Losing Streak

Well, we made it home from Maine about an hour ago, but not before we crashed the mini-van on I-95 in Connecticut. Bright spot? Zip ties, which are available for sale at all NJ Tpk rest stops, work wonders to hold a crunched up rear panel on.

Sigh.

Half and Half

I wouldn't call myself an optimist, exactly, but I never really expect things to go wrong, either. Therefore contingency planning is not my strength, but on the other hand, I can usually roll with it when unexpected things come up.

That's how it was yesterday when we were hiking Acadia Mountain. Of all the trails in the park, that one is one of my favorite because of the dramatic views of Somes Sound as you descend a pretty steep granite trail from the summit. Most of it is like high steps, although there is a bit of scrabbling, and the older I get, the more likely I am to sit down, swing my legs over, and scootch my butt forward until I can hop down. Even so, we had the dogs with us, and they were doing fine.

The boys are strong and have young joints like springs, so they were way in the lead. Emily was ahead and Bill and Heidi and I were walking and talking when Heidi put her leg down and grimaced. "Uh oh," she said, "I just hurt something."

The pain was obvious as she swayed a little. "Do you feel faint?" Bill asked, taking her elbow and helping her to sit.

"A little," she answered, "I kind of want to lay down."

From there it was a volley of questions, utilizing the meager first aid kit I always carry, and ultimately, when we realized she couldn't walk, calling 9-1-1.

The rest is a story we will tell for years: How the next hikers along the trail happened to be MDI Search and Rescue volunteers, and I could hear the dispatch of my call squawking from their walkie talkies even before I was even off the phone. How Riley, Treat, and Josh hiked up and down the trail to meet and assist the rangers and other SAR team members. How Heidi really wanted to walk down, but eventually consented to being strapped into a stretcher and hand carried out a mile by twelve guys, including Josh and Riley. How the injury happened before five, and it was 9:30 when we emerged from the forest. How we didn't want to go the ER, but were pressured into it. How Josh rode in the ambulance so I could drive the van. How we laughed at our antics at the hospital as we tried to entertain ourselves for three hours with no food or rest. How today Heidi is walking with a bit of a limp and some soreness, but otherwise is getting around fine.

The thing is, we pretty much knew on the trail that it was a pulled muscle. If she had been running at home, she would have called me to come get her, and after ice, compression, elevation, and rest, she might have seen a doctor. 500 feet up, however, there was no way down other than to rely on the NPS and the MDI SAR (and for them, we are grateful).

As Bill, Emily, Treat, the dogs, and I slowly followed the procession bearing our injured Heidi down the mountain, there were plenty of opportunities to pause and contemplate the view. It was gorgeous-- the sun was setting and night was gathering over the mountains, islands, and boats before us. Another time, I might be in a rush to make the trail head before dark, but all rules were off then. I snapped a few pictures and wondered if Heidi and I would ever go hiking again. How could we, when we knew what could happen?

Later, though, when we all talked about it, we said how lucky we had been, and how well things had worked out, considering. And ultimately, that's the question isn't it? Do you allow the possible pitfalls and perils of everyday life to prevent you from doing what you like, or do you deal with setbacks as they arise?

I guess that's the proverbial cup we all must drink from.

Meeting the Locals

Josh, Heidi, and I were waiting in the ER this evening when an orderly pushed a somewhat disheveled woman past us on a gurney.

"Is that the pizza delivery guy?" she asked loudly. No one answered so she waved at Josh. "Hey! Are you the pizza delivery guy?"

"Uh, no," he answered.

"Well you really look like him!" she said, and then she was gone.

Yeah. There's more to the story. Tune in tomorrow.

One Morning in Maine

My sister's family is heading home to Atlanta tomorrow, so when I saw a copy of One Morning in Maine by Robert McCloskey today in a gift shop in Lubec, I bought it for the kids, hoping that whenever they read it in the future it will remind them fondly of our vacation here.

This evening Annabelle and I sat side by side on the couch with the book spread across our laps. I turned to the imprint and saw that it was published in 1952. We began to read; the story is about Sal, of blueberry fame, waking up one summer morning to find her tooth is loose. The illustrations and text continue her tale as she scrambles down to the rocky beach past a fishing eagle, loon, seal, and flock of sea gulls to meet her dad who is clamming.

Culminating in a trip across the bay by row boat to visit the village which is little more than a dock, garage, church, and general store, is a charming story, but to me the most notable thing is how little has changed up here in the last sixty years.

Mayberry

Word today that Andy Griffith died. I was never a big fan of the show, but who wouldn't want an Aint Bea? Not to mention that watching that cute Opie grow up into first Richie Cunningham and then an Oscar-nominated director was almost like having a famous cousin or something. As for Andy himself, I think what appealed to me most was his unwavering good will. He was the embodiment of the Dalai Lama's advice: Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible.

Set aside the other stereotypes of small town America: more than anything else that spirit embodies the mythicism of Mayberry for me. It was a place with a giant safety net, where people could make mistakes, suffer the consequences, learn their lesson, and still sit down to a warm supper, or at least a cool glass of lemonade on the porch.

We've been spending the last week in a rather rural part of Maine. Towns around here might have a post office, meeting hall, school, and maybe, just maybe, a store of some sort. This afternoon, I was rushing to meet the other half of our family and so I took a calculated risk-- let the gas light come on and fill up after the hike.

6:55 found us pulling up to a general store with a couple of gas pumps in Birch Harbor. With only 35 miles left in our tank, Mom and I went in to pay for the gas. Inside, we joined a line of 3 or 4 people, but when we got to the front, the cashier informed us that it was after seven, and the pumps were closed.

Fortunately, the manager was nearby, and before we even had a chance to panic she intervened. "If they need gas," she said, "we'll turn on the pumps."

And in a few minutes, we were on our way home to a warm supper.

The Queen of Flying Mountain

It's not always easy coordinating the activities of twelve people who happen to live in five different households, but family vacations can be demanding in that way. Today we split into four groups and headed off in different directions with loose plans to text and meet up in a few hours.

The three big boys went solo on a hike over the Beehive and on to summit Champlain, and although I envied them, my little group of Grandma, Heidi, Annabelle, the dogs, and I had a sweet adventure of our own.

Flying Mountain got its name because from the ground it looks like it is fleeing from the larger peaks of St. Saveur and Acadia behind it. At just over a couple hundred feet, it offers some of the best views on the island in a sort of compacted hike of piney woods and granite ledges. The trail ends on a rocky beach where dogs and kids will happily scramble over barnacled boulders to splash into Somes Sound.

Our merry band of hikers enjoyed it all. We ate apples and pita chips at the summit, spied little trampolines for spiders, found letters in the tree roots, shook a few baby balsam trees, and sang loudly in the rain all the way back to the car.

It was just how imagined my birthday vacation might be.

My Next Fifty Years

When I considered how I wanted to start my fifty-first year I hit upon the idea of a sunrise hike. Just a few miles from here is a 300 foot or so nubble of a mountain called Pigeon Hill overlooking several piney islands and the Gulf of Maine beyond. At this time of year, the sun comes up before five AM this far north, and so I set my alarm for four AM.

I heard the soft patter of light rain as soon as I opened my eyes, and peering out the window, I knew the plan was a wash. Only slightly disappointed (it was 4 AM after all), I alerted the boys and my mom that the hike was off and went back to sleep.

I didn't give up though, and this morning at 3:55 there were a few clouds in the sky, but nothing to justify bagging the plan again. Heidi got up, and so did Emily, Josh, Treat, and Victor. In the lessening gloom we found the trail head and started up at a quick pace-- it would be silly to get up so early and miss the main event. 4:45 found us perched on a conveniently bench-like section of the granite ledge on the eastern shoulder of Pigeon Hill.

The horizon was a hazy pink and orange and for a time I was worried that our sunrise would be obscured by clouds.

"C'mon, Sun! You can do it!" Josh said.

And then, just as sure as the sun rises in the east, the sun rose in the east.

And it was breathtaking.