvania detailing over 1,000 sexually violated victims at the hands of over 300 Catholic priests is a gut punch to any person of faith. I am not a Catholic. But this news comes as a blow to all Christians. Indeed, it is a devastating indictment of organized religion, that men, ostensibly called out and set apart to serve God, would use their power in such a vile and despicable way. As I have read the various accounts of this story, it occurs to me that this is but one state. Nearly 10 percent of the priests in that state were involved in this abomination. To do the math of extrapolation is a sickening project.

It is easy to fall into despair at such news, especially when you understand that this story fits easily into the pattern of our day. We have been buffeted day after day with stories that have rocked our faith in the great institutions of our nation and civilization. A short list of those institutions that have taken a beating of late would include...

-the news media

-the FBI

-the NFL

-Congress

-the Presidency

-the constitution 

-truth

-men

-and now...#metoo women

The prudent and imminently logical approach would be to assume that everyone out there is a lying, cheating, self serving hypocrite. That way, you would no longer be disappointed by the next betrayal. But, prudence and logic can only get a person so far. 

Of course, some have become activists of some kind or another, choosing to fight this thing or that thing. Others have just become angry and cynical, turning inward, withdrawing from the mess. Neither of these options appeal to me. First, activism only seems to feed anger and resentment. Nobody is persuading anyone of anything. Activism merely places you in a tribe of like minded people where your anger and resentment can be fed and nurtured. Cynicism takes you out of the fight altogether, and moreover..is a horrible way to live. I read a great piece in the New York Times the other day that made the case that, at the end of the day, we love our political anger, because righteous indignation has always been a comfort in confusing times. So, what to do?

You will have noticed lately that both my blogs and my social media commentary have been riddled through with diabolically corny Dad Jokes. Yes, I confess and declare my guilt. But, when I look at the running back and forth on Twitter and Facebook, I’m thinking that a few cringe-worthy puns couldn’t possibly hurt, and may very well help to lower the temperature. The interesting thing I’ve noticed about your response to these pathetic attempts at humor is that people from a wide variety of political and religious views seem to agree that they are, in fact, pathetic. Bad jokes seem to unite people. Apparently, Republicans and Democrats both find themselves laughing at jokes which are so bad, they’re good. So, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, if by posting a few jokes I can bring the warring factions together for five minutes to share a reluctant laugh...I’ll take it.

Whistling past the graveyard? Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic? Perhaps. But...we all have a job to do.

...What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches?

A nervous wreck.

...I am terrified of elevators.

I’m going to take steps to avoid them

...Have you heard of the band 1023MB?

They haven’t got a gig yet.

Miscellaneous...

I’m feeling quite miscellaneous this morning. Perhaps it’s collateral damage from transitioning from leisure to work. Or maybe it’s just the salmon I had last night. So, this post might not be as coherent as you’ve come to expect...admittedly a low bar.

So, you know how when people go on vacation and flood Facebook with idyllic pictures of all of their adventures? Yeah, well...guilty as charged. But, I was thinking maybe I should do an outtake blog, and show you some of the embarrassing pictures that didn’t make the cut. Isn’t that a more honest presentation of what really happened on vacation?

Here’s the view I had every time I looked down at the dock trying to find a fishing hook.

Although I did manage to catch one decent sized bass, this is what I caught 99% of the time...hand sized crappie. The embarrassing part of this was that I thought it worthy enough for a photograph.

This was supposed to be a picture of something else, but I had the camera view backwards.

Now, here’s an example of a photograph which the family will gaze upon years from now and ask...what the heck? Dad must have taken this.

Of course, this is a must-take photo that every vacationing family longs to capture...proof that we drove our car to Maine.

Here’s that picture you take for the sole purpose of hoping you capture your son falling into the water on his first ever attempt to stand up on a paddle board. 

Ok, that’s enough of that.

Now, a few great jokes I’ve come across lately...

Our Dad died because we couldn’t remember his blood type. As he died, he kept encouraging us to ‘be positive’ but honestly it’s hard without him.

I just burned 2000 calories. That’s the last time I leave brownies in the oven while taking a nap.

“Doctor, there’s a patient on line 1 who says he’s invisible.”

“Well, tell him I can’t see him right now!”

I Need Help

Consider what a strange and mysterious thing is the human mind. 

This morning my eyes sprang open at 4:40 am. After a brief perambulation to the bathroom, I got back in bed with the Tony Orlando and Dawn song...Knock Three Times...firmly ensconced in my head. I can assure the reader that I haven’t listened to that insipid tune for at least 30 years now, but there it was playing over and over inside my head. Not only is this sort of thing annoying, it is also inexplicable. But, there are many such inexplicable things that happen in our brains. Take puns, for instance.

Ok, a friend of mine posted this awesome picture on Facebook yesterday, with the following problematic comment:

Those of you who get our Christmas card/letter know that I consistently brag about my wife’s tremendous legs. Well, here’s a photo from our wedding—now you understand why I’m so proud.

Immediately, his friends started making comments about how far into the doghouse he was going to be if his wife sees the picture, etc...all in good fun. But, the minute I saw this picture, I reminded myself that I had just returned from three weeks in Maine. I hadn’t done anything productive in almost a month. I had work to do. I could not let myself get distracted by this golden punning opportunity. But, there it was...staring me in the face. Damn Facebook!!

See, here’s the thing. Puns are like a bag of Doritos. You’re sitting there at the table with an open bag. You know that the only way you’re not going to slam the entire bag is to never reach for that first Dorito. Because, once you’ve had the first one, you’ve got no chance.

My first offer was weak, not fully formed. Basic. Entry level stuff:

Dont expect me to ...pony up...your bail money if she sees this.

I told myself that I was done, that I could walk away. And for a while I actually did. I made a few calls, set a couple of appointments, studied several account statements. An hour or so later I could feel one coming together somewhere in the primordial soup of the brain, gestating, coalescing in the strange way that all puns do. Suddenly, I was typing:

If you had asked my advice before posting this, I would have said, “Ney”

I quickly busied myself with some fund research, some due diligence work, trying to convince myself that I was done with this Facebook foolishness. But now I had the bright red Doritos bag firmly in both hands, and my hands looked like I had spent half a day finger painting traffic cones. Then, my friend made the terrible mistake of complimenting me...which, of course, had an effect similar to waving a bag of donuts at a fat kid...

Thanks! The last thing I want to do is...stirrup...trouble.

It was at this point where I knew I was too far gone to fight it. The bag of Doritos was lifted high above my head and I sat there with my mouth wide open, like a four day old robin, trying to catch that last corner of crumbs, not even caring that half of them were hitting me in the face...

As one husband to another, I can say that posting this picture is a classic symptom of hoof in mouth disease.

But, in your defense, at least you haven’t gone out and had an affair with your Secretariet.

Just trying to keep things light here. With the climate we are in today, posting this sort of picture might make people think you’re an insensitive husband...and nobody wants to be...saddled...with that.

It was a shameful performance. I had lost all control, done in by a nameless, mysterious and ultimately toxic force...the pun. So, in full repentance mode, I opened the Bible for comfort and it fell open to James 1:26...

If anyone thinks he is religious and does not...bridle...his tongue, this person’s religion is worthless.

Sigh....

A Relic From My Immature Past

So, yesterday I made the adjustment back to the real world in the most direct way...by getting started on paying this month’s bills for Richmond Financial Associates. In so doing I found myself going through an often neglected filing cabinet looking for an old receipt, when I stumbled upon a relic from my past, one that served to remind me of just how far I’ve come, how far I have progressed in my personal and professional development...

 Behold the Vimeo Strafer2000, still in mint condition. Yes, there once was a time when I wasn’t beyond this type of asshattery. This device used to be a fixture on my credenza...back when I was far less mature. I still remember stumbling upon it on a pranks website run by a company out in California which specializes in this sort of thing and with which I once did considerable business. Back in the day, this was something that I simply couldn’t resist. Thankfully, I have moved beyond this sort of juvenile hijinkery...mostly. But, just in case you’re interested, I suppose I should let you know how the Vimeo Strafer2000 worked.

First, you had to plug it in to your computer. The device was equipped with a camera on the front just above the four rotating nerf rockets. Once deployed, the view from said camera would appear in a pop up box in the lower left hand corner of your computer screen so as not to be noticed by anyone other than the user. Using the arrow keys you could adjust the rotating guns and aim them precisely at whatever target you desired. So, I could be sitting at my credenza with my back to my office door, and say..Doug Greenwood walked in my office. With a few taps of the arrow keys, I could bring Doug’s big bulbous head into the target circle, then by simply pressing the space bar, unleash all four nerf missiles at him without even turning around to acknowledge his presence! I’m telling you, this was cutting edge pranking technology at the time. And while I once thought it was awesome and took great delight in blasting my coworkers with it, as you might imagine, they weren’t entirely thrilled. Eventually pressure was brought to bear on me to retire the Vimeo Strafer2000, which I did. I put it in the filing cabinet and never gave it another thought...until yesterday. Yes...it still works. But, I have moved on from such childishness...mostly. I now realize how inappropriate it is for someone entrusted with millions upon millions of people’s life savings to carry on in so unprofessional a manner...I think.

So, while I no longer deploy the Vimeo Strafer2000, if you or someone you know has not yet evolved to my level of maturity...I am entertaining bids for her sale. 

Back To Work

Back to work.

As is my custom, after unpacking the car yesterday afternoon, I headed into the office to sort through three weeks of mail and messages and reintroduce myself to my profession. Things were pretty much how I left them, thanks to my Uber-Assistant who makes these sabbaticals possible. The transition back into reality should be smooth this morning. 

The 815 mile drive home was uneventful, making it the only such uneventful trip in recent memory. No torrential downpours, no traffic backups, no accidents, and no car trouble. Lots of country music, Cheese-Its and mentos. No news..also in keeping with my vacation custom.

Going three weeks without listening to or even reading any news is a unique experience. The only journalism I consumed since July 22nd was the Lincoln County News’s August 2nd edition. Since it was a local weekly, there were no recognizable bylines and no word of Trump. However, I did learn perhaps a bit more than I needed to know about the new K-5 program director at the Lincoln County YMCA, and the amazing leniency of  Lincoln County’s finest, who gave out four warnings for every actual ticket issued for speeding and other moving violations. However, this prosecutorial discretion seems to have had the desired effect on the locals since they all drive 5 mph slower than the posted speed limit. At first this is a source of great frustration, but after a week or so, it’s like...what’s the rush?

The weather for this vacation was a 7 on a scale of 10. The first week was cloudy and rainy, unfortunate for Patrick and Sarah. But after that, largely dry and sunny. It was warmer than normal, with a couple of days actually topping out at 90 degrees. There was humidity, an unwelcomed imposition, but not Richmond style humidity. Our last two days were more in keeping with our past Maine experiences...high temperature of 72, and not a cloud in the bright blue sky.

We ate too much. I haven’t stepped on a scale yet, but I expect the news won’t be good. Frankly, I don’t care. Whatever weight I have gained over the last three weeks represents the tribute that vice pays to virtue, everyone wants to eat right and lose weight, but when restraints are cast aside on vacation, we all return to our natural state. What we all really want is delicious food and lots of it! So, I will shed the extra pounds over the next 30 Days, and then reaquire them happily when next I go to Maine...from September 14 - October 6. If two three weeks vacations in Maine seem excessive to the reader I should admit that you are right...it is excessive. I’ve never done it before. The money spent on this indulgence more appropriately could have been enlisted into building up my retirement accounts, or financing Pam’s new kitchen, or any number of other more worthy and cost effective projects.

But...I am 60 years old. As of this moment, neither of my children have presented me with a grandchild to spoil rotten. I don’t want or need a bigger house. I’m not a car guy. The house will be paid off soon, leaving me officially debt free. So, I can either shovel money into savings for that rainy day I have been warned about since I was 5...or I can spend six weeks on a lake in Maine with people I love,  putting on temporary weight in exchange for permanent memories.

Easy decision.

The Last Day of Vacation

The last day of vacation is always a bummer. No matter what you tell yourself, instead of relaxing and being fully in the moment, in the back of your mind you’re already packing. For the first time in three weeks you find yourself concerned about what time it is. The day takes on a manic check list feel...like you’re trying to cram in too many things into too short a period of time. The key to a successful LDOV( last day of vacation ) is to prioritize. For example, here is a list of the things I would like to do today:

Catch a 5 pound bass.

Kayak.

Go for a 3 mile run before breakfast.

Have blueberry pancakes at the Camden Deli.

Have breakfast at Crissy’s.

Have ice cream at River Ducks.

Play a third round of golf at Rockland Golf Club.

Take a nap while bobbing up and down on the lake in a float.

Go swimming.

Have toasted tuna rolls for lunch served on the dock.

Have a fried clam lunch at Marriner’s in Camden.

Figure out a way to get that guy across the lake to take me for a ride in his pontoon ultra light plane.

Even better, talk him in to teaching me how to fly it!

Read the local newspaper while sitting in the window seat of the Camden Library.

Have a picnic lunch of lobster rolls on the lawn at the Camden Hills State Park.

Go shopping for the perfect hat and coffee mug one last time at The Smiling Cow.

Have a beer at Cuzzy’s.

Sit on a bench beside the harbor master’s house in Camden and watch the schooners come and go for an hour.

Have a cup of coffee and a whoppie pie in a booth at Moody’s while reading the latest edition of the Lincoln County News.

Listen to the loons.

Catch a glimpse of the Pemaquid bald eagle one more time.

Grill a steak for dinner.

Grill some shrimp for dinner.

Have a large bowl of seafood chowder at the Newcastle Public House for dinner.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot to do today and I better get to it...

Too Crunchy?

Last September Pam and I stayed at an incredible place called Loon Landing, on Quantabacook Lake in Searsmont, Maine. We loved it so much we’re going back there in six weeks. Anyway, in order to make the twenty minute drive from Searsmont to Camden you had to drive through a little village called Lincolnville Center. Last year, there was a beautiful new general store being built. Every time we drove passed it we would slow down and comment about how awesome the place was going to be when they finally finished it. Well, a couple of days ago we decided to pay it a visit to see how it turned out...

We were blown away. The place is stunning, the kind of general store that would make even the most urbane city slicker long for small town life.

Then we went inside...

Ok, I’ll just let Pam do the talking at this point...

As we entered the door there was a huge wine selection, followed by a huge display of essential oils and an assortment of crystals. Nothing in the store except organic. I saw a red pepper for seven dollars/lb.  They have a huge brick oven in the back for pizza, so that’s something. This store is way too crunchy for me!

In other news... the last two nights we have gone out to dinner. During a wild and crazy lightening storm, we had a hankering for pizza, so we went into Damariscotta to a sports bar type of place called The Penalty Box. 

The inside of the place is made to look like Fenway Park. A series of murals turn every wall into the view from a section of seating at the iconic old ballpark. Really cool. And the pizza was amazing!

Then, last night I marked something off my bucket list. For over ten years now, I have seen an advertisement in Down East Magazine for a place called King Eider’s Pub in Damariscotta. The picture in the ad made it look like the kind of place I would love. When we were seated I mentioned all of this to the manager of the place, telling him that I was a little nervous and hoping that I wouldn’t be disappointed. There was no need to worry. Although it was quite pricey, Pam’s seafood pot pie and my surf and turf were out of this world delicious. We were seated upstairs right next to what was once a working fireplace, which was now home to a cast iron pot of oyster shells...

But, the best part was the charm of the place...

From our table at the far right hand window upstairs, we could see the Damariscotta harbor in the distance. Enchanting.

Last but not least, it’s been a great reading vacation. Here are the five that I’ve finished so far. Actually, I still have a hundred pages or so to go on Chicago, since I just bought it in Camden two days ago. Eclectic selections, don't ya think?

Three more days here. Today is cloudy with storms expected so I have no idea what we will end up doing. But, we plan on making the most of the next 72 hours.

My Favorite Pictures

What follows are some of my favorite pictures from this vacation with a brief explanation of each one...

My view every morning around 6 o’clock. One day everything was bathed in a soft pink which even lit up the inside of the house. A wonderful show to wake up to.

Fishing hasn’t been as good this year, but occasionally even a blind squirrel digs up an acorn.

Pam and I got the bay window seat for breakfast at Crissy’s in Damariscotta.

Sunset in Damariscotta. 

 It seems like every village on the coast has one dominant Church with a clock tower steeple. This is the one in Damariscotta.

Here we all are gathered around Smokey. He’s the giant carved bear who stands at the entrance to Checkerberry Road, the winding dirt road directly off of Route 1 which leads to our cabin. If it weren’t for him we would have driven past our turn every time! By the way...look at all those relaxed, happy faces!

The newlyweds spent the first week of their honeymoon in California where they took a picture of their feet in the sand of a beach outside of San Francisco. So, they decided to take a second foot picture in the sand of Camden Harbor. 

Me and my boy.

Me and my girl.

There are many others. Maybe I’ll do a part two at some point. We have had a wonderful time, and the 500 plus pictures we have in our Chillin at Pemaquid Pond folder, while probably excessive, speaks to the wonder which is all around us here. The good and glorious news is that in less than six weeks...we’ll be back!!

Just The Two of Us

Our time together with our kids begins in many ways. But, this is how it always ends...

...my wife in a tearful embrace with them at an airport or in our driveway.

We had the privilege of spending the first week here with all of them. Then the second week we got to spend some time with just Kaitlin and Jon. Now, as of 6:45 this morning, it’s just the two of us for the last week. 

We love every second we get to spend with our kids. First of all, it’s rare. Since they both have moved away, we only get to see them for  around three weeks a year. But, this past two weeks has felt a little like what it must be like to run a Bed and Breakfast. We now appreciate what Pam’s parents went through all those summers at Dummer’s Beach. Now that they’re all gone...it’s awfully quiet in this big old house!

These next seven days we plan on doing whatever the heck we feel like doing, whenever the heck we feel like doing it. We will try to eat up as much of the food that’s in the fridge as we can before we leave. We will see a few more sights, eat out at a few more restaurants, and play some Rummikub. I will read a few more books, catch a few more fish, and take a few more afternoon naps. When it’s finally time to leave, I will be torn between wanting to stay, on the one hand, and wanting to hurry home...because I really miss Lucy. 

Kaitlin’s Response

For the first time in the eight year history of The Tempest, I have invited a guest blogger to this space. My daughter wanted an opportunity to respond to my allegations that she has not exactly been holding up her end of the bargain on this vacation. Below, please find her response. Make of it what you will.

I interrupt your regularly scheduled programming this evening to rebut my father’s claim that I am the Least Valuable Vacationer (LVV). 

Over these last two weeks, rather than lift myself out of hammocks by my own bootstraps, I have chosen to embrace my favorite new program: Affirmative Inaction. And in doing so, I believe I am benefiting everyone around me. For instance, when I ask my husband to fetch me a freezie pop from the kitchen so I can continue reclining on the sofa uninterrupted, I am offering him a chance to serve “the least of these”...a Christian’s highest calling. What a blessing! When I sweetly request, batting my eyelashes, that my father heat up my coffee in the microwave, am I not inviting him to practice biblical hospitality? I take my family’s sanctification very seriously.

My intention in rising from bed no earlier than 9:00 each morning is twofold: 1) to fill everyone’s morning with sweet anticipation of my awakening, and 2) to ensure that I am mentally and emotionally energized to serve as the vacation cheerleader. Without a full nine hours of sleep, for example, I most assuredly would not have clapped and cheered for Mom’s paddleboard yoga with as much enthusiasm. Likewise, I can’t very well compliment the aroma of her cooking if I am napping as she prepares it.

Philosophically, isn’t a vacation the one time of the year when one can cease striving to earn one’s “value”? And therefore, isn’t the vacationer heralded as “least valuable” actually the one most to be praised?

Finally, as the only Mary in a house full of Marthas, I must remind you of Jesus‘s words in Matthew: “So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many have been called, but few chosen.” Since I am continually the last of my family members to accomplish anything productive, I am clearly, according to Jesus, the chosen one.

Now, if you will all excuse me, I am late for my afternoon of languid lakeside lounging*. I really can’t miss that again.

Signing off, 

LVV

*Footnote: I have the tannest feet of anyone.

Cutting Edge Journalism

I literally cannot remember the last time I sat down with a physical newspaper in my hands, smelled the dried ink, and flipped through the flimsy newsprint. But yesterday, while having lunch at the 91 year old Moody’s Diner  (slogan: When I get hungry, I get Moody), I availed myself of the opportunity by picking up a copy of the Lincoln County News. The masthead informed me that it is the “only weekly newspaper locally owned, printed, and published in Lincoln County”..and has been for 143 years. While I fully understand the evolution of technology that has placed pressure on print media, and I also understand the struggles that have befallen newspapers all over the country as a result, it is my sincere belief that the Washington Post and The New York Times could learn a thing or two from the Lincoln County News. The entire front page contained not one scary headline and not a trace of hyperbole. Instead, the three front page stories that dominated the August 2, 2018 edition were:

1. Dresden Couple Transitions From Beef to Storage

Now, I don’t know about you, but this headline practically begs for an explanation. Who wouldn’t want to delve deeper to discover what on earth they could possibly be talking about? Is this some bizarre new twist on veganism? How does one eat storage? This question simply demands an answer. So I read. It turns out that Jeff and Linda Biden, of Eastern River Cattle Company have recently gotten out of the cattle business. However, the fine barn that previously housed the company’s herd will now be used to store vintage automobiles. This, despite the fact that the Eastern River Cattle Company had just won the prestigious Producer of the Year award from the Maine Beef Producers Association as recently as 2016! It seems that Jeff and Linda aren’t as young as they used to be, and the couple’s two children have shown no interest in taking over the family business. 

Now, had reporters from the New York Times been assigned to cover this story, the headline would probably have been something like...Heartless Globalist Capitalism Forces Dresden Couple Out of Business...or even better...Trump Tariffs Cause Generational Split in Local Family

2. Three Generations of Lilly Family Fight fires in Dresden

This story tells the heartwarming tail of a local man, Gotham Lilly, who at the tender age of 15, began volunteering at the local firehouse 62 years ago. The rest is history. Eventually, Lilly rose to captain, a position he held for 30 years. Along the way, nine members of his family, spanning three generations, have served at the firehouse...

Had this story been broken by a Washington Post reporter, the headline would have been...Nepotism Turnes Firestation Into Lilly Family Fifedom
3. Bristol Waitress Gets “Whole Life” Back With Return of Purse

McKinley Neuser, a 21 year old waitress at The Contented Soul in Bristol, had lost her purse containing last week’s paycheck, $600 in cash, after it disappeared from the basket of her scooter as she was on her way to work. The University of Arizona student, who has summered in Bristol her entire life, was devastated at this turn of events, since the $600 represented an entire month’s rent for her. Lucky for McKinley, local grocery store owner, Carl Reilly happened upon the purse while driving on Snowball Hill Road. He immediately pulled over, thinking it was clothing, only to discover that the purse, which doubles as Miss Neuser’s knitting bag, was stuffed full of cash. After a little detective work, Reilly figured out who the bag belonged to and headed over to The Contented Soul to reunite it with its owner. McKinley was overjoyed and grateful that she spends her summers working in such a great small town.

The New York Times take on this story?...Returned Purse of Bristol Waitress Highlights Need For Livng Wage

I spent much of yesterday afternoon reading every section of this marvelous paper. I marveled at the large headline and story about a local teacher who was appointed as Pre-K lead teacher at the YMCA, the feel good story of a church youth group who volunteered to paint the Pemaquid Point Lighthouse Park Fence, the irony of a 5K charity run to fight childhood obesity named the Boothbay Harbor Lobster Roll 5K!

God, how I love this place...

A Little Help Here....

I woke up this morning having no earthly idea what day it is. Not only do I not know what day of the month it is, there is confusion concerning which day of the week this happens to be. My first thought was that it felt a bit like a Wednesday. But, now I’m not sure. This is just one of the many delights of Maine.

This detachment from time takes a while to kick in. For me, it took longer this year for some reason. 2018 has been a Bear, for one thing. It began with an exploding dish washer, and was soon thereafter consumed with planning and paying for a wedding. So, maybe this year, the power of responsibility was more difficult to lay down. The force was strong with 2018! But, lay it down I have. I have finally reached the desired Maine vibe.

Today there’s the rickety scaffolding of a plan in place. We are planning on eating breakfast in Damariscotta at a place called Crissy’s...

Then, best that I can recall, we are headed into Rockland to visit the Breakwater Lighthouse...

That’s where it really gets fuzzy. I can’t remember if we are going into Camden late afternoon to take the walking tour which starts at the Library and ends at the Opera House, or if we’re just going to Riverducks for ice cream...or both. Or maybe we are climbing Mt. Battie this afternoon? 

It doesn’t matter really. 

I don’t even know what day it is!

The Magical Mystery of Monhegan Island

This blog will mostly be pictures because I think my words would be inadequate to describe Monhegan Island. We ate no lobster and there were no bicycles, largely because there were no paved roads anywhere. What was there? Plenty of artists standing around painting gorgeous pictures of the scenery. When our boat unloaded it’s 120 passengers, the population of this idyllic place tripled. 

We started our adventure with lunch at the Monhegan Inn...

Monhegan Island is only 12 miles away from the mainland, but feels like it’s 100 years back in time. 90% of the Island is untouched, except for the ribbons of trails, all on private property, which are maintained by a local association. We spent most of our time there meandering down those trails, led my Ranger Jon, who kept us, literally, on the straight and very narrow. In total, we meandered for nearly four miles on a delightful 70 degree day. Each trail ended up rewarding us with these types of views...

But, you didn’t need to go hiking to see beautiful things. The village itself was a beguiling mix of charm and fascination. Charm, for obvious reasons. Fascination for what it must be like to live in so wild, untamed and secluded a place...

Then, something truly magical happened. We were walking on a trail called  Cathedral Forest, when we began to notice these little home made miniature...houses(?) built every fifty feet or so along the path. First Kaitlin suggested that it was probably an assignment that the teacher of the one room school house had assigned her 8 students as some sort of object lesson. But as we made our way along the path, these structures became ever more elaborate and imaginative, to the point where it actually started to freak me out. Maybe there was some weirdo psychopath afoot and soon we would discover a severed doll’s head or something. But then we came upon a married couple and a couple of kids who were building there own little houses. It was then that we discovered this quaint island tradition where people... on this trail only...are encouraged to build houses for the fairies. The only rule is that nothing foreign can be brought into the woods. They must be constructed with natural materials found in the woods...

There must have been a hundred of these little creations, and their existence just added to the magical feel of the place. Although we were exhausted by the time our boat ride back to the mainland pulled away from the dock, we all felt like we had visited a truly enchanting place from a bygone era. 

Worth every penny.