Listen Bud

Josh is going home tomorrow and so we let him pick the movies the last couple of days. Yesterday it was Ted, which was a bit of a disappointment to all. Heidi and I thought it was kind of a vulgar, not very funny movie, and Josh found it hilarious in places, but inconsistent. Either way, it was a little uncomfortable to sit next to him through drug use and raunchy sex talk.

Today it was The Amazing Spider Man. Not a bad movie, but for me it added nothing new to all the other Spider man movies I've seen-- I mean how many times do you need to see (or read about, or watch on TV) a  guy in red and blue tights swinging through an urban canyon to get it that it would be cool to be bitten by a radioactive spider?

Even so, I appreciate the complexity of the Marvel Comics universe. I admire that the movies generally stand alone but also work on a different level for the most dedicated of fans. For them, the producers always embed another layer of connection and information that we casual fans can mine like gold nuggets, if we are of the mind.

And yes, we stayed for the extra scene after the first credits. Who was that guy??

If Not for You

The darkness was falling fast as walked  down the fire road behind Heidi's stretcher. Fifteen volunteers took turns bearing the weight as they rolled her over the uneven terrain on one nubby mountain bike tire. "We're double timing!" one guy announced jubilantly, and they really were, considering that they had just carried her down from a height of 500 feet over a half mile of granite ledges and boulders.

One of the two women volunteers fell into step with me. She was about my age, and we had seen her slip and actually fall a few times on the trail. We had also seen her spring right back up and into action each time. "Do you know how to get to the hospital from here?" she asked and then helpfully clarified my vague ideas about the directions.

"You go right past the village green," she said, "but you'll miss the concert," she smiled wryly. "That ends at nine."

I had no idea it was even close to nine o'clock, there is a certain timelessness that sets in with any crisis.

"Our son plays in the band," she continued. "In fact, he's the reason we're here. Last summer he was working on a trail maintenance crew when one of his co-workers was injured. He came home and told us it took 20 people to carry him out. 20 people! We looked at each other and said, 'We can help with that!' and so we do."

I sighed. "Wow," I said, "You hike these trails and you never think about what would happen if you couldn't get down. Well... I never do, anyway. Thank goodness you all are here. What would we have done without you? I'm not sure how to thank you."

She nodded and then gestured to Josh and Riley and Treat. "Well, I think we made an impression on some young people," she said. "If they see that they can help out, then that's a good start."

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.