Gratitude

Every time we come up here I am confronted with a different emotion. Some years it’s the beauty of it all that strikes me, other years it’s the peacefulness. Some years it’s an overwhelming sense of relaxation. But this year it’s been...gratitude.

Maybe it’s 2020 that’s responsible for this emotion. COVID, racism, and politics have produced a toxic quality to this year, and being here has felt like stumbling into an oasis in the middle of the desert. Whatever the reason, I have felt an overpowering sense of gratefulness that I am here. I never want to lose that. Gratitude has fallen out of favor as a sentiment of late, I think. Nobody seems grateful anymore. If something good happens, we assume it’s because we deserved it. When bad things happen to others, we sometimes secretly think to ourselves, “serves them right, the way they live” or “well you could see that coming the way they...” Then when some huge windfall or blessing falls in our laps we secretly credit our own skill, work ethic, and righteousness for our good fortune. This is the very definition of pride, the great sin of the scriptures.

You can go mad trying to figure out why bad things happen to good people. You can drive yourself crazy contemplating why fortuitous things happen to horrible people. I have no answer for the vicissitudes of life. Here’s what I do know. I have been extraordinarily blessed in this life with mostly good health, a functioning brain, great parents and siblings who taught me the value of honesty and hard work. Those gifts have led to a degree of success in this world that has allowed me the great privilege of being able to come here every year. Why me? Others are smarter, other people I’ve known work harder than me, are better looking than me and yet, have struggled. I don’t know. I don’t think I will ever know, this side of eternity. But I do know this...I am grateful for the blessings of life. I might not know the why. I will resist the prideful attitude that says, “I deserve this.” This year especially it has been overwhelming, this sense of gratefulness. Maybe its why we love bringing friends here. Maybe it explains why I post so many pictures. Part of me wants everyone I know to come here, while the selfish part of me wants it all to myself.

So, Kaitlin and Jon are back in Columbia, SC in the unrelenting heat. Pam and I get Patrick and Sarah all to ourselves for the next three days, then we pack up and head home Saturday morning. I miss Lucy. I miss my friends at the office. But I will mourn this place on the two day drive home...

A Fabulous Day

This afternoon Pam will drive Kaitlin and Jon to the airport in Bangor. On Thursday we will do the same for Patrick and Sarah. The following morning, we will pack up and leave this place after a wonderful month. All good things, they say, must come to an end. But yesterday, we rocked it!

The day started with an excursion to the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse, one of our favorite spots and one that Patrick and Sarah had never visited.

It’s a mile long rock wall that took 18 years to build back in the late 1800’s at a cost of a mere $750,000. It contains nearly 800,000 tons of granite. The walk ends at the stately old lighthouse.

Sarah took a great selfie!!

Then we headed into Camden for a birthday lunch at Waterfront’s.

Then it was back to the lake so these two bums could do what they do best...

After an amazing dinner prepared by the kids, it was time for the flotilla to form for another sunset cruise.

Of course, there had to be a birthday cake for the birthday girl...a whoopie pie.

And, what fabulous day in Maine would be complete without a rock painting marathon??

Maybe the best day of our entire month.

...And now I get a text that the power is out at home because a tree fell over the lines at the corner of Pump and Three Chopt. Our dog sitter can’t get the garage door open to go to work and the power won’t be back on until after lunch. Apparently we are the only people holding Short Pump together. We leave town and the whole place goes straight to hell.

The Lady of the Lake’s Birthday

Today is Pam’s birthday. It’s no coincidence that we are in Maine on this day. This place is the magic elixir that keeps her looking and feeling so young, the anti venom to the aging process brought on by 40 years of living with me. She is the Lady of the Lake up here, and everybody knows it, especially the unfortunate jet skiers from a couple weeks ago who made the mistake of trying to run over a couple of loons. Pam didn’t hesitate to track down the closest grown up in charge of these two morons and let them know in no uncertain terms about our shared responsibility to protect the wildlife at this beautiful lake, and that their jet ski behavior was totally unacceptable. She got a mumbled apology from the miscreants and that was that from those two! It was a beautiful moment and just one of the many reasons why I love this woman. 

As a tribute to her on this her...29th birthday...I have compiled my favorite pictures of her taken over the years in Maine. Because of the slow internet up here, this post might take a while to download, so by the time you read this, she might be 30.

We head out this morning to the Rockland Breakwater lighthouse, then to the Deli for lunch, back to the lake for some dock time and paddle boarding, then back to town for dinner and ice cream. At least that was the plan last night. She will have a wonderful birthday. I will see to it.

The Mystery of Crawford Pond

The fog is lifting, the lake is calm. The only sound you hear at six in the morning is the chirping of birds. Soon, I will head out to fish around the exterior of Russell Island, which we have renamed Grandad Island, in honor of my esteemed father in law. There are several patches of grass that have yielded some impressive bass this month.

On one trip I stumbled across a curious thing. At the northern tip of the island, there are two metal chairs that have been placed on the edge of the water, I suppose for sunset viewing, but it’s something of a mystery since the island is uninhabited. Upon closer inspection of these chairs, I discovered what looked like a wooden walkway, much like the walkway of a dock, only it was laying flat across the rocks at the edge of the water...

It’s old and weathered with the names of 13 people carved into the planks. This is the sort of thing that could inspire the imagination of a certain writer. What is the story here? Who are these people? Who were they? Are they dead now? Why are their names carved into this 15 foot long plank, and why is it laying at the edge of the water of an uninhabited island on an obscure lake in Maine? I parked the kayak for a closer look. I ran my fingers over the letters trying to picture their faces. 

But this curiosity isn’t unique on Crawford Pond. On the big island called, unimaginatively, 100 Acre Island, on the eastern side there is a huge rock that protrudes out into the water, large enough to park the kayak and explore. The rock juts out of the water about ten feet high and sixty feet wide. But what intrigued me the most were the three bronze plaques  that had been embedded in the front surface of the giant rock, each declaring the deaths of people who had some emotional connection to the lake, one a teenager, judging by the birth and death dates. The plaques stated the name, birth and death dates and one sentence to summarize the life lived. Lover of the Lake, Founder of Lake Association and champion of its care...

These discoveries have done nothing to discourage my conviction that every lake we have ever stayed on here is shrouded in mystery. First of all, these lakes are ancient, created by receding glaciers. Secondly, they freeze over every winter, solid and impenetrable for months. For a southerner like me, this is unfathomable and makes me wonder what the place is up to all winter. Whenever there is  a “cold snap” in Short Pump during our winter with the high temperature in the 20’s for a week or so, I glance at my weather app and notice that Searsmont, Maine can look forward to a week of single digit highs and subzero lows, making me wonder what Quantabacook looks like, and what on Earth is going on in its frozen depths. The imagination stirs, crowding out the mundane cares of the real world. Who are the 13 people carved into the weather-beaten planks? How did such a large and heavy thing find its way onto an uninhabited island? 

Inquiring minds want to know.

Quirkiness

There is a certain quirkiness to Maine. You see it everywhere in ways great and small. It’s understated, Mainers don’t make a big fuss over their quirkiness, they don’t try to market it like the folks in places like Key West do. No, here it’s subtle. If you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss it. For example, its taken us almost three weeks to catch all of the quirks on the 1.2 mile dirt road that leads to our cabin, hilariously named Tri-State Boulevard...

Someone went to the trouble of putting each of these wonderful distractions along the side of a dirt road in the middle of the very deep dark Maine woods. Then, there’s this...

This is the western most point of an uninhabited island on Crawford Pond. There are rocks hidden behind the grass. Somebody took the time to haul two old rusting metal chairs out there, wedge them into the rocks so they would sit level, just in case someone kayaking by in the evening would have a place to sit still if they wanted to watch the sunset...I guess. Or maybe they just thought they looked cool. Either way, it’s enchanting.

Each time we make the turn off of the hard surfaced road onto, er...Tri-State Boulevard...we keep a sharp eye peeled for the latest addition to the show. I’m wondering if there is another dirt road anywhere on Earth who’s official state sanctioned name includes the word, boulevard. 

Probably not.

Fine Dining and Fast Thinking

People often ask me what my favorite restaurant is in Maine. It’s a tough question. For breakfast, it’s the Camden Deli. For dinner, The Waterfront is nice. Mariners has really good clam strips, Peter Ott’s gingerbread dessert is the stuff of which legends are made. But, if I was being honest about it, I would have to admit that my favorite place to eat is...

That’s right, Hazel’s. This is the best roadside stand in the Midcoast region. Red’s Eats gets all the publicity, but Hazel’s is the real deal. Just look at that menu! Eleven different burgers, including the “Cowboy Cheeseburger” which if you order it, all the cooks inside immediately yell out YEE HAW!!! Six different hot dogs, a wide variety of seafood, all fresh and cheap. There’s even a vegetarian selection! But, what sets this place apart is there sausage offerings. I’ve had the chili cheese sausage and it was truly a religious experience—both during and after. But, the Sausage Reuben is a masterpiece...

Even my son in law agrees.

Of course, Pam always gets the lobster roll and it is always ridiculously generous...

However, our visit there yesterday was problematic, not because the food wasn’t fantastic, but rather because of a COVID related inconvenience.

We had spent a couple of hours visiting the Owl’s Head lighthouse and State Park which was gorgeous...

So, by the time we pulled into Hazel’s parking lot, I was in dire need of a bathroom break. After ordering our food, I excused myself to their famously immaculate facilities only to discover that they were temporarily unavailable, for which management “sincerely apologized.” Hmmm...quite a pickle I had found myself in. There was no way I was going to pass up a Sausage Reuben. I was going to have to man up. I went back to our table with a forced smile on my face. After our fabulous meal was over, we had to take Jon into Camden—five miles away—to pick up a prescription at Walgreens. Since public bathrooms are a rare commodity in Camden, I had to come up with a plan...fast.

ME: Ok Johnny-Boy, here’s the deal. When we get close to the Walgreens, I’m gonna let you out. Run fast out of the oncoming traffic, pick up your prescription and meet us at The Deli. 

JON: Drop and roll...got it!

PAM: But honey, Camden Deli’s bathroom is for customers only!

ME: That’s correct. Which is why you’re going to buy two Whoopie-Pies to-go while I’m in the can!

I used the facilities, Jon ran all the way from Walgreens to catch up with us, and we walked out of their with these babies...

Which, ladies and gentlemen, is why they pay me the big money!

Unexplainable

I have tried many times in this space to explain unexplainable things, my complicated political views, the romance of baseball, the allure of grace. But, how do I explain this?

At Loon Landing, sunsets were served to us on our deck. We would often eat dinner while the sun dipped behind the fir trees across the lake. Here, at Loon Call Cottage, we have to go search for the sunset. There’s an island blocking our view, so each night we all head out from our dock around 8 o’clock, Pam leading the way on her paddle board, the rest of us tagging along behind on our kayaks and canoes. We paddle around the corner of the towering trees, skidding past the lily pads, watching the rocks drift by underneath us. Last night, the water was like glass. We left a bit later than usual, worried that we would miss it, but our late departure resulted in an eagle sighting, yet another serendipitous gift. Once the corner of the island is passed the entire lake opens up and we fall silent. All around there is silence, even the loons hush. We drift along in the middle of the lake, its waters growing darker and silkier by the minute. 

Kaitlin drifts out ahead of us. Her silhouette brings out my cell phone. I take a picture knowing it will be inadequate.

Pam paddles in a different direction, as often she does, seeing something the rest of us don’t. 

I’ve seen better sunsets, lots of them. There is nothing especially noteworthy about this one. It was just the four of us on the water. The later hour meant there were no other boats out. The wind was down. We drifted along in silence trying to find a way to express what was in our hearts. In these silky black waters there is no COVID. There is no politics. There is no racism. It’s just us, at peace.

We hear the bark of a dog, then the call of a loon. The sound races across the water’s surface disguising its origin. Pam is a hundred feet away from me. She speaks in a hushed voice yet I can hear every word. It’s getting dark. We better head back.

This is how our days end here, weather permitting. For me its a new experience, but Pam has been doing it for years. I’ve never understood why, before. “We can see all the beauty from our deck” I would say. But, she would take her paddle board out anyway disappearing across the lake, always coming back in the dark. After going with her these past few nights I finally understand. But, understanding and being able to explain are two different things. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe something so solemn doesn’t need explaining. It just is.