Nick Woodland 8/22/23
The fit, middle-aged, sun-bronzed, REI- (or more likely around these parts, LL Bean-) clad hiker looked at Ava’s Crocs with obvious scorn at the choice of footwear (or disdain at her parents IQ) as we passed each other on the Spring Trail in Acadia National Park. The Spring Trail leads to the Jordan Cliffs trail and Penobscot Mountain – both strenuous trails featuring iron rungs and steep rock staircases requiring all four appendages to successfully navigate without falling down the slick rock faces. But she underestimated the power of sport mode (this is the little used form of actually wearing the Croc strap behind your heel).
If she only knew how many miles those Crocs have seen…
We ascended (and descended) Penobscot (elevation 1,194’ – you start at 280’) without incident. My kids can rock it when they want to – or even when they don’t want to. We had driven for half the day to get to Northeast Harbor on the southern flank of Mt. Desert Island (pronounced like the food and not the habitat. Whoever decided to spell it like that should be forced to never have DESSERT again). After waking up early, driving for hours, and checking in to a hotel that elicited sardonic, half under-their-breath exclamations about the hotel’s current state of upkeep (apparently they have pretty high standards when it comes to hotels) all we really wanted to do was sleep, read, or stare at the TV or a phone.
Somehow we rallied (most likely thanks to Wendy) and we piled back into the car to drive to the Jordan Lake trailhead at 2pm, jockeyed for a parking spot amongst the masses and sharpened our elbows for the hike along the lake. Turning off on the Spring Trail was an instant release from the crowds. And also the beginning of many rock stairs. Some cajoling was necessary to get the whole fam to the summit, but the girls did it – scorn-filled glances and all. I realized on the way down how strong and tough they can be. Kids were screaming – literally blood curdling screams were emanating from some kid behind us; Asians were asking me how long it would take to get down with worried looks on their faces; a mother was giving far too many directions to her kids (‘ok, so you want to sit down here, and swing your legs over like this, watch me’ – or some such overly cautious nonsense). Oh, and we only had 1 water bottle amongst the five of us (ok, that was a mistake). We decided we’d call Penobscot a 1er, after ‘our’ 14ers in Colorado.
We had a full-on shore dinner that night, cracking into our lobsters (bugs) with gusto, butter dripping down our chins, corn stuck in our teeth and the table strewn with shattered chunks of fire-truck red exoskeletons. It was glorious…and then it was disgusting. ‘We lost our civility there for a minute, didn’t we. Take these plates away, please, I don’t want to be reminded of my gastronomical savagery.’
I had a cup of coffee on the hotel bed with Ava and Teagan still sleeping next to me in the other bed. Wendy had taken Sienna to her climbing session at the Otter Cliffs and I thought about being on the same – or different – wavelengths. I would have thought after two months together in tight spaces that our wavelengths would have evened out and found similar troughs and crests, but instead they are all out of whack. When we try to do something together like play a game or watch a movie or sit by the fire, one of us wants to play the game later, the rest earlier; sit by the fire? sure say 2, 2 are for a movie and one wants to go to bed. Usually what happens then is we end up doing nothing. I think we are losing the novelty of being together as a family, everything is casual, there is no fanfare anymore. Family time is ALL the time. Movie nights used to be a special thing back in the world and we’d settle in happily with pizza and a movie. But since we are always together, we tend to seek the things that give us some separation. And usually that means sitting in the same room with two of us on a phone, one reading a book, one cleaning, and one playing – or something to that degree. Together but separate.
BUT…then we have these incredible moments together: sitting on the summit of Penobscot mountain, almost as far from Bailey as we can get without needing passports, looking out and far below at the ocean and the sailboats bobbing in the cobalt blue harbors or watching Daddy trying to be taught how to dance by street performers in Boston. Sitting on a beach in lonely Tuckernuck taking turns paddling the kayak out to a shoal, having a successful day of homeschooling in the camper on a rainy day or watching the sun melt into Lake Michigan, or the simple joy of eating meals out of doors. These moments stand out clear as day, like pages in a book, and will become the touchstones of memories for days, months, years to come. Maybe I’m just clamoring for some normalcy.
Movie night, anyone? Sure say four, no says one.
Our car was clipped by an Island Explorer bus at the Visitor center this morning. ‘Let’s drop in real quick and get a map,’ I said. (I know what, dear Reader, you’re thinking to yourself, ‘you didn’t have a map on your hike and only 1 water bottle and a kid wearing Crocs! Yes, perhaps I deserve a little scorn) My ‘quick little stop’ idea ended with us returning to our car to another visitor telling us they saw a bus hit our car. Scrapes and gouges and dents in the driver’s side quarter panel. An hour and a half later we finally pulled out after talking with bus officials, Park Rangers and filling out paperwork. Thank goodness for witnesses, there were two. Don’t park in the oversize spots at the Hull Cove Visitor Center, the bus drivers take the corners a little too wide. Yes, I was illegally parked. Geez, I’m beginning to look downright reckless, here.
Maine is a very distinctive state. I lived here once for 6 years. Yes, tourism reigns supreme, but only for a little while each year and there is a working class feel that lives alongside. You see pretty little Victorian Inns pulled right from a Travel & Leisure magazine next to a lobster or fish processing facility that stinks to high heaven at the right time of day. Mainers have a happy-go-lucky, damn-it-all-to-hell dynamism that makes them likable and laughable. Yes, lobster and moose caricatures are all over the dang place. We get it Maine, we get it! But there is a quaintness and authenticity here that is hard to beat. They aren’t trying too hard. It is fun to get back here and visit old stomping grounds and introduce my kids to old friends they’ve never met. Thanks to Dave, Jane, Scott, Aaron and Alicia. Sorry to others I didn’t catch up with.
Back to Wiscasset now, and on to Vermont in a couple days. Our 14th state.
