Camp

I don't really have a lot of family-oriented traditions.  I mean, I barely see those blood relatives as it is, and even growing up, everyone was so far apart.  We really only make a big effort to gather for weddings and funerals, and the only tradition we have there per say is drink like the booze is free.  

Still, every summer, at least for a day or two, the majority of the clan will gather on our island hideaway and participate in the ritual sacrifice of dozens of lobsters.  This barbaric tradition dates back eons, as early photographic evidence suggests.

This tradition carries on.  The eve that the most people can gather, we order about a million of these succulent searoaches, get these enormous pots on the gas broiler, and pace around, machete in hand, waiting for the last flail and scream to stop from the pot and the tell-tale orangey rouge to be peering out of the watery depths.  

There is something just so marvelously simple and decadent about this feast.

This year, I was late to the planning party, and there wasn't a single green veg on the table: just lobster, boiled shrimp, butter and corn on the cob.   While I can't say my stomach felt light and comfortable after that, I remind myself that it is once a year and snatch the last tail off the table.  No matter how many times I had gorged on lobster upon arriving in the state, it always seems much sweeter here.

Oh, and the leftovers!  Picking is a bitch job, but we put all the leftovers and the bodies in a garbage bag, shove it in the fridge and spend the next day with tiny picks, picking the meat out of each leg and knuckle that we couldn't be bothered with when we had the fast and easy tails and claws to work on.  Just reward: lobster omelets and lobster rolls the next day, and what ever after that is left over gets doused in butter and cream and leftover breakfast bacon and boiled potatoes, onions  and stripped-off corn to make a hasty and slightly unseasonable chowder.  

While we didn't get terribly hot weather (and in Northern Maine, hot is actually kind of nice with so many places to cool yourself) it wasn't so bad that sleeping outside wasn't an ordeal.   The camp has gone through a lot of changes over the years (electricity!  running water! private bedrooms!) and it's much more comfortable now, but I still would rather be outside next to the water at night.  A world of sounds- the loons calling across the lake in their mournful tone, owls, an occasional chilling mystery wail.

I'm also still in the habit of taking a bar of soap down to the lake and doing my bathing there.  We have hot, running water 40 feet away, but there is something about the pleasures of going for a refreshing dunk before nightfall.  It's also a good way to get rid of those dreaded lobster-scented hands.

I have abandoned the outhouse permanently and I'm happy to use the flush toilets as much as possible.  I'm a Luddite, but I do enjoy some comforts here and there.

My only gripe was that it was overcast enough to put a damper on star-watching,  I saw nothing, but we did have a few good lightning shows to keep things interesting.

Every year, I spend a lot of time staring out over the water at the big granite slabs on the horizon.

Despite the noise and inevitable drama that comes with not-oft gathering families (or any family, really), there's still a real sense of peace here.  People gather here because of the peace and quiet, and it ends up becoming anything but.  I find it stressful to try to get to know and get on with these near-strangers all over again.  We have our moments.   Thankfully, we brought kayaks, and a short paddle off the island and you are once again in a zen-like trance.  The smooth, clear lake, the wind in the trees, the mountains and the loons.

Its amazing to think that in a few months' time, you will be able to walk across the lake.

I think I will remain a summer visitor, even if it means having to deal with a crowd.    

Camp

We all live for the peaceful weeks where we can be at Camp.

This seems to be a "spaceship of the mind" sort of situation most of the time (at least the peaceful part or the equation), but when it's good, it's glorious.

Living so far away from family can be hard. While I wouldn't trade in my life for anything, it's hard to communicate with the ones you love over email and phone for so much of my lifetime. The people who know me best are the ones that I see the least it seems. But I take much joy in the time we do have together, and relish every moment and cook up all the food and make sure the 3 o'clock margaritas make their way down to the dock on a lazy afternoon.

Oh! And someone got a moose last year so we had moose sliders.

It was a rainy delayed summertime, so raspberries were late coming in, and blueberries were just starting. Lucky me.

Alas, it's hard to say goodbye for a whole 'nother year away from a place I love so much, and with so many memories stretching back over three generations now.

A whole year. I can't even imagine how different my life might be next summer. The year will fly by as long as I let it.

Island Life

Lackadaisical.

It amazes me that every sunset will be completely different than the last, and how quickly the light changes.

Kind of sad this year...while I heard them a couple of nights out on the lake, I didn't see a single Loon this year. Some years, I see gaggles of them. I'm not sure if it was just timing or if the population is declining. I'm really hoping it's my timing.

I did see plenty of other birds: a couple of mature bald eagles nest nearby, and as the sun starts to set, the island becomes a madhouse of birds. Chickadees, pine siskins, nuthatches, pine warblers, juncos, alder flycatchers...they all descend for a feeding frenzy before retiring for the evening.

Really spectacularly is the night sky up here. There's no light pollution at all. You can see the thick white clumps of the milky way stretching across the heavens, and every few minutes you can see a satellite blazing across the sky, and at one point, the international space station made an appearance. I was also lucky to be in the middle of the Perseids meteor shower and I got to see countless long-tailed streaks of fire in the sky. It's really quite spiritual. I don't understand how anyone in this area could possibly own a television when there is all this excitement going on outside. Also, I've been living in cities too long. During the NYC blackout in 2003 I camped out on my roof and got to see the stars come out, which I assure you, never ever ever happens in New York.

I tried to take pictures of star trails and really didn't have any success. Granted, I didn't have a tripod and I was using duct tape to keep the shutter depressed....next year, I will come equipped. Sigh.

Baxter

Some views I positively will never tire of.

Growing up in Maine, I never quite made it up the coast to Arcadia to the national park. The Bostonians, the New Yorkers, the moneyed crowd. That's where they go to part with their money. It just seemed ludicrous to spend time in a beautiful spot criss-crossed with heavily trafficked roads and tour buses and all the headaches that ensued. On one hand, it seems kind of a pity to have such a beautiful place nearby and never go, but I didn't go without nature entirely. We prefered the roads less traveled and spent part of every summer up in Baxter State Park.

True, you won't find a lobster roll for miles and several comforts will be done without. The park is for serious hikers. No buses, no easy access. No ski lifts to take you to the resort on the mountain top for pastries and photo ops. You hike in, you hike out. You nurse your blisters and aches with a beer you smartly stashed in the creek back when you were freshly hitting the trail.

It's a wild, wild place.

While we didn't do a top hike this year, we had a few nice hikes around the park. Some years a peak hike just doesn't work out between the weather and schedules. You need good weather or they close a lot of trails, as once you get above the tree line it gets miserable and dangerous in bad weather. Plus, it requires a really early start. Like, you have to be at the gate of the park before 6am to ensure a parking spot. They strictly limit the number of cars they let in daily, so you have to be there early or be ready to turn around and go home.

Still. It's one of my favorite places to hike. You encounter very few people, and the only sounds you hear aside your footsteps is the rushing of the creek below you and birdsongs. It's marvelous.

It was a bit soggy this day, and we did encounter a handful of people turning back from the treeline because of the weather. We hiked up to that point and were happy to call it a day by Katahdin Stream falls. The further up we hiked, the wetter we got, but I guess this is why I continue to spend money and haul around rain gear.

But the forest floor was amazing. So many varietals of mushrooms and lichens, and the dank good forest smells punctuated by sinus-clearing pine.

The views were a little disappointing, but I'm glad we didn't push for the top. I am optimistic for the hiking prospects of next year.

North

There's something kind of disconcerting about heading up to Northern Maine. I've been making the trip my entire life, and I still get creeped out. During the summer months, where there is an influx of traffic that seems to get worse every year in most of the state, but as soon as you get above Bangor, the highway and streets are eerily empty. No cars, no towns, no people. Just woods. The kind of woods that if you walked 10 feet into them, you could manage to get lost and never be heard from again.

True story: when I was 6, my aunt told me their were dinosaurs living out back in the woods. Even though I knew they were all long dead and fossilized and I wasn't a particularly gullible kid, I totally believed her. They are the kind of woods that can hold a secret.

It's the kind of place where you stop to help the turtles across the road.

Also, rather terrifyingly, moose abound.

Moose are fearless. Their only natural predator are wolves, and there are few of those even in these woods. They do not bat an eye when you stumble upon one, and unlike deer, they will stand their ground and even charge if they think you are a threat. They are also too stupid to be afraid of cars, and they frequently congregate on the sides of the road to lick off rock salt leftover from the winter.

This is why moose hunting is not a sport.

They are quite tasty though. The biggest challenge being to drag something that huge out of the woods, but those who do have a nice freezer full of meat for the winter.

I've only been able to take pictures of the ass ends of deer as they are running away, but you could sit in front of a moose and take pictures until you are bored. They stare at you placidly and stupidly and go about their day.

Oh, and in this part of Maine, you can get on a list with the local game wardens. If someone hits and kills a deer with their car, the warden will call you up to come fetch your roadkill.

So, the creepy factor continues. The town of Millinocket is still desolate and economically depressed. There are more empty houses and full, and it's just quiet in a way it shouldn't be.

Want to buy a house here? 3 bedrooms start at $25,000. You can pay your downpayment with whatever you find under your sofa cushions. You will probably have to commute to work 60 miles each way to Bangor, meaning your gas will cost more than your mortgage.

It's just odd to walk around and encounter almost no one. Despite their being sidewalks, no one actually seems to use them.

Hence the need to leave town and head to the lake, where it's okay that no one else is around.