“I wonder when they close?”

It is currently 7:16 pm eastern time on Monday evening, August the 2nd. My wife just announced that dinner would have to wait until she returned from her evening sunset paddle. She gave me vague background on what she intends to fix, clearly hoping that I would summon some initiative if she is gone more than an hour. I am ambivalent on the subject, my initiative gene having disappeared since the kids left. Pam isn’t much better. We have basically been flying by the seat of our pants with no plan whatsoever. Last night, for example, we were enjoying our dinner out on the screened in porch when suddenly Pam brought up the subject of ice cream, in particular, the hand made variety served up at the Wild Cow Creamery in Belfast which we had discovered mere days ago during an excursion with our kids. Since Pam’s iPad was on the table, (don’t judge us), she pulled up their website and began regaling me with tales of their ice cream creation process, what with its small batch, all natural, home made, ethically sourced, free range etc etc etc…I made the mistake of saying…to no one really, “ I wonder when they close?”

The website said 8:00 pm. It was 7:30. It’s a twenty minute drive. It was then that my wife shot me a dangerous expression, as if she was planning a raucous march through the Seven Deadly sins. Before I knew what was happening, she was literally stuffing a bite of her half finished hamburger into her mouth while getting up from the table, “You get the keys and your wallet, I’ll grab a jacket.”

Anyone who knows Pam knows that she is the sort of woman who always looks completely put together even if its just a quick trip to the grocery store. But there she was, no purse, no make-up…no problem. “Floor it, we only have 25 minutes!”

When this woman gets it into her head that its time for ice cream, I am here to tell you that it is time for Ice Cream. I put the dog-tired Hyundai Santa Fe through her paces and we made it with 8 minutes to spare…

Of course, the down side of all this hand made natural crap is that they only sell whatever they have made that day! So, all the flavors we were salivating over scrolling through their webpage weren’t on the menu. We had to chose between a variety of eclectic offerings…

The long line began to creep forward. The pressure started to mount. You get one shot at this thing, you can’t choke when it’s your turn. After nearly 25 minutes of soul-searching and self evaluation…we were up. Pam ordered…

“I’ll take the Cosmic C3 in a sugar cone, and my husband will have two scoops of the Pecan Turtle.”

It was done. We would have to live with our choices. The anticipation was borderline manic. Finally we were handed our ice cream. Since we were parked illegally, (sadly, not one of the seven deadly sins), we felt it wise to eat it in the car so we could make a hasty getaway should any of Belfast’ finest show up. My ice cream was delicious beyond my powers of description. Pam loved hers so much she almost choked on it. Seriously, the poor girl inhaled a fleck of coconut down the wrong tube and proceeded to cough her head off for 15 minutes, complete with tears. But, my wife is a gamer. In between coughing jags she quickly licked her cone, not letting a single drop go to waste. Thats what the great ones always do…overcome adversity. She could easily have given up on her ice cream and concentrated all of her energy on like…breathing, but no way. This was home made, small batch organic ice cream we’re talking about. She wasn’t going to let something as mundane as choking stop her from enjoying every bite. 

That’s why she’s the champ, ladies and gentlemen.

What to do About the Delta Variant

One of the best things about being in Maine for five weeks is the escape it provides from the ubiquitous news cycle. I’ve read exactly one newspaper since I’ve been here, a rollicking publication called The Camden Herald, which has been keeping Mid-Coasters up to date on tide charts and the quality and quantity of the lobster harvest for 150 years now. But, other than local gossip, there’s no real news, which is exactly how I like it. There are televisions in this house, but they haven’t been turned on. The only thing we listen to on the car radio is a country music station ominously called The Bear. Of course, we still have the internet, so I do have access to the news, I’ve just chosen not to go there.

…Until this morning.

It appears that the COVID-19 sequel…the Delta Variant…is in all the theaters now and is getting decidedly mixed reviews. There’s talk of reinstating mask requirements, demanding vaccination passports, the return of social distancing, etc. along with the predictable blowback this talk was bound to generate. After reading a couple of summaries of the business from relatively reliable sources, I began searching for the views of several smart voices I normally read during confusing times. One of those is Andrew Sullivan, which for me is an admittedly odd pairing. I disagree with a lot of what he writes. He’s a gay, liberal who worships the ground that Barack Obama walks on. But, he is one helluva fine writer and can be depending upon to make me think. Anyway, I found a piece he wrote about all of this and in it was what follows. These couple of paragraphs perfectly reflect my thinking as of this hour:

“We are at a stage in this pandemic when we are trying to persuade the hold-outs — disproportionately white Republicans/evangelicals and urban African-Americans — to get vaccinated. How do we best do this? Endless, condescending nagging won’t help. Coercion is not an option in a free country. Since the vaccinated appear to be able to transmit the virus as well, vaccine passports lose their power to remove all risk. Forcing all the responsible people to go back to constraining their everyday lives for the sake of the vaccine-averse is both unfair and actually weakens the incentive to get a vaccine, because it lowers the general risk of getting it in the broader society. 

So the obviously correct public policy is to let mounting sickness and rising deaths concentrate the minds of the recalcitrant. Let reality persuade the delusional and deranged. It has a pretty solid record of doing just that.

The government cannot be held responsible for sickness and death it has already provided the means to avoid. People are responsible for their own lives. The government can do some things — like making vaccination mandatory for federal workers and contractors, and especially in the military as George Washington did in the Revolutionary War for smallpox. It could offer money — or entry into a lottery, as many states are doing. All good. But the most potent incentive for vaccination is, to be brutally frank, a sharp rise in mortality rates. The more people who know someone who has suffered and died the likelier they will see the logic of taking measures to avoid the same fate. In other words: if people recklessly refuse to face reality, call their bluff.

Those who live in denial, who have somehow convinced themselves that the virus is a hoax or a deep-state plot or a function of white supremacy or whatever, will experience what everyone in denial eventually experiences: reality. And reality is the most tenacious influencer I know.”

So, there you have it, my first and last serious take on the news since I have been in the great State of Maine.

Have a glorious Sunday, everyone.

Crushing News for Nats Fans

Two years ago the Washington Nationals were the world champions of baseball. This morning, they are a triple AAA team. Fame is fleeting.

Baseball, like all other sports, is a business and as such must be run with an eye towards the future, not just the present. I understand and fully accept this fact. This year’s team is eight games under .500 and going nowhere. So management decided on a fire sale. Overnight, they traded away their best starting pitcher and future Hall of Farmer, Max Scherzer. Then they traded away their two best relief pitchers, Daniel Hudson and Brad Hand. But they were just getting warmed up. Next on the block was Kyle Schwarber, a fan favorite who earlier this year went on a home run hitting streak that was one of the most prolific of all time. But the last trade is the one that has National’s fans crying in their beer. Trea Turner has been the most consistent player on this team for the past three years and one of the best 15 or so players in all of baseball, and unlike some of these other guys who got traded, he’s young. He is on a Hall of Fame pace through the first seven years of his career. Now, he’s gone.

I wonder what Juan Soto is thinking this morning? Poor guy wakes up and learns that all the best players on his team are gone and he’s left surrounded by a bunch of stiffs. 

But, what did the Nationals get in return for all this talent they dealt away? One word…prospects. Mostly a bunch of guys you’ve never heard of, primarily because most of them have yet to play a single game in the big leagues. 

So, was this trading frenzy a good or bad move? Too early to yell. Right now, it means that the Nationals are going to be God awful for the next couple of years. But if this batch of prospects pans out, we might look back on it later and call Mike Rizzo a genius. Still…its going to be painful to watch the Dodgers win the World Series this year with Max Scherzer and Trea Turner in their starting lineup. 

Go Sox!!!

The Excursion

Finally got to go on the Puffin Cruise after the fog had cancelled us the previous day. This time it was beautiful…

We left from the adorable village of Port Clyde awash in sparkling sunshine. Soon, we were out in Penobscot Bay on the Atlantic Ocean surrounded by what seemed like a thousand little islands like this one, Franklin Island…

This particular lighthouse was commissioned by none other than Thomas Jefferson when he was President. It’s still in service.

We were curious why our vessel, the LauraB flew this flag…

Our very cool tour guide informed us that this flag can only be flown on boats that have seen military action. Turns out that the LauraB first served in the U.S. Navy in the Solomon Islands during WWII, at which time it sported two machine guns and a cannon!

Jon, naturally was in his element, since the ostensible purpose of this voyage was to spot the elusive Puffin, which we did, but with no definitive photographic evidence, you’ll just have to take my word for it. We did see several eagles…

Of course, no vacation excursion would be complete without my daughter taking the most unflattering picture of her father…

Looks like somebody needs to lay off the whoopie pies…Thanks for the reminder, Kaitlin!!

A Disturbing Reminder

Two of my kids are now back home. Patrick and Sarah made it safely back to Nashville yesterday, ending their time with us. Kaitlin and Jon will be here through Wednesday, then it will Pam and me for another week or so. Amazing how fast time passes up here. Today was supposed to be a complete washout but woke up to calm water and patchy sunshine, so I hopped in the kayak and paddled over to the next cove where I caught five beautiful bass in a matter of minutes. The mist was still roiling across the lake when I arrived back at the dock. By then it had started to rain, more like a soft, polite drizzle. Kaitlin and Pam decided that a trip into Camden for a clam chowder lunch at The Deli was essential to our happiness and well being. Mine came with a Reuben sandwich and one of those delightfully intense dill pickles. By the time we finished lunch, the rain had become real, coming down steadily while the high temperature hovered in the low 60’s.

While the rest of my family wandered off for pointless browsing in the many lovely shops on Elm street, I stepped into The Smiling Cow on a mission from God. Every year, I buy gifts for all of the ladies at the office, those poor souls who are forced to put up with my workplace harassment and high-jinks all year. I partially make it up to them by bringing them treats from Maine. They receive them with a very high level of entitlement, figuring that it’s the very least I could do.

Then there’s the matter of the sweet pups who live next door to us back home, the three Garland kids, Cash, Kennedy, and Sully. These wonderful kids have served as my grandparent-training guinea pigs, which means I get to spoil them with treats from Maine too. Their long-suffering parents go along with this spoiling for the most part, although I thought I detected an eye-roll from Jamie last year when I bought Cash a cool pirate knife with a disappearing blade and a collection of practical joke tricks he could use to terrorize his sisters. So, this year I scaled back the asshattery a bit, going with slightly more educational gifts. I hope they aren’t totally crushed.

Anyway, the point of this blog was to tell you about a disturbing message I received from my son this afternoon that actually sent a brief wave of nausea sweeping over me. He sent me this…

We might have two more weeks left up here but we are under no illusions about what awaits us back in Short Pump. This screenshot served as a disturbing reminder. Nevertheless, going home isn’t all bad. Take a look at my Grandpup, Frisco. Somebody missed his Mama!!

Wonder

It was around 7:00 in the evening. Patrick and Sarah were rattling around in the kitchen preparing dinner. Pam was in the shower. Jon was getting a fire ready for later while Kaitlin was sitting on the dock reading a book. I was in the living room reading book number four of this trip, when I got to the end of a chapter and thought to make myself a cup of coffee. As I got up I glanced through the big windows that face the lake and noticed a bright splash of color in a straight line across the surface of the water that seemed to be pointing straight at Kaitlin. It stopped me in my tracks. “Look at that on the water…what the heck?” Then I noticed Jon hustling down the path towards the dock. I thought to open the door to our bathroom to tell Pam that she might want to take a look. Then I too ran down the path until I realized that what I was seeing from the upstairs of the house was a reflection of the thing and not the thing itself…

Soon, all of us were on the dock, faces aglow with wonder, snapping photographs which were destined to disappoint. In a particularly delightful moment, my wife appeared, her hair bound up in a turban, having stepped out of the shower, camera in hand, determined not to miss the experience. Dinner would have to wait. next thing I know, Pam and Kaitlin were off chasing another sunset…

It’s very easy to romanticize our memories. Fond memories can easily become myths with the passage of time. How many of us have had warm memories of some childhood experience that when revisited 40 years later disappoints? But this rainbow is exactly the kind of thing that always seems to happen up here. Each new day up here brings to life the dormant capacity for wonder that is cooked into our DNA as human beings, but is largely neutralized by the relentless slog of our routines. Quantabacook inspires wonder like no place else for me. It reminds me that the world is a beautiful place. Up here, beauty isn’t an abstraction, its the air you breathe.

After we finally finished dinner around 9 o’clock, we gathered around the fire, mesmerized…

Pride Goeth Before a Fall…

I don’t believe in karma, but yesterday’s events at the dock gave me pause. 

 

It was an especially warm afternoon in the upper 70s (ha!), so Patrick and Sarah and I decided to break out the floats and attempt a “floatilla” for the first time since the start of our vacation. Patrick scanned the dock for the best place to lower himself onto his float and realized the ladder was too unwieldy for a smooth takeoff. The only alternative was to somehow hop onto the float from the dock’s edge, which rests a solid 18 inches above the water. He bravely decided to give it a go and lowered the float into the water. Without pausing to think too much, he hoisted himself off the dock and crashed onto the float like a bowling ball, cross-legged and facing the wrong way. Like a good sister, I pointed at him and cackled.

“Why did you get on it backwards?!” Sarah asked.

“How else could I have done it?” Patrick responded, paddling furiously and tipping dangerously to the right.

The float suddenly flipped and Patrick tumbled into the water. This was funny enough as it was, but the funniest part was watching him try to get back on. As I sit here remembering it, I am giggling all over again. Every time he gained purchase, the float would flip him off again with a big splash, and he would pop up like a buoy, his arms flailing and his glasses cockeyed on his face.

The contrast was stark between Sarah’s reaction as his wife and my reaction as his sister:

Sarah: “Are you okay??? Please tell us if you need help!”

Me: “BAHAHAHAHAHA. Can we sell tickets to this? Somebody pop some popcorn!”

Eventually he figured it out and stabilized himself on the float. At this point we had secured the ladder properly, so I wiped the tears from my eyes and sashayed over to the dock’s edge, ready to show him how it’s done.

As a three-time winner of the Least Valuable Vacationer award, I am a seasoned float launcher. I slipped my feet through the hole in the foot of the float, walked down a couple rungs of the ladder and then gracefully lowered myself onto the raft, pushing off from the dock with my toes. I waved at Mom and Patrick as I floated away, self-satisfied and serene. 

Then, without warning, a great POP echoed across the lake. Generations of lake-dwellers will tell their children of the great POP of July 20th, 2021. Mom tells me that my confident smirk evaporated in an instant. My float deflated faster than I thought possible, and before I knew it, I was the flailing, sputtering, chagrined Dunnevant sibling. 

I can often hear Nanny’s voice in my head, reciting one of her favorite Scriptures: “Pride goeth before a fall!”

Quite literally, indeed.

Grateful

Yesterday was Pam’s birthday so we did all of her favorite things. That meant blueberry pancakes at the Camden Deli, several hours of casually pointless shopping, a lobster roll lunch at Hazel’s, a paddle board excursion with Kaitlin and Sarah tagging along in the kayaks, a delicious dinner which she insisted in preparing which featured lots of laughter and conversation and ended with whoopie pies. Then, Sarah handed out special gifts she had bought for the occasion…

It should be noted that my daughter-in-law did not buy the boys matching pajamas, a fact for which I will be eternally grateful. Suffice it to say that my wife had the best birthday ever. Yesterday was one of those days you dream about where everything seems right with the world. It’s why you work. It’s why you plot and scheme and calculate. It’s the reward for all the grinding, the relentless slog through meetings and paperwork. To be able to gather your family together in a place like this and hear their voices, see their happy faces…

Then, this morning, I wake up at 5:30 to this…

Grateful…

Moving Day

It is never an easy thing to get to Maine. Whether you’re driving up 95 or flying into Portland or Bangor, its no picnic getting here. Yesterday we moved into house # 2 on the west side of the lake. It was also supposed to be the day that our kids flew in to Bangor around 10:30 pm to join us in this great big old house. Instead, here’s what happened…

Pam and I cleared out of Summer Dreams precisely at 9 am as per the rental agreement. Pam drove the car around the lake to house # 2 and waited for me to paddle the kayaks across, which took 25 minutes. I tied them up to our new dock and then we drove into Belfast to kill some time. We owned that town:

The Cajun chicken sandwich I had at Darby’s Irish Pub was legendary.

There is a quirkiness about Maine that I find comforting. We went to an amazing Farmer’s Market which we could have spent a fortune at but were restrained by having very little room in the car to put anything, so Pam had to settle for some zucchini, squash, hard salami and cheese…

But, Maine being MAINE, the musical entertainment was provided by a harpist…

Of course. 

And in case you needed to go to the bathroom, the Belfast Farmer’s Market’s got you covered…

After lunch, we headed back to Camden to rest in the Camden Library where we were lucky enough to see a wedding taking place in the amphitheater. The bride had to enter through the large room where Pam and I were resting. She looked radiant.

While we were so engaged, we received a text from our son informing us that just as he and Sarah had left their apartment headed for the airport, they were informed that their flight had been cancelled. But these are my kids we’re talking about and if I managed to teach them anything it was how to roll with the punches. They ended up making an adventure of it by driving to Huntsville, Alabama booking a flight out for early today, finding a hotel and eating dinner at this cool place…

Meanwhile, we moved in to the new place…

It’s huge and not as campy as Summer Dreams, But once all four of our kids get here it will feel like home. Speaking of which, Kaitlin and Jon’s flight was delayed but they made it to Bangor a little after midnight. We made it home at 1:30 in the morning, a long day. If all goes as planned, Patrick and Sarah will be here by 5:30 this afternoon. It looks like it will be raining all day today.

A couple more delightful examples of Maine quirkiness…These folks know a thing or two about diversification…

Who among us hasn’t been walking through a book store and thought, “Wouldn’t a fine cigar be great about now?” And, how many times have you been ordering a latte when you’re overcome by a desire to purchase a touring bicycle? 

Ok, trying to publish a blogpost with this many photographs is going to be a challenge for the fragile internet up here. So, I hope you are able to read this before the end of the day. 

“This is the day the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it…” 

 

A Rare Sick Day

Over the past ten years or so, Pam and I have spent approximately 9 months cumulatively in Maine. In all of that time I can count on one hand the number of days I have not felt well. Yesterday was one of those days. There have been plenty of times when I have had minor accidents up here, falling down rocks while hiking, falling through a broken plank on a dock, that sort of thing…but sick…hardly ever.

Yesterday started with a workout. I did some light dumbbell work, then went for a 3.4 mile run. It was cloudy out and a cool 60 degrees but for Maine…very humid. I wore a long sleeve black t-shirt to protect against biting flies, which was probably a stupid idea since I was carrying my cool bug zapper racket thing. By the time I made it back to the house I was dripping in sweat so I ran down to the dock and jumped in the lake and immediately felt refreshed. However, later in the day after some very mild exertion I felt suddenly clammy and light headed. For the rest of the day the dizziness persisted, and was accompanied by a headache that never quite went away until I went to sleep last night. This morning I feel totally fine, completely back to normal.

Here’s the thing though…every time something like this happens, the slightest irregularity in anything health related, Pam starts worrying that it might be my heart. That’s because 18 years ago I underwent emergency open heart surgery to repair a damaged mitral valve that I wasn’t aware I had until it almost killed me. And although I have had not one single heart related problem since, its still the first thought that pops into your head when anything goes south health wise. I suppose thats a natural response. Major surgery like that is impossible to forget. Every time I get dressed in the morning I see the faded eight inch scar in the middle of my chest. At first it looked like a horrible gash that would never heal. Now I hardly notice it anymore. But, its still there and always will be. To be honest, every time I see it I feel thankful that it happened. That terrifying experience changed the trajectory of my life, slowed me down, changed my perspective and altered my priorities. Its funny how the possibility of dying at 45 changes your idea of what the good life actually is. My plans of becoming a gazillionaire vaporized overnight. My notions of personal empire building suddenly seemed embarrassingly vain. So yeah, I’m actually grateful for that horrible day in April of 2003. Having said that, I have no desire whatsoever to revisit the experience. Which, ironically, is why I was out running 3.4 miles in thick humidity while on vacation. It’s also why I do stupid things like this…

Yeah, so a few days ago I took off in my kayak for a little fishing jaunt to a new spot I’ve discovered just above the 1 mile mark on this map. I caught several beautiful bass and was feeling quite cocky when the idea popped into my head to attempt the entire northern loop while I was out. It was a beautiful day, why not? The problem started when the light and variable winds turned on me around the 2 mile mark. Now I was rowing in choppy water. At this point, a smarter  more responsible person would have considered aborting his plans to complete the northern loop. Unfortunately, there were no smart responsible people in my kayak. I soldiered on. 3 hours and 40 minutes after I left the cabin, I finally made it back with a world class case of cramped muscles. But, to hear Pam tell it, this is the sort of thing I always do. Which, I suppose is why she worries so much, bless her heart.

But, this morning, all is well. I’ve got an idea…maybe tomorrow I’ll try a mini iron man thing…run a 5K then jump in the lake a swim a mile!! I mean…what could go wrong?

There’s a New Rodent in Town

I am informed by my house sitter that the squirrels are on a destructive rampage back home. Amazing what removing the threat of instant death does to the audacity of rodents. So far, one light bulb has been broken and an adorable birdhouse that the girls next door made for us lies shattered in several pieces on the deck, no doubt the work of newly audacious squirrels. But I will eventually return and when I do, justice will be swift and unyielding. Meanwhile the happy news here at the lake is that I have not seen a single squirrel (gray or red) anywhere on the property since we arrived 15 days ago. It has been glorious.

That is not to say that our lives here are rodent-free. At this property, the king is this guy:

The Maine chipmunk rules the roost around here. They are everywhere. And while they are cuter than their destructive cousins, at least squirrels don’t spend all day singing. That’s right, you heard me…this guy, several times a day stops dead in his tiny tracks and starts this obnoxiously loud chirping, for no apparent reason. It’s amazing what a tremendous amount of noise can come out of something so small. The worst part is…it goes on forever. As I write this, one particular guy has been at it for the last four minutes straight without coming up for air…just a constant stream of chirp, chirp chirp…

Unlike the squirrels in my backyard who live in constant fear of my hulking presence, these guys just laugh when they see us. They won’t even stop eating if we happen to walk by while one of them is gnawing on something. They act like we don’t even exist. In that way they are similar to the loons, totally unimpressed with our presence here. Its like a loon will slip up from the depths within twenty feet of our dock and look at us and be like, “Oh…I see you guys are back. How was your winter? Looks like you’ve gained weight…”

Magic

We were sitting on the dock as the sun was beginning its slow retreat in the western sky turning the lake into a shimmering sea of gold. Both of us had our sunglasses on, faces on fire from the sparkling reflection. It was late afternoon, a time at home when we would be getting dinner started. But this place has rearranged our internal clocks beyond recognition. Late afternoon just means the sun is getting lower in the west and the lake is on fire. In a while it will be time for a paddle. The only sounds were the birds in the trees behind us, the muffled hum of a party boat in the distance and the soft splashing of water on the rocks on the shore. Dinner would have to wait.

Then Pam said something that captured my attention, although initially I misunderstood what she meant. “This place puts me in my place.” I found the phrase quite profound, even in my confusion. As she continued it became clear what she meant and for me it became even more profound. I will attempt a paraphrase…

“ When I’m at home, I am the center of my universe. I am at the center of all my plans, all the things that I have to accomplish and get done and check off my lists. But up here, I get put in my proper place. I am no longer the main attraction. I’m not the star of the show up here. I’m just sitting out in the audience enjoying the show. And it makes me feel small. Not in a bad way like insignificant, but small in the sense that my troubles are small. If God can create something this beautiful, he can hold onto me…”

Or, words to that glorious effect.

Most of you have a place like this. For some its the beach, for others its the mountains, for a small bizarre group of you its Disneyworld. For us, its here. Regardless of where it is, it is crucial that everyone find somewhere that puts you in the right place, somewhere that has the power to transform your perspective from inward to outward. When you do, its the closest thing to magic that you will ever possess.

Yesterday, we drove up to see a place on Three Mile Pond that had just been listed for sale. It looked promising and the price wasn’t ridiculous. It looked like it would be cloudy all day so we decided to go snoop around. When we drove down the driveway, we saw the owner tinkering around in the garage. He was very nice and answered our questions. He let us walk around the property a little and see the lake. We didn’t ask to go inside since we didn’t have an appointment. It was perfectly lovely…but it’s not for us. How do I know? No magic.

In our search for a lake house, the deciding factor for me at least is the presence or absence of magic. A place either has it or it doesn’t. I’m sure this is frustrating for my real estate agent and I’m not sure I have a working definition for what this magic is exactly. All I know is…its real. I felt it the first time I walked through the doors of Loon Landing. I felt it the first time I saw a sunset on Quantabacook. I felt it the first time all six of us watched a sunset on Crawford pond from the middle of the lake in our kayaks. Magic.

It’s out there somewhere, waiting for us. We will eventually find it.

Dessertpatizers

I am proud to announce that my wife has come up with a breakthrough that will soon take the culinary world by storm. Yesterday afternoon around 5 or 5:30–the specific time alludes both our memories—she walked into the living room and said, “I’m feeling like we need an ice cream appetizer.” Without so much as a clarifying question I simple replied, “I’ll get my wallet, you get the keys.” Ten minutes later we pulled up into SuperScoops Ice Cream in Belmont, Maine, a town so small, its only business seems to be this ice cream stand…

Alert readers of this space will remember that Pam’s ice cream shop of choice is Riverducks in Camden. But that would have been a 24 minute drive. Time was of the essence. That’s the amazing thing about Maine. Places like the one in the above photograph are a dime a dozen up here. I’m serious, no matter how obscure your address happens to be in this state, you are never more than ten minutes away from a road side ice cream stand. I’m not talking soft serve here people, this stuff is always hand scooped, real ice cream. I’m thinking that the people of Maine consume more gallons of ice cream per-capita than any other people group on the planet. Lucky us.

So we pull up at SuperScoops and discover that they are about to celebrate their 30th year in business which means that this is no vanity project for some trust fund woke hippie here, this is a thriving, money making enterprise, making bank for three decades! The woman in front of us in line was thrilled when the pick up window lady hollered, “Banana bucket up!!” She grabbed ahold of that thing with two hands, looked at us and said, “This thing ain’t gonna fit in my cup holder. I’ll have to eat it in the parking lot!!” I give the two scoop butter pecan in a waffle cone I got at SuperScoops 4 stars!

But, Pam wasn’t finished. Today at roughly the same bewitching hour she shows up down at the dock with whoopie pies, coffee and tea, a little something she has decided to call…dessertpatizers, (two S’s because you want more). I don’t have to tell you what this new idea would do to the culinary hot-shots at the food channel. But, Pam will become the patron saint of 3rd graders the world over if dessertpatizers becomes a thing. For kids, the Holy Trinity will be Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Miss Pam.

Of course, the down side is that by the time we are hungry for dinner it’s like 8:30. But, is that really a problem?  I mean, does anyone really know what time it is? Does anybody really care? 

Ain’t Technology Great?

Elsa has moved out to sea, the sun is out, and judging by the water level on the steps down from the dock, the lake is eight inches deeper than it was before the rain came. On absolutely no evidence, I’m thinking that the fishing will be greatly improved today due to all this tropical storm action. It very well may be the exact opposite, but isn’t it great to be optimistic? And now, this…

When we arrived at this cabin a week ago today, we noticed that there were three of these on the ledge above the coat rack at the door. I thought they were maybe some sort of yard game racket or something. Pam remarked, “Wait, are these pickle ball rackets?” But a closer inspection revealed that each of the things had something written on them in sharpie..NOT A TOY. Ok. So, what the heck are they then? We got quickly distracted by other things. Then the next day I went out for my first run and noticed that every single other person I saw out for their morning constitutional was carrying one of these things. 

Honestly, sometimes I’m the biggest idiot. I’ve been coming up here for over 35 years now. How on earth could I have not known what these things were for??

 

Maine is not all moonlight and magnolias. There are a few major annoyances, chief among them…the dreaded black fly. When you’re on the lake or anywhere near it you’re generally fine, but the further inland you roam the worse they get. It’s as if nature is doing everything it can to remind you to slow down, relax…stay at the lake!! Every year I deal with them when I’m out for my morning runs. Again, when I’m close to the water, very few black flies, but when the trail leads toward the paved roads, they start to descend upon me. A couple of years ago Pam got me these chemically drenched bandannas to wear while I ran and they worked a little, but the resulting hallucinations were troubling! But now…some smarty-pants who is probably in the islands sipping exotic drinks right now…has invented the SuperhighVoltageBugZapper. It comes equipped with a detonation button for you to push when waving it about which sends a murderous jolt of electrocution to whatever hapless insect is in its path. But, don’t take my word for it. Here’s a customer review I found on Google:

“If you hate flies as much as we do, I assure you that using this product is MOST satisfying... There are no words to describe just what a joy it is to hear that loud SNAP when you make contact with a fly in mid-air!!”

I’m not exactly sure I would have used the word joy there, but I get the point. Its much the same as the rush of euphoria I feel when taking down a squirrel mid-flight with my Daisy Powerline 35. Maybe not joy…but a reasonably close facsimile. 

So, this morning when I head out for my run I will be armed with 4000 volts of eco-friendly, fly-killing power literally in the palm of my hand.

Genius!!

Sunset Hunting

Now is about the time when people start growing weary of my incessant Maine-bragging. It’s been over a week now and I’ve given you a steady stream of pictures, videos and anecdotes extolling the virtues of lake living. Some of you are probably thinking, I thought I would never say this but I actually miss the Dad Jokes, or maybe…What happened to the political stuff? What’s up with Lucy?? These are all legitimate points and I must say that I sympathize. But here’s the thing…I can’t help it. Take yesterday for example.

After a rough weather start to our trip, the past three days have been delightful, particularly yesterday which alternated between clear blue skies with super low humidity, and appearances of thin feathery clouds. I think the high temperature was somewhere around 75. We took full advantage. For me it started with some ill-advised exercise. The dirt road that leads from State route 131 to our cabin is only .85 miles long but in that short span it falls 145 feet in elevation. Naturally, I have taken it as a personal challenge to run up this very steep grade without stopping or dying. Since yesterday’s morning temperature was so perfect I decided that there was no time like the present. The good news is that I did not perish. The bad news is that my days of dreaming of become a Navy Seal are officially over. By the time I made it to the top my lungs and legs were on fire. It took me 8 minutes and 43 seconds. I couldn’t even break a 10 minute mile pace!! However, I did make it up without stopping so that’s something. 

Having put in three and a half miles of road work, I turned my attention to the kayak and fishing. I paddled the mile from the cabin down to my favorite spot on the dam at the southern end of the lake. Caught a couple of bass and one pike but enjoyed being at this beautiful spot for two hours.

When I made it back to the cabin I stopped at the swimming float, tied up the kayak and dove in to the chilly water for my first swim of the week. Here I must admit to being somewhat of an embarrassing wimp. I am a southern boy. I will always be a southern boy. I have southern boy sensitivities which include, but are not limited to, aversion to cold water swimming. But, I love Maine, so every year I have to overcome my DNA and take the plunge. Once I do, I always love it and yesterday was no exception. Of course, I can hear my Maine friends now…Wait…you’ve been at that cabin since Saturday afternoon and you’re just now taking your first swim?? Bruhahahah!!! Whatever. I did it, so hush yourselves!!

When it was time for dinner, the wind had died down and the lake was still. The humidity was still very low. Even the bugs had decided to take the evening off. A point of order here on the subject of “dinner time.” It’s a fluid topic. The sun rises up here before 5 in the morning, and it doesn’t get what most reasonable people would call “dark” until 9 in the evening. So, “dinner time” could be 6 or 9 or anything in between. It just depends on some sort of mystical inclination. Pam prepared and I grilled up a fabulous meal…

We ate at the picnic table down by the dock as we wondered what kind of sunset might be in the works since it had suddenly clouded over. The presence of clouds makes no difference when it comes to sunsets here. You watch long enough and one will appear. So after dinner Pam went sunset hunting on her paddle board. This time she casually invited me to tag along in my kayak if I wanted to. I jumped at the chance. This nightly ritual of hers is not something I normally interfere with, sunset paddles being entirely a Pam Thing. So when she offered, I accepted and off we went…

That’s me keeping a respectable distance. But then we turned a corner about 45 minutes in and found this…

When we got back to the cabin, neither one of us wanted to go inside, so I built a fire and Pam made s’mores using marshmallows and Keebler fudge striped cookies instead of graham crackers. She said they have more nutrition, are better for the digestive system than regular s’mores. I did not question her on this subject since it is never wise to question a woman’s arguments while they are eating chocolate.

And, just like that, another amazing day in the books. The next two days look bleak. We are told that a tropical storm is scheduled to speed through central Maine late today and all through the day tomorrow dumping as much as three inches of rain here.

We will manage.

Pam at the Lake

For Christmas I bought my wife a brand new camera, a fancy Canon with all the bells and whistles. I thought it would be something she could develop as a new hobby of sorts as we enter the next phase of our life together. The reason I thought this was all of the beautiful pictures she takes up here while she’s on her kayak…with her cell phone. The problem is that a brand new grownup camera is a complicated thing and my wife is a rule following maniac. She pours over all the instructions, reads every manual twice, then Googles a thousand articles about the camera, all before taking a single photograph. Pam is one of those people who is all about the details of a thing. If she is going to do something, she’s going to do it right or not at all. Me? I would have taken a thousand pictures by now, half of them blurry and off center, my preferred manner of learning being, doing. However, in her defense, its hard to put in all the training time on a new fancy camera when you’re busy taking photographs like this with your iPhone…

I might get that first one framed.

Yesterday was, except for a bit of wind, nearly perfect. I got in a 3.5 mile run, kayaked for a couple miles, caught a lake trout, and got the dock organized. I cooked hamburgers on the grill, which we ate on the picnic table down by the water. Then I watched as Pam took her paddle board out into the choppy water for her first sunset ride. We ended the day with a fire on the lake’s edge. Now, this morning, before the fog has lifted, she is off for a kayak trip north…

I’m just trying to keep up.