Maine by the Numbers

Got back today around 1:45 after 40 days in Maine. The drive home took longer than the drive up by about an hour, roughly 14 and a half hours vs. 15 and a half hours. Both trips took their toll on my back and hamstrings, but we made it without incident. Tomorrow will be all about work. I will get into the office around 7:30 or so to face the music. But this evening I wish to recap Maine 2021 by the numbers…

3275 miles driven

52 miles paddled in the kayak 

Over 50 fish caught

Two rounds of very bad golf played

Three puzzles completed. This one by just Pam and me…

Half a dozen hook accidents while fishing, one which required me yanking the embedded hook out of my finger with a pair of pliers while in my kayak.

Dove into cold lake approximately 40 times, give or take

One broken toe

Five lures lost in an assortment of trees due to casting errors

$1925 spent in Mid-Coast Maine grocery stores

$1275 spent in a plethora of dining establishments 

Seven books read

Over 40 naps taken

Read over 500 email alerts from Zillow and Redfin informing me of houses for sale in Maine that I might be interested in.

Number of houses that I was interested in? Zero.

Number of times either Pam or I complained about how much our hips hurt. 176

Percentage of meals eaten on the screened in porch at the house. 100%

Highest temperature endured over entire 40 days in Maine? 82. Actually, we counted only two days in the 80’s. The rest of the time it was in the 70’s and even several days in the low to mid 60’s

Lowest morning temperature at Quantabacook? 48.

Number of days before we return? 54…and counting.

I Don’t Get It

Our Maine adventure is sadly drawing to a close. We only have three more days, two of which will be cloudy with a bit of rain. No matter how long we stay here, we are never ready to leave. There is only one thing that I will not miss when we finally drive away from this house, these guys…

Manny, Moe and Jack here have been watching our every move for nearly three weeks now. I sit here every morning knowing that I am being watched which is a bit disconcerting. For three weeks I have looked up at these guys and marveled at the concept of hanging the busts of dead animals on the walls of a house. I have many friends who do this. They are perfectly wonderful people. But for the life of me I cannot comprehend what the attraction is of immortalizing animals that you have…killed. 

You’re out in the woods hunting, which best I can tell, involves long stretches of silent boredom punctuated by short bursts of manic action involving gunfire. You see your prey out there fifty or even a hundred yards away. You lift your rifle slowly, bring the beast into your sights and then squeeze the trigger. If successful, the animal staggers then falls to the ground. You and your buddies gather around the freshly dead creature and congratulate each other. That’s basically the extent of your interaction with the recently departed. You had no prior history, no past experience that bound you together. It was just in the right place at the wrong time and you shot him from your hidden place at a considerable and safe distance. 

I’m not a hunter, but I don’t have a problem with anyone who is a hunter. My extended family is full of them. I have dear friends who love everything about hunting. But who on earth was the first guy who thought after shooting a buck, “I know what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna pay somebody a ton of money to slice the torso off of this thing, fill it full of God knows what to preserve it for eternity, attach it to a plaque and hang it on the wall over the fireplace. The wife is gonna love it!!”

It can’t be any emotional attachment, right? If that were the case we would pay a taxidermist to stuff our dogs when they die, but nobody does that because…it would be creepy and weird. But its nothing to walk into a lake cabin and see beasts of all kinds hanging all over the place. 

All I know is, when I glance up at the moose up there and see that giant, hulking mass of fur and antlers, I just hope he’s not plotting revenge!

The Very Bottom of the Dad Joke Barrel

For her birthday, I took my wife to an orchard and we stood there looking at the trees for half an hour.

…not the Apple Watch she had in mind apparently.

I quit my job as a personal trainer because the weights were too heavy.

I just handed in my too weak notice…

Know why the Jedi don’t have a navy?

Because sailing is a path to the dockside…

What did the digital clock say to the grandfather clock?

“Look Grandpa, no hands!!”

What do you call a crowd of chess players bragging about their wins in a hotel lobby?

Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.

I had to call the IT guy at work because of a tech issue on my laptop. He says, “Have you tried disabling cookies?”

I said, “Well, there was that one time when I bit the legs off a gingerbread man…”

“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!!