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?