Welcome Back!

We were welcomed back into the Old Dominion yesterday afternoon at 2:00 by 95 degrees and stifling humidity. The rest of the day was taken up by the grinding slog of unpacking, laundry and reacquainting yourself with the place that has been your home for the past 27 years. Its surprising how quick you lose the rhythm.

Last night, my neighbors welcomed us back in town with the arrival of fire trucks next door and a warning text—“No worries. Its just that the smoke detectors all are going off and won’t shut off and since we left the kids at home by themselves for the second time in history we are being extra cautious and we had to cut our nine holes of golf short good thing for Stu since I was kicking ass and we called a friend from West Creek to check it out so he’s probably there by now and we are on our way home and should be there within ten minutes and how was Maine?” Nothing screams “welcome back” like the Henrico Fire Department.

Early this morning I set about doing my kitchen routine but was surprised by major lapses in my level of awareness. As is my custom I first turned my attention to the coffee maker and began going on muscle memory without thinking until…I looked at the carafe and wondered—Wait, how many cups of water do I use? In Maine, I had to use 6 cups and two heaping 2 tablespoon scoops of Coffee on the Porch to make it strong enough for my tastes. But, what did I use at home? I was momentarily flummoxed. Once it came to me I continued, only to ruin the first attempt by not pushing down on the filter hard enough to engage the dripping device—which produced a pot of coffee filled with grounds! I quickly poured it out and did a redo. The resulting cup of coffee was too weak. Eventually it will come to me.

Then I started to empty the dishwasher. There wasn’t much in it so that went smoothly and just a bit too quick. Something wasn’t right. Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten that our dishwasher has that slide out tray in the top for flat items. It was full of silverware and measuring spoons. I suppose I can be forgiven this lapse since the dishwasher at Loon landing—bless its heart—is only 15 inches wide!!

There are many things about this house that we both desperately missed, nothing more so than our large walk-in shower with the powerful hand held shower head. When I stepped in this morning it felt a little bit like I imagine heaven will be like. I was so pumped to be in such a large space that I went a little overboard with shampoo enthusiasm resulting in a pulled muscle in my neck. Small price to pay!

Then, my last chore of the morning before heading to church was a quick trip into the office to get a head start on Monday morning. When I arrived one of the first thing I noticed was this highly unusual sight…

I immediately texted one of the younger associates who I routinely harass a short message—“So, I come in for the first time in six weeks and discover that you have once again left your urine sample on the water fountain”

He promptly replied that it couldn’t have been him since he was at the beach all week. I will need independent confirmation of this convenient alibi. 

Thankfully, the sheriff is back in town!

Last Summer Post From Maine

Today is packing and cleaning day. Pam just took a kayak out for her morning paddle and I just took Lucy for her morning perambulation. After grabbing a bite to eat I might go out for one last fishing paddle this morning. But after that we will begin the process of attempting to leave Loon Landing better than we found it, which is hard to do since its always spotless when we arrive. I’ll cut the grass, rake the adorable little beach at the water’s edge and make sure that there is no evidence of Lucy’s existence anywhere on the property. Pam will be doing the same thing on the inside of the cabin, a much harder task what with Lucy’s fur bunnies everywhere. But by the time the sun sets tonight everything will be perfect. Friday morning early we will meander up Fire Lane 12 for the last time of 2023. I will be choked up and Pam will shed a few tears. It happens every time.

This particular four weeks was typical in many ways. We hosted Jon and Kaitlin for a week and Ron and Paula for another week. But it was different in one respect—all the lake house purchase drama. If it had worked out it would all have been worth it. Since it didn’t, we feel like we needed another week to replace the one that got devoured by all the anxiety! But, all is well. We will be back in another six weeks for our Fall adventure on Hobbs Pond, just about fifteen minutes from here.

Last night we had a fabulous dinner at Ports of Italy in Rockport. We heard from some friends of ours who spent all day out on Monhegan Island on our recommendation, and they loved it! That’s always a relief. You rave about a place that is magical to you and you hope that your friends agree and that it lives up to the hype. In this case it did which was wonderful to hear.

As sad as we always are to leave the lake, there are things we miss about home. We miss our friends, our church, even my office and the unique relationships I have with everyone there. We miss our neighbors, especially the three pups next door for whom we have presents from the finest toy stores in Camden. We miss our house, which upon our return always seems gigantic! I miss my yard and the yard work it requires. I’m weird that way. I miss my recliner since it fits me and no one else. I miss our well-tuned routines.

But, the minute we arrive home, we will begin counting down the days until our next trip north.

Integrity is Destiny

A good night’s sleep has done wonders for my disposition. Although I am still disappointed about the lake house, I am less so and the feelings aren’t as raw. I have also had time to reflect on a few things, a few second thoughts about what happened that have brought more clarity.

First, many times in my life I have been disappointed about some outcome which I had convinced myself was a disaster only to later learn how lucky I had been. With the passage of time comes new information that make you profoundly grateful for unanswered prayers. I have said as much to my kids at various times when they have been upset about one thing or another—“Just wait and see, someday you will thank God you didn’t get that job because a much better one came along!” Its easier to hand out that type of sage wisdom to others than to accept it yourself.

Secondly, I have discovered what I have always known to be true—everything in a properly operating system of human interaction depends on personal integrity for success. Let me explain. Yesterday in this space I threw a lot of shade at the regulatory scheme of the Federal Housing Finance Agency, and while I take none of it back, I didn’t mean to trash all regulation. In fact we were huge beneficiaries of a governmental regulation yesterday—housing inspectors. The town of Liberty, Maine insists that all homes, new or old, be inspected by licensed building experts before a purchase. It was just such an inspector who saved Pam and I from a world of trouble and expense. He explained his role to us this way—“When I inspect a house I do so as if I were buying it myself. I am working on your behalf here, trying to insure that the property you are buying is safe and properly built according to the building codes of this County.”

But, what if he were corrupt? Suppose Todd was in an unholy alliance with the builder to look the other way on violations and short cuts in exchange for payoffs and bribes? All the best intentions of regulation would be rendered useless if not for the personal integrity of Todd. My dad once told me that “integrity is destiny.” Perhaps nothing he ever told me has been proven more true more often than that statement.

So Pam and I are grateful that somewhere years ago somebody came up with the idea of building inspections, and that when we needed one, we got Todd, a man of integrity.

Dodging Bullets

Winston Churchill once said, “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at with no result.” Less famous and far less celebrated people refer to barely avoiding something disastrous as, “dodging a bullet.”  This morning Pam and I had an experience which combined dodging a bullet and having your dreams crushed simultaneously. Put another way…this morning’s inspection didn’t go well.

The events leading up to the inspection had been tumultuous. We discovered the deleterious effects of a little known regulatory change implemented in April of 2022 that made the purchase of second homes far more costly and difficult, which featured among other things exorbitant points and higher interest rates. The purpose of this regulation was to discourage the purchase of second and third homes by people who already have homes in favor of those who have yet to buy their first. It was also enacted because of a home shortage in the land and to prevent the rich getting richer in the real estate market. Which is all very well and good except for two salient points. One, what first time home buyer will be buying a lake house in Maine as their first home? And two, this regulation—as thousands of other regulations in the past have—misses its target by a country mile. The real rich pay cash for their second and third homes!! But, I digress.

This unpleasant discovery caused lots of soul searching on our part but we finally crunched the numbers again for the 89th time and made peace with this new reality. The last hurdle to clear was this morning’s inspection. Todd greeted us stiffly at the door and proceeded to go about his job with diligence and an eye for detail. I would learn later what I suspected at the onset…Todd was ex-military. As we followed him around the exterior of the house we kept hearing him use phrasing like  that’s a cost cutting move, and I wouldn’t have done it this way, and that won’t do. After nearly an hour of this he kindly took Pam aside and suggested that if we decided at any time that we had seen enough he would cancel the rest of the inspection and only charge us for his time. This is known in the inspection trade as a fire engine red warning flag!! Tiffany turned to us at this point and made our decision far easier with this blunt assessment, “I’m sorry but I just can’t let you buy this house. It will be a money pit.”

So this two week white knuckle thrill ride is over. We have dodged a bullet. We are also very disappointed. In many ways we had already taken possession of the place in our hearts. But so many red flags had crept up over the past several days we both knew that there was a chance it wouldn’t work. When that worry becomes reality its hard to take.

But take it we will. Its not the end of the world. We will be back in six weeks for our fall trip, and as long as On The Water In Maine stays in business we will continue to rent every summer and fall for as far as the eye can see. Maybe something else will pop up when we least expect.

A Culinary Recap

Our time here is drawing to a close. Friday we will hit the road for good old Short Pump. Now seems like just as good a time as any to memorialize our culinary greatest hits of Maine 2023. The following photographs represent some of the highlights. There were lots of old favorites but also some new places we discovered this year. As a result of all this deliciousness, there will be just a bit more of us returning than there was that left—an annoying souvenir, but worth every calorie!

There was soooo much more, but I only have so much bandwidth here at Loon Landing!

My Decision Making Process

Its been nine days since our contract was accepted for the as yet unnamed cabin on Lake Saint George. I’m told I have three more days to back out of the deal without consequence. The inspections take place on Tuesday morning, the day before the deadline. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. This is a big decision with long term ramifications for us both now and in the future. For therapeutic purposes I will flesh out the battles raging in my head on this gorgeous Sunday morning in Maine.

Ever since I wrote the last tuition payment check for my kids’ educations in 2011 I have been playing catch up on saving for retirement, trying to make up for the years that the higher education locust devoured. The fruits of that effort have been considerable. Now I find myself within striking distance of some sort of retirement, although what that will look like is yet to be determined. In the back of my mind over the past five years I had also been making plans for the purchase of a lake house. But, with each passing year the prospects of us ever finding a place that satisfied all of our criteria seemed impossible. Both Pam and I had for all intents and purposes given up. As is often the case in life, as soon as you stop manically longing for something, the thing shows up on your doorstep.

Enter the cabin on Lake Saint George. The list of positives is impressive:

Stunningly beautiful lake

Three bedrooms

Two full and spacious bathrooms

Brand new construction

Private location

A full acre of land

Only 38 minutes from Camden, 26 minutes from Belfast

The list of negatives contains only two items that I can think of:

More money than I ever planned to spend on a lake house

Doesn’t sit thirty feet from the water’s edge.

That’s it….basically a money thing. Because not only is the cabin more expensive than I had planned, it will require additional upgrades over the next few months and years. First thing will be the construction of a proper deck off the back. Then an expansion of the cabin’s minimalist dock. Then landscaping of a safe and beautiful pathway down to the water. Finally, we will finish off the basement which will include the addition of a half bath. All of these things will add to the cash outlay required to finish the place to our liking and specifications.

Which brings me back to what I said earlier. Why have I been squirreling away money like a…like a..well, a squirrel for the past 12 years? For my retirement. And, what is retirement? Its not just saving so you will have money to live on once you stop working. Its also saving for what kind of life you want to live once you get there. For us that life will always include Maine and providing a sanctuary for my family, a place for us to gather to relax and recharge, a place to make memories, together.

So when I consider it all, the unruly witches brew of positives and negatives, I come to this conclusion:

My life has always been intricately linked to risk. I chose a high risk occupation. I chose to pursue that occupation as my own boss. Even riskier. During my life I have learned that money is nothing more than a tool. Its never been a goal, only a means to an end. I could spend money on a whole host of things with lesser purpose than a lake house in Maine. I can afford this place, despite all of my concerns about the cost. If I buy it and five years later come to the conclusion that it was a mistake, it won’t be the first one I’ve ever made. Besides, five years from now a lake house with three beds, 2 and a half baths, a lovely deck, beautiful landscaping and a grand dock sitting on the cleanest lake in Maine could be sold at an obscene profit.

So, unless Tuesday’s inspections reveal that the cabin was built on the ancestral burial grounds of the Penobscot Indians, or worse the entire place was built with inferior materials from China…we are all in.

Naming the Place

Today marks the end of week five. A week from tomorrow we will be on our way home. The next seven days will fly by, filled with inspections, dreams and doubts. Everything we left in Short Pump is waiting for us, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Our time here has been reliably restorative, as always.

In Maine I cast off  things. Although I am still connected to my business, I have detached myself from its daily grind. This detachment has worked wonders for my blood pressure and anxiety levels. Every day I check my messages—which is not entirely true. Actually, I have checked them every day since Kristin left for her own two weeks on a lake in Minnesota. When she was minding the store, I let her do the checking.

I have cast off reading the news. For me this has meant no daily internet trips to the Drudge Report, The Wall Street Journal, or the Washington Post. Not being reminded every single morning, afternoon and night of the manifold failures of mankind has also been a boon to my emotional well being. During the hour that I normally consume the news I have been drifting slowly across the still waters of Quantabacook doing this…

Each day I catch at least one fish like this. The rest of the time I paddle along marveling at the beauty of the natural world until I start feeling the pain in my left hip that warns me to head back to the cabin.

Pam and I go on outings from time to time, into Belfast for lunch, Camden for breakfast and shopping, or to do some sightseeing. A couple of days ago I suggested we take Lucy into town, grab some sandwiches from The Deli and eat our lunch on the grounds beside the library overlooking the harbor. Unfortunately, everyone else within a hundred miles of Camden had the same idea. Nevertheless, it was worth it. This was our bench and our view…

In the evenings the television is quiet, with the rare exception of watching the livestream of our church service, one episode of a show Pam and I like and a couple of times when Pam stayed up late to watch an episode of The Bachelorette, after I was safely asleep. But most nights we have settled into a routine of sorts. Dinner happens later here than at home. Sometimes we don’t sit down until after 7:00. Then, Pam takes her paddle board out for her sunset cruise. When she gets back an hour or so later, we settle into the comforting agenda of Pam’s cross stitching project and my novel reading—eleven and counting. Since the cabin purchase went down Pam has dropped the cross stitching in favor of surfing the internet for decorating ideas and desperately trying to settle on a name for the place. Some of her suggestions have been hysterically funny—The Gay Loon Cabin—just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Last night she blurted out, “What about Birch Landing?” I thought it was beautiful. She got the idea because of the big tree that leans out over the lake near the dock which we think is a birch tree. The appropriateness of the name awaits arboreal confirmation! Besides, naming a lake house that we don’t even own yet and hasn’t even passed inspections seems a bit premature. Still, its never too early to hide these things in your heart. I wrote the following line in one of my novels a few years back:

“The privilege of naming a lake house falls to the person who cries at the closing.”

Its Pam’s job.