Special Friends

The past four days we have had friends with us staying in the guest house. They are dear friends who we have known for many years. Actually, in missionary circles, especially at the International Mission Board, they are pretty big deals, or were, since like us they are both recently retired. They had recently sold their home in Richmond, packed up and moved away from us to be closer to their children in Alabama. They are currently homeless, living with one of their kids, looking for a house in the miserably hot conditions of Birmingham—something I could have warned them about had they cared to ask my opinion. Anyway, on a whim, we thought maybe they could use a break so we texted them an open-ended invite to come up and stay with us a few days, to escape the heat and relax. They have visited us here before but it had been a while. They accepted in world record shattering time.

Despite their celebrated reputations, the hummingbirds were unimpressed.

Lucy was nonplussed.

But we had a blast.

As you can see from this photograph, Leigh Anne didn’t have any trouble navigating her kayak. She and Pam took many adventurous trips around the lake together. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of Gordon. My one and only regret from our time with them over these last four days was that I didn’t have my cell phone camera with me when Gordon attempted to get into his kayak to go out with me on our first fishing trip. That photograph would have been pure gold…Gordon, wobbling, wobbling then getting dumped into the chilly waters of Quantabacook. Despite the absence of photographic evidence, I will always have the memory! While I freely admit that he caught more fish than I did, At least I remained fully upright in my vessel at all times.

If you’re lucky and live long enough, God will bless you with special friends, the kind who you wouldn't hesitate to call in a crisis, the kind who can be counted on to say “yes” to a last minute spur of the moment idea. These are the people who don’t care how you’re dressed, the kind that you never need to impress, or be impressed by…the kind of people who let you be yourself. 

Get yourself some friends like this…

The Funny Thing About Time

We arrived here on a Tuesday almost two weeks ago. About two days later I drifted out of any normal, human understanding of time. It happens every year and for some reason it always surprises me. This year it seems more intense. Maybe it’s because I’ve retired so I am no longer as trapped by the calendar as I was before. All I know is that time loses its meaning here. Let me attempt an explanation.

I wake up every morning before Pam. The sun rises around 5:10 and there is no way to block its light through the sliding glass door of our bedroom, which is only six or seven steps from the water. There is a lovely little sheer curtain that gives the illusion of privacy but is useless against the morning sun. So, there is morning and I enjoy the quiet, the stillness and the chilly temperatures.

There is a mid-morning here too, when the sun rises in the sky and begins to dominate the lake. This is usually when I venture out in the kayak or Pam takes out her paddle board. Sometime during this mid-morning the wind picks up. Some days it’s gentle, other days it blows like a gale. Sometimes we get caught out on the lake when it changes and the gentle lake we enjoyed when we left the dock just two hours earlier has turned into a beast on the return trip. 

There’s also a dependable afternoon on this lake. These are the warmest hours of the day. We eat some lunch, but it’s never at the same time from one day to the next. We eat lunch when we are hungry. At some point during the afternoon I take a nap. All the windows are open so there’s always a breeze drifting  across the bed. I enjoy the deep sleep of a carefree mind.

There is a delightful evening here. The sun sets a little after 8 o’clock. The wind dies down. We have dinner either inside or out depending on how cold or warm it is. I usually cook something on the grill. I fish off the dock between 8 and 8:30 every night. Almost always catch something during that thirty minutes. Then we watch the sunset. 

So, there’s morning, mid-morning, afternoon and evening here.

But somehow they don’t all add up to a day.

We both ask each other —what day is it?— what seems like several times a day. The truth is that neither of us knows. We have to glance at our watch to answer the question. Sometimes I think…are you sure?  The reason we lose track of the Gregorian calendar is that it doesn't matter. What difference does it make what the name of this actual day is? It’s not like we have any appointments. Each day that we have woken up these past two weeks there has been nothing planned for the day. We decide what we will do when inspiration comes. Often the weather dictates our plans. Generally speaking, if it’s gorgeous outside there’s no chance in the world that we will leave the lake. If the weather is less than ideal…overcast or too cold or too hot, then one of us will suggest a possible plan for heading this place or that. Then the other one will say, ok, let’s do it…and that’s that.

For the next few days it will be a bit different since we will be hosting friends. And for what it’s worth I have a clear awareness that tomorrow is Tuesday only because that’s the day they will arrive. I think they will be leaving on Friday, so those two days I’ve got down cold! The rest of the time will just be a blur, an amorphous block of time that we spend living in the moment in Maine, where the days have no name and the hours hold no power.

Finally, a Rainy Day

It finally rained yesterday. A heavy series of intense downpours accompanied by lighting and thunder, sending Lucy scurrying to her safe space in the bathroom. We used yesterday’s poor weather as justification to actually leave the lake and go into Camden for a while. I picked up fishing reinforcements at Maine Outdoor Sports, then we putzed around town for a while. Walking through the streets of Camden, Maine always has a sedating effect on me, so I stopped at Zoot for a hot cafe mocha.

Before the rains came our day started with watching our church’s service on YouTube. No, it’s not the same thing as being there, most often a very poor substitute. But when you’re 850 miles away from your church family, its a blessing to be able to get a glimpse of them all together. 

A couple days ago on Pam’s birthday, one of our neighbors up here, Gil Bryant, knocked on our door with a gift for her—an overflowing pint of fresh raspberries he had picked at his house! I am here to tell you that you haven’t tasted raspberries like the ones that come from somebody’s back yard in Maine. Ever since, Pam has been scouring the internet looking for baking ideas. She settled on something called a raspberry tart which includes Pillsbury croissant dough, raspberries and semi-sweet dark chocolate chips. Pictures to follow!!

This morning the wind is up, which always happens the day after rain at the lake. So far there are no whitecaps, so not as bad as the other day. Pam will spend most of the day getting the guest house ready for Gordon and Leigh Ann Fort who arrive on Tuesday. Looks like their three day visit will be blessed with perfect weather—bright sunshine, high temperatures in the middle 70’s all three days!

Finally, my favorite picture from yesterday…

Celebrating a Birthday

The last couple of days have been stellar. Yesterday we woke up to white caps on the lake. This morning when I poured my coffee it was 52 degrees outside and crystal clear. I had to put on long sleeves! Anyway, I played golf yesterday for the first time since last July. There is no excuse for this sad statistic. I am retired after all. My course of choice is the Rockland Golf Club with its views of mountains at one end of the course, Chickawaukie Pond on another, and glorious Penobscot Bay on yet another. One of my favorite holes (and one of the few that I actually parred) is #16, an uphill 390 par 4 which played dead into the wind which I reached in regulation with a tidy little nine iron.

Despite the long layoff, extremely windy conditions, strange rental clubs, and a troublesome blister that I developed on my left hand—which are all the excuses that I can come up with at the moment—I managed to shoot a 92. The best thing about this round of golf was the fact that I was finished at 9:30 in the morning, which meant that I had time to run into Rockland and pick up these beauties from the ridiculously fabulous Ruckus Donuts.

For the uninitiated, these guys are huge, nearly four inches across. The flavors clockwise from the top left are: strawberry shortcake, raspberry crème, blueberry lemonade, and chocolate espresso crème. The occasion for this decadence was the beginning of the weekend of Pam’s birthday. Today is her actual birthday and it will be filled with all of her favorite things. Dinner tonight will be at Fresh & Co in Camden, one of our favorite restaurants of all time. Shopping will take place.

So, next Tuesday two of our dearest friends are flying up for a last minute, spontaneous visit. They have been up before and are the kind of people for whom a lake house in Maine is perfectly suited for their vibe and style. They are only staying for a few days, just a little getaway. Like us, they are recently retired. We get to play host. The only thing more fun than laying around at a lake house in Maine is laying around a lake house in Maine with friends. Of course since they’re staying rent-free I will be trying to get Gordon Fort to pick up the check at every opportunity that presents itself. Wish me luck!

Lucy’s Mental Health

Our golden retriever loves lake life. She is never happier than she is on Quantabacook. However, the fact that Miss Lucy is happy here does not mean that she is…well. You see, our girl has, for lack of a better word…issues. What follows are but three examples of the sort of thing that we have been dealing with for the eleven incredible years of her charmed life.

A few nights ago in the middle of the night the smoke detector in our bedroom began to emit three squeaking beeps at an extremely high volume. The long story is that it was either a battery issue or a malfunction. All was well. But Lucy was having none of it. She immediately ran from our bedroom, taking up refuge in a tight ball on the rug in front of the shower stall in the bathroom. She was still there when I woke up at 6:30.

On another night (why do all these things happen at night?) Lucy was sacked out, dead to the world, sound asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace. Suddenly, off in the distance, someone, somewhere set off a firework. I use the singular here because it was literally only one muffled boom. Lucy’s head immediately lifted off the rug, ears back, and although she was still clearly half asleep, she staggered blindly into the bathroom to take refuge on the same small rug in front of the shower.

Back at home, when I feed her breakfast she insists on me sitting down before she can eat. I don’t have to even be in the same room, but I must be seated or there will not be any breakfast eating happening in the Dunnevant house. Don’t ask me to explain this phenomenon. It is what it is. Well, here in Maine, Lucy has added a new twist to this particular neurosis…she now refuses to eat until both of us are seated! So for example if it’s just me and Pam is still asleep in our bedroom…nothing. We must apparently both bear seated witness to her breakfast eating ritual.

So, there you have it. Life with an adorable, beautiful, hilarious golden retriever is nowhere near as easy as we make it look.

One Flaw

I am sometimes accused of over-hyping Maine, of glossing over the state’s shortcomings. This is a fair observation, however, alert readers will notice that I never—ever—come up here in the winter, so I can only describe for you what I see. Summers here are just better than summers wherever you happen to be, that’s all.

But, in fairness, it must be admitted that summers in Maine are not perfect. I mean, they would be if not for one thing…

Yes, the dreaded deer fly—bloodus suckious—the bane of all hikers, bikers, runners and walkers in Maine from approximately June 1st through September 1st. I already know what you’re all thinking—We have deer flies here, they aren’t unique to Maine. Bless your heart….thats like someone from Nebraska saying to someone from the Florida Everglades—We have mosquitoes here, what’s the big deal? The deer flies of Maine are supernaturally mean, angry and relentless. One of the reasons we spend so much time at or on the lake while we are here is because it’s the only place the deer flies leave you alone. Well, thats not entirely true. I don’t recall being bothered by them while in town, for example. Primarily, the woods—including any trail or road which may go through them are where they thrive. Since I like to take long walks, this can sometimes be a problem. But, Mainers have devised a solution, a tool for the fight. This baby—

Meet the Bug-Zapper Deluxe 2000. This cross between a tennis racket and pickle ball paddle comes wired with electrical current, which with the touch of a button will come to life sending fly killing electricity surging to the racket head. When properly swung it lights up the deer fly and emits a delightful buzzing sound to let you know that the job was done. I can attest to the fact that no sound is quite as satisfying as the Zap-o-Death. Just a couple days ago I carried this baby along on my 3 mile walk through the dirt roads of Quantabacook and I lost count at 45 kills. Of course the drawback to this device is that now I run the risk of developing bug-zapper elbow simply by going for a walk.

Since I believe that God created the heavens and the earth and everything therein, I am left with the task of finding a reason for the deer fly’s existence. I have come to the conclusion that God created the deer fly for one reason and one reason only—to keep the good people of Maine humble. Because, were it not for this bothersome insect, the summers in Maine would in fact be perfect, which would make Mainers too proud. And as we all know, pride goeth before the fall.

The Magic Chair

There’s a special place in this camp. It’s upstairs in the main house. There’s a comfortable chair with an enchanting view of the lake. To access this special place you have to climb a steep ladder. 

There are two lovely twin beds up here, along with a small chest of drawers. I climb up here to do my morning exercises. Then after dinner, after the sun finally sets, I come up for inspiration. You see…in the ten years that we have been coming here I have written parts of three different novels sitting in this chair. It’s not the only place I write while in Maine. But, whenever I’m feeling blocked, this is the place I come to. There is magic in that chair. I bring a snack and a small can of Ginger Ale. I close my eyes then open them and look out the window at the lake and…poof…unblocked.

The only trouble is that the chair is a rocker and when you use the chair as intended, it has a squeak, not a loud and obnoxious one, but a squeak nonetheless. Pam, who is usually sitting down stairs right below me on the sofa doing her latest cross-stitch project, will sometimes complain about the noise. When she does I try to sit still while I write, something that isn’t easy to do. After a couple hours of productive creation, I will climb down the stairs until next time.

It is just one of the many magical details of Loon Landing, this small but elegant escape from the harsh realities of the world.