Acadia National Park

A neighbor decided since he was getting up the entire campsite might as well join him. Banging his doors, 5 - 6 - 7, 8 times, then clanging dishes, banging fry pans and mumbling loud enough for all to hear. When I rolled over for the umpteenth time and got up, it was 7:00 that means he had to have started his shaking at about 5:30.

As the eggs were frying another neighbor blew his propane canister and as the temperatures dropped quickly he threw it into the forest……I was surrounded by brilliance. I gave him an extra one I had and they are forever indebted to me. What they don’t know is that it often comes around when least expected.

The trail up Cadillac Mountain was strewn in cairns, weren’t allowed to make your own, as the sign posted many times, yet I must admit the blue stripes on the rocks and trees were welcome company when my legs were going off route in the flat scrub strewn highlands. I got up top along with the masses that had driven, found my oasis to photograph, no panoramic view and started heading down a different direction just for some interest. Upon return in the campground a woman in the adjacent site was painting. What a lovely calming appeal that was to have lunch by. I didn’t disturb her watched from a distance and admired her discipline.

I drove down the highway to Seal Cove, Northern Bay and Southern Bay and ventured a drive along the coast, jumping out of the car every few kilometers to gawk like the rest of the inmates at the fight going on, or in our case the beauty that lay ahead. The juxtaposition between the fishermen and the wealthy that had come here to get away from it all was quite unique. I ventured down to numerous harbor and watched the men load their catch onto trucks and turn my head to look at a 5000 square foot home. It all seems so odd, I wondered if those that come 3 times a year have ever been to the wharf and chatted with these men, and know of their lives.

Returning to the campsite in dark and disliking the flavor of my dinner. I ventured over to my neighbors who were in the midst of boiling 3 lobsters, baking corn on the fire and fixing up the fancy meal for a campsite. “Here taste the Riesling we bought and have some lobster.” I declined on both but sat with them for 2 evening of laughter. I’d never tossed my head back so many times in times in laughter and when 10 o’clock came around, quiet hours, our laughter  only got louder. We discussed everything under the moon about marriage, religion and law. They had 3 girls and one of them named Catherine, was on her 6 child. They laughed in utter wonderment, why would anyone have 6 kids.  Not enough alcohol if you ask me, or they must be Mormon, Catholic, or Muslim, none of them fit the bill.

Sleep came easy each night, the last night I’d stayed in town to meet some artists. No I have no connections, it was Art Walk Night, and some of the patrons had invited me for wine and cheese chez Michelle. It was glorious to meet the real deal rather than their compatriots. Many of them claimed to have moved from the big cities to this community to practise their arts and they supported one another.