Until Next Year...

And suddenly, just like that, seven days has come to an end. This morning the lake is blanketed in a thin fog and the thermometer that hangs on the front porch says...46. We will have breakfast, pack up and head to the airport in Portland for a late afternoon flight home. We will leave this place, but it will be some time before this place leaves us.

When we get back home, we will finally turn on a television. We will shuffle through our mail. We will fall back into the comforting routine to which we have become so accustomed. But it will not be a seamless transition. Spending a week up here rearranges your expectations of what life can be...at least what it can be without an itinerary or humidity. 

We thought about taking the ferry over to Islesboro or Vinalhaven one day but we both secretly resented the fact that the ferry company insisted upon a fixed schedule of departure. We knew what they were up to with their scheduled departures. They were trying to impose order on our vacation and we were having none of it!

We would have been more inclined to make some of the many tantalizing side trips that abound here on the Midcoast of Maine had the weather not been so radiantly sublime all week. It's difficult to make yourself put the rental car in reverse and back out of the driveway leaving a sun-splashed lake and 75 degrees to go...anywhere. 

But, what makes vacations special is the fact that they are rare. To appreciate them, one has to have the sort of sufficiently vigorous life from which vacations are needed. So we come back to Richmond and crank that life up again. But something is changing for us. We are in the process of planning out the next act of our lives and that next act will feature a lake house in Maine. Next summer, a month rental. The following summer, the hope and prayer is, our own place and an entire summer here. The kids will come and stay for a week or two, our families for another, and then friends. It will be like running a bed and breakfast that doesn't charge anything, sorta like vacation welfare! Neither of us can imagine anything more fun than the chance to introduce the people we love the most to this glorious place. 

WARNING!!! This blog contains potentially troubling pictures!!!

In all fairness, this particular blog post needs to come with a warning label of sorts. To my vegetarian and/or vegan friends, what you are about to see might be considered a micro-aggression. For any of you who fall into the PETA camp of animal lovers, the following photographs have the potential to be triggering. For all of you who are currently on diets, these images might be damaging to your will power.

Having sufficiently warned you, the reader, let me just say that although Pam and I love eating out while on vacation, something weird happens at Camplaba. We keep coming up with excuses not to. See, to drive the five minutes into Camden for dinner would require us to drag ourselves off the dock or out of the water to take a shower, get dressed, decide on a restaurant, then get in the rental car, drive into town, find a parking space...it's all so exhausting! So, instead, I grab a piece of meat and fire up the charcoal grill..

 

Yes, that's a pound and a half of New York strip steak, cut personally for me by the friendly butcher at Hannaford's. Although I'm not a big charcoal guy, (I prefer a gas grill), these babies were grilled to perfection. We even had enough left over to have steak quesadillas the next night!

Then, it was chicken's turn. Pam came up with the idea to marinate the breasts in the only workable sauce she had on hand...half a bottle of A-1...and the results were mouthwatering! Throw in a frying pan full of fried squash and onions, and a package of Bob Evans Mac and cheese, and you've got yourself a fine dining experience...

Tonight, I think we are actually going to break down and go out to eat...probably.

The Camplaba Creature Strikes!!!

I am quite fond of the elegantly creepy writing of Dean Koontz, so for this vacation I brought along one I hadn't read before:

It's an astonishingly simple premise. An aspiring young author comes home one night to discover a rag doll on his front porch. Intrigued, he brings it inside. Suddenly, the lifeless doll begins to pop it's stitches, revealing a yellow-eyed reptilian monster straining to break free from its cloth restraints, and kill our protagonist. All hell breaks lose and the plot raises on at breakneck speed as our little Lucifer begins to grow etc... Great stuff. Except, this isn't the type of story one wants dancing around inside your brain when last night happens!

Camplaba is a charming cottage, and I mean that in the most sincere way, not the way the people who write descriptions of rental properties use the term charming, which usually means...moldy old dump. However, the place is over a hundred years old. My administrative assistant will surely understand what follows, since she is always regaling me with harrowing tales of what it's like to live in a very old house. She lives in one of those gorgeous Victorians on the railroad tracks in Ashland, Virginia, and suffice it to say, when you live in an old house you share it with...the animal kingdom.

So last night, Pam and I had just settled our brains for a long peaceful sleep in our incredibly comfortable king sized bed in the only upstairs room in the cottage. Spending all day outside kayaking and walking and eating and shopping wears a guy out, so sleep comes quickly...and hard. Imagine my surprise when I am roused awake by my wife who is sitting up in the bed, her knees pulled firmly to her chest, trembling like a child. I bolt up to her side, still half asleep, forgetting that I am hooked up to my dreadful C-Pap machine, nearly pulling it off the nightstand.

"Honey, what's wrong? What is it?" I ask, still not in full possession of all of my waking faculties.

"There's something in here!!! Can't you hear it??"

Immediately I'm thinking of that cursed rag doll from the brimstone-tinged imagination of Koontz. Then I hear it...a fluttering sound from across the room. No, more like a clawing sound, and it's coming from under our bed. Or, is it a pecking sound coming from under the sofa against the wall??

Pam is positively freaked at this point, so it's crucial that I remain totally unimpressed by events while at the same time not dismissive of her fears.( after 31 years of marriage, I've learned a few helpful tips in this regard) 

"Yes, I do hear it," I answer. Affirmation. Step one in diffusing any female fear-derangement syndrome is to agree with them about the threat. "Wonder what it could be?" I ask in as up-beat a tone of voice as I can muster at 1 in the morning. "Maybe a bird?"

At this point I'm tempted to trot out that old standby...it won't bother us if we don't bother it...but I wisely reject that tactic. Besides, whatever this thing was, it was making quite an unwholesome racket. So I decide what I always decide in moments like this...blind, irrational action. I jump out of bed, walk across the room and throw on the light switch, half expecting to see a bald eagle perched in the rafters above...damn that Dean Koontz!! Instead, I saw nothing, and now neither of us heard anything. Still, the damage had been done. There were two chances that Pam was going to go back to sleep in that bed, slim and none, and none had just left town on vacation. So, there we were tucking ourselves in to the twin beds in the downstairs bedroom, feeling a little like Ricky and Lucy Ricardo. I hadn't slept in a twin bed since the Nixon years. Of course, I woke up with a very stiff and sore neck.

The dawn has ushered in another Chamber of Commerse day here on Meguntecook, bright sunshine and birds chirping...outside, where they belong. There is no sIgn of our little friend from last night. But, Pam will be sleeping with one eye opened the rest of the week, unless I can figure a way to find and kill the Camplaba Creature. 

Now that I think about it, doesn't Steven King live right up the road?

Why can't I have everything I want?

Sometimes, spending time in an idyllic, natural setting surrounded by the beauty and majesty of God's creation causes you to think deep thoughts, to ponder the large, unanswerable questions of life. Who am I? Why am I here? What is the meaning of life? That sort of thing. To those epic questions that have baffled philosophers for millennia, my wife has added another, which has become perhaps the theme of our vacation....Why can't I have everything I want??

As she kayaks around the lake gazing at the various properties on the shoreline, she sees several that would be perfect for us to buy...NOW! But then she discovers that they don't have enough bedrooms, or bathrooms. Then she is disappointed to learn that they aren't for sale, or on the rare occasion when they are, they cost a billion dollars. She then looks at me with plaintive eyes and asks a simple yet profound question...why can't I have everything I want? WHY???!??!!

At first glance this would seem a question born of envy and greed. Not so! It is not a petulant demand, but rather a baffled stating of the obvious, more like an expression of confused resignation. She knows  why she can't everything, but still feels compelled to ask the question...to no one in particular. And it's not just about big expensive stuff. She asked the same question yesterday when trying to decide whether or not to buy the package of...well, I'm not exactly sure...

Apparently, this treat has some sort of historical significance to her, some childhood In Maine thing. I said, "Honey, that's 1200 calories you're looking at right there and if you ate all four of them, you would consume exactly 0% of the daily essential viatmins and minerals crucial to maintaining human life on earth." 

" But they are sooooo delicious! Why can't I have everything I want? Why!!!???

Later, we had to decide when to meet with our realtor contact here in Camden to talk about buying and/or renting a place for next summer. The decision boiled down to, do we see her in the morning or afternoon? If we go with the morning, we'll miss the warm sun on our dock and the morning is the best time for kayaking. But if we go with the afternoon, we'll have to take a shower at lunch time and we will miss our afternoon coffee and fluffer-nutter triscuits. Why can't I have everything I want???!!! WHY?

Last night after grilling steaks on the grill, we both went down to the dock and sat in the dark and talked. She informed me that she wasn't leaving on Saturday. She had decided to stay at Camplaba forever. I reminded her that the owners might object, that eventually she would run out of food and starve to death. Wouldn't she miss her kids? Our dog? Her friends? Me? She let out a long sigh. Then a couple minutes later...Why can't I have everything I want??!!

I attempted an answer..."Because if you got everything you wanted, you would start acting like a spoiled brat and you wouldn't have anything else to dream about, no more goals..."

" Would not."

Well, who can argue with that?

A Pahty-boat ride with a couple of old Mainahs!

Yesterday was about as perfect as a day can be, made especially so by some very nice neighbors. We were asked if we wanted to go for a ride in a pahty boat by a couple of retired Mainahs! Although this is our fourth visit to this lake, previously we have only explored it via kayak. But, thanks to our kind new friends, we got to see the entire lake...all five miles of its length. We had no idea how massive and grand this place is. Meguntecook meanders for miles in all directions and features hidden inlets, and several large, oddly shaped islands, some inhabited, some not. We saw a half a dozen loons on our boat ride and heard their magnificent song up close. The couple that was so nice to include us were the quintessential Maine couple. The man looked to be in his mid 70's, a lifelong Mainer who grew up in Belfast, right up the road. He had a twinkle in his eyes when he laughed that reminded me of someone I know but just couldn't place. The wife was a cantankerous busybody type who seemed to know everything about every homeowner on the entire lake. When we asked her to tell us the best restaurant in Maine, without hesitation she blurted out, "There arhh no good restaurants in Camden!" She was delightful!

Where our cabin sits, the lake is at its most narrow spot, probably only a thousand feet across from a public boat landing. I was up at 5:30 this morning and the lake was slick and silent. I made my coffee, then settled down to read the news on my iPad. At exactly 6:00, I heard voices from across the way, the calm water amplifying the spoken word so clearly I could hear every word. It was several people and they were all joking and laughing and terribly excited about something. Then I heard someone say, "OK, here we go!" Eight fully grown men and women then jumped in the water and began swimming in a slow, flowing line north, along the edge of the lake. It made me want to put on a parka just looking at them! A full forty five minutes later they returned, one by one, until all eight of them were standing on the dock laughing and talking like they had just gotten back from grocery shopping or something. 

Mainers are tough!

The happiest that my wife ever gets in life is probably when she is in a kayak on this lake. I can't even describe what it does to her. She is transformed in some bizarre almost mystical way. It energizes her, animates her conversation, brightens her. I enjoy kayaking, I really do, but not in the way that Pam does. It's her happy place. Both of us are going out in a minute for a morning jaunt in our bright red rented kayaks. Pam will be the one beaming...

Mornings in Maine

This is my throne chair for the week. I come down the rickety steps from the upstairs bedroom each morning, brew myself a cup of coffee, sit down in this chair and watch the lake wake up. At 6:15 it's as smooth as glass with a few whispy curls of fog dancing across the surface. A fair question might  be, why am I up at 6:15 on the first day of my vacation? The answer is, I don't want to miss anything.

Yesterday's journey was uneventful. We landed in Portland 3 and a half hours after leaving Richmond, on schedule. The rental car is a Chevy Cruze whose engine sounds like it is being powered by two monkeys chasing each other on a treadmill. Nevertheless, it got us safely to Camplaba at precisely 4 in the afternoon. The only surprise so far has been the low water level of the lake. Apparently, mid coast Maine has experienced a mini-drought since the water depth at our dock is three feet lower than it was last year. Other than that, the place hasn't lost any of the magic that has so beguiled us over the last ten years. It was ten years ago when we first discovered this lake and this cabin. Hard to believe.

Last night, after the obligatory grocery run to Hannaford, we stopped by Cappy's for dinner. I so love the place. The first meal I had there was in 2005. It was chilly out and the waitress suggested the clam chowder. They served it in a tin cup. It was the kind of delicious that lives a permanent rent-free existence in your mind...forever. It was so awesome, I bought a hat...

Ten years later, the chowder is still incredible and the hat is still one of my favorites. Of course, afterwards, we just had to get the blueberry-peach cobbler. It was so ridiculously rich that we will be forced to go for some sort of punishment walk/run today, and with a high temperature of 77 and sunny skies, I'm sure that will be exhausting!!

For now, here's one more picture. 

Going to Maine

I've got this handy widget thing on my cell phone where I can follow the weather conditions in several places. Every morning I check the weather in Nashville and Columbia because knowing whether it's sunny or cloudy there makes me feel somehow closer to my kids. Then I check in on Key West and Georgetown in the Cayman Islands because it's always nice to see the bright little suns and the number 88!

But this morning, I'm checking out the other permanent fixture on my weather widget...Camden, Maine. In the winter, I check out Camden and thank God Almighty that I don't live there. Whenever I'm feeling grumpy about the forecast in Richmond, I pull up Camden and instantly feel like a wimpy, crybaby. The residents of that beautiful harbor town are made of much sterner stuff than I. They would have to be to endure the month of February when the temperature never got out of the single digits and it snowed practically every day.

But, February is a distant memory this morning. http://m.weather.com/weather/tenday/04843. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, what you are looking at here is summer as it was meant to be when God invented it, not the sizzling, steamy mess it has become. (THANKS, OBAMA!!) High temperatures in the 70's with sunny skies, and crisp, almost chilly evenings are part of what make this place so enchanting. You haven't lived until you've eaten a two pound, $9 lobster fifteen minutes after it was unloaded from the boat at a wharf-side restaurant, in a long sleeve shirt...in August!

Pam and I will be spending the week at a lovely cabin on Lake Meguntecook, a five minute drive from Camden's harbor. There's a dock and a float and a couple of kayaks. The cabin has a long screened porch at the water's edge with big, comfortable chairs. You can try to read a book out there in the late afternoon, if you can manage to stop staring at the sunshine bouncing off the rippling water's surface. At night you can grill some steaks on the charcoal grill out in the yard or you can decide that it's just too much trouble and drive into town for some clam chowder at Cappy's. I will be posting photographs on Facebook, not intending to make anyone jealous, just to give you some idea of why Pam and I are so in love with the place.  

The cabin does have wifi, but it's not great. At least, that's the excuse I will give for not returning anyone's calls. When I'm there, I'm not any place else...