Waiting On The Storm

Day 28

Astute readers will recall that ten days ago I played a round of golf at the Rockland Golf Club with three wonderful Mainers in a driving rainstorm. Well, today I decided that I couldn't leave this place without playing that course in the sunlight. So I left the house at 6:30 this morning with no tee time and took my chances. By 6:55, I teed off as the first golfer of the day, with rented clubs and a push cart. Two hours and twenty seven minutes later, I walked off the 18th green with my Map My Fitness app telling me I had walked exactly six miles. It was the finest six mile walk of my life.

I shot an 86. Not horrible, not great. 

Two stories... My worst shot of the day was a badly hooked tee shot on a par five which featured a partially blind tee shot. The minute I hit it, I knew it was deep in the woods and hopelessly lost. But when I crested the hill, right in the general area where my shot probably entered the woods were these guys...

Yes, a flock of wild turkeys reminded me just how bad my shot actually was!

My best shot was on an uphill, into the wind par 3 that the scorecard said was 215 yards but looked much longer. I hit a 3 wood to 15 feet...

Me, being me...I left the birdie putt two foot short!

This terrific course featured lots of gorgeous views which I hadn't noticed in the monsoon earlier. Pictures don't really capture the beauty...

This particular one is of number 16 I think. I took it because to the left rear of the picture is a big house on the mountain that overlooks not only the course, but Rockland harbor as well. The water can be seen beyond the spruce trees on the right.

Now, it's 4:30 in the afternoon and we are waiting on a storm to pass through. It's all over the radar about ten miles away. I'm on one end of the great front porch writing this blog while chewing on beef jerky. Pam is drinking her afternoon coffee and eating French horns. There is no illustration that better sums up our relationship!!

A Bad Dinner...sorta.

Day 27

So, last night...after a long and lazy day spent recuperating from waiting on our four kids for a week...Pam and I decided to drive into Rockland for dinner. There were over thirty restaurants to choose from in our handy Guide to Midcoast Dining magazine. We finally decided on this place...

Archers on the Pier was described as being located, "directly on Rockland's pristine waterfront." Analysis? True.

Then we were told, "come enjoy an innovative and tasty menu." Analysis? Misleading. Unless by "innovative" they meant...make patrons wait an hour for a table, then another thirty minutes for their food to arrive, resulting in ravaging hunger which would make boiled cardboard seem tasty. The best part of Archers was arriving and leaving. We parked on the far end of the harbor and took a gorgeous walk around the bay on a wide and flowered boardwalk with the sun setting behind us. When we arrived we were told that there would be a twenty minute wait. We found a seat at the outdoor bar and ordered a Cajun shrimp appetizer which turned out to be the very best thing we ate during our two hour stay. The breeze off the ocean was divinely inspired, it's staggered timing, perfect! Actually, we could have sat out there eating Cajun shrimp for two hours and left happy. But unfortunately, eventually our table was ready...inside, next to the kitchen, in very close proximity to two talkative Italian 

retirees from Ohio. It was a loooong night. This was the before-selfie...

We didn't take an after-selfie...good thing. Still, worse things could happen to people than having to spend over two hours at a restaurant. We could have caught the Zika virus or even worse...been forced to watch the Democrat Convention. I heard that Bubba was particularly gifted/disingenuous in his attempt to describe his relationship with Hillary as a romance. So, thank God for slow service.

Last couple of days have had Pam on edge. She doesn't do well if she's "hot." Although, outside has been a pleasant 82 or so, this house has been a bit toasty at times. No air-conditioning will do that. The beautiful ceiling fan above our bed would ordinarily provide welcomed relief from the sometimes muggy conditions. But in our case the fan is merely ornamental since turning it on would send Lucy scrambling out the door in a full fledged panic. So, we soldier on! 

Three more days here. With each passing day, the real world gets closer and responsibility starts to cloud the mind. Soon, this will all be over. Bummer.

Motives Unclear?

Day 26

When I scan the Internet for news, the headline is everything. For instance, if the words "Beiber" or "Khardashian" appear, the story isn't getting read. This is why I love the Wall Street Journal so much since every story in the paper begins on the front page, hardly any of which contain those two words, making my news gathering experience more efficient. Now, I'm aware that I probably miss many perfectly fine articles because of poorly written headlines, but that's life...you win some and you lose some.

But lately, a particular type of headline appears more and more in my news feeds. It is some variation of the same theme. This morning, it comes from the UK's Telegraph...

Isis Knifemen slit Priest's throat while yelling "Daesh"...motives unclear.

Yes, Telegraph, perhaps these Knifemen were unhappy with the Priest's views on Eucharistic adoration. Or maybe they were unhappy with the inconvenience of his confession hours. Why, just the other day there was the story of the Baptist Deacon who barged into a mosque shouting, "It is God's will!!!" and chopped that Imam's head off. What? You don't remember that story? Me neither, because it didn't happen. But, if it did does anyone believe that the New York Times would report that the killer's motives were unclear? It's like the old joke about the headline in the New York Times the morning after a meteor destroys New York City...METEOR WIPES OUT CITY....woman and minorities hardest hit.

...but enough about the path of death and destruction being cut through the world by radical Islam. Let's change the subject to something more uplifting, like the fact that even though all my kids are gone, Pam and I still have four more days in this beautiful place. There are still things we want to do and places we want to see. If I were reporting on our activities for the New York Times, perhaps the headline would read...Local couple frantic to cross "things to do on vacation" off of their list as vacation draws to close...MOTIVES UNCLEAR.

My Russian Problem

Day 25

This guy is big boy number two. I caught him last night around 8:15 after dinner, along with a couple decent sized lake trout. Then it got too dark to see the bobber. More fun than a barrel of monkeys. At that point there was only one thing we all could possibly think to do...go get ice cream.

There's an amazing little place in town called River Ducks. It sports this menu, which Pam has taken as a personal challenge. She fully intends to try each and every "Maine Inspired Flavor" on this menu before we come home!

A couple of odd notes...

When I woke up this morning after a fabulous night's sleep, I thought that one of two things had happened. Either Camden Cappuccino Crunch has regenerative powers that had miraculously healed my myopia overnight, or I had forgotten to take out my contacts. Unfortunately, it was the latter.

For no apparent reason, The Tempest has become quite popular in...Russia. For the past three days, I have gotten more page views from the land of Putin and Vodka than I have from the USA. Patrick suggests that it's probably something called a spam bot. Of course, his easy explanation ignores the very real possibility that my writing has hit a nerve in the Russian psyche. Is it so outlandish that the land that gave us Dostoevsky could warm to the stylings of my blog?? Patrick is sticking with spam bots. 

Still, what with all of the Russian involvement in the Wikileaks thing with the DNC, I shouldn't be too careful. If the Ruskies are in cahoots with Trump, my blog might be on some kind of enemies list. You know...the kind of blog that could reach an audience of hundreds with the subversive message that Donld Trump is a moron. Well, fear not readers...no matter what personal danger I might be placing myself in, my voice will NOT be silenced. Although...if I ever get arrested I fully expect all of you to set up a GOFUNDME thing to pay my bail.

The End Is Coming...but it ain't here yet.

Day 24

The kids fly back home tomorrow. Today was their last full day here. It has been everything that Pam and I were hoping it would be. And now that they are leaving, it's a bit sad for two reasons. First, we don't get very many opportunities to have them all together in the same house very often. Once during the summer, maybe for a few days at Christmas, and a fall weekend if everybody's schedule cooperates. So, these family times have become increasingly rare. But the real reason for sadness is that when they leave, we only have four more days left. These days have flown by.

But, there will be no whining and complaining. This has been an incredible month and we are lucky to have had the chance to come here. It has been a splendid getaway, more so than we ever dreamed possible. The fact is that God has been extrordinarily good to us, for reasons that remain a mystery to me. All I can think to be is grateful. 

We still have four more days, and I intend to wring every last drop of fun out of them. The rest of this vacation begins with tonight's dinner...a repeat of this...

An Adventure

Day 23

Yesterday, it was time for an adventure, so we all got into the car and drove into Camden for an Eco-Tour on the good ship, Lovely Lady. Although it was quite warm in town, once we got out into Penobscot Bay, the chilly air cooled us down. It was Sarah's first boat ride in twenty years. Early on, she looked confident...

Thirty minutes in, we were in the midst of four foot seas, and the both of them were soaked! Meanwhile, Jon and Kaitlin were the picture of chill...

The woman in pink was either our Homeland Security ranger doing an excellent imitation of a civilian, or...struggling with the early stages of sea sickness. Then this happened...

We got a tutorial on how to bring up a lobster pot and determine wether or not the lobsters are big enough to keep. We also learned how to tell the difference between male and female lobsters...hint...female lobsters get paid less than male lobsters for the same work!

The views alone on this tour were worth the money...

"Where the mountains meet the sea" is Camden's slogan. Well deserved.

By the time we got back to the lake, Miss Lucy had been cooped up for nearly four hours and was ready for one thing and one thing only...

This girl has become a water-maniac. With each new dive she gets even more air, and has developed quite a diving flair. Unfortunately, she also still has her flair for thunderstorm freak outs. A rather loud one rolled in around 3 am last night and she was not amused. But this morning has broken clear and fair, and our agenda contains:

1. Eat

2. Fish

3. Swim

4. Float

5. Kayak

6. Eat

7. Make snide remarks about Donald and Hillary

8. Read

9. Eat

I better get started...

Walking to Pushaw

It took me exactly an hour, this walk of mine, a unit of time which carries no meaning here. An hour? An hour of what? I left the lake house and made the slow climb up Meadow Lane, a narrow path of a thing which oddly qualifies as a "lane" in Knox County, Maine. Then I took a left unto the two lane dirt road, Crabtree Lane. The names of the roads...Meadow, Crabtree, Cove, and finally, Pushaw. 

There once was a time when the majority of roads in this country were dirt and gravel. Now, whenever you happen upon one, you immediately declare that you are in the boonies. Meadow Lane is the scary .31 miles that leads directly to the lake. It is a pile of rocks and dirt and drops probably 100 feet from beginning to end. There is one odd section where years ago someone thought about paving the thing. Maybe the money ran out, or someone got eaten by a bear while making the attempt, but now all that remains in a couple hundred feet of choppy blacktop.

Crabtree Lane is majestic, for a dirt road. Both sides are covered with deep woods, healthy stands of pines, maples and oaks. Every so often there is a birch tree with its feathery white bark, protected by statute here in Maine... like royalty. At the mile and a half mark there is a sweeping valley to the right, then at the end of long climb, an ancient hilly field of rolling grass and giant boulders. Making dotted lines through the landscape are several low stone fences constructed a century ago when there was some reason for their existence. Now they are grown over in spots, their stones black and covered with moss and the accumulated abuse of a hundred Maine winters. They are stubborn, aching things now...but they remain. I walk swiftly past them wondering what stories they could tell. 

Finally, the steep, weary climb up to Pushaw Lane, a climb that sets your lungs and thighs on fire on the way up, and everything else on fire on the way down. The sides of the roads on my walk are lined with Black-eyed Susans, ragweed, dandelions, and asiatic lilies. A more romantically inclined man might have remembered to bring scissors along to bring some home for his love. I make a mental note to bring scissors next time.

I stumble back down Meadow Lane, past the blueberry fields. I see the lake through the trees. Map My Fitness says I walked exactly four miles in exactly one hour. Such precision seems impossibly for such a place so untouched by most of modern life. The fact that I have such amazing cell phone coverage way out here is a bittersweet experience. After three weeks, I have become strangely protective of 67 Meadow Lane. Please world...leave this beautiful place alone. Please...