My Island Guru

Living here on this
Island for nearly 40 years,
I still don't know which mountain is which.
You knew.
I didn't have to remember.
I had you.

I carried the notion
That you would
Live
Forever.
The ageless,
The tireless
Workhorse.

This summer
I will
Climb each
Summit,
And with each step,
I will remember you,
My Island Guru.

Post Script:  My husband and I purchased, renovated and opened the second B and B in Bar Harbor in 1984 and named it The Cove Farm Inn.  Bed and Breakfasts  were the rage.  It was the perfect fit for my husband.  As a native of Bar Harbor, he explored every nook and cranny of the island from the time he was a young boy until this past summer of 2016.  He shared his passion of MDI and Acadia National Park with the guests we welcomed from all over the world. He was referred to as "The Island Guru."  Visitors returned year after year.

Paradise

The appearance of the cruise ships in Frenchman's Bay marks the beginning of summer.  (That and the black flies. Reports are that they are thick.) This morning we shared the shore path with a few tourists who stopped now and again to take photos.  I wondered if after all these years if I still viewed this place like a wide-eyed tourist.  Most days I think I do. Sometimes I stop walking and just gawk. Struck by the ever-changing beauty.

My adult children have moved away at one point in their lives, but have all returned home; to this. They are drawn to the diverse beauty-the sea, islands, mountains and lakes.  We have it all. Paradise.

Contemplation of a Habit

At this point of the early evening, there ain’t much left.  Like every other working woman; I’ve worked all day rushed to two medical appointments, went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, dropped a kid off, picked another up, wrote 750 words, made a gourmet meal and I now look forward to a walk in a bit to clear my head.  

Once I start the habit of walking, I wonder why I ever stopped.  The routine soothes as does the normal route of travel-along the shore path and through town.  For a stretch of two years, I walked everyday.  Nothing stopped me.  A little grouchy, there were days that my husband would offer to cook supper if I just went for a walk.  My hope in life is always renewed after a walk.

For weeks now, I have been thinking about going to the gym. The reality is that I am just content to walk outside.  I tend to walk the same route, starting in the same location, but taking an opposite direction each day.  The view remains the same, but from a different perspective.  The tide changes and the light varies with the weather. Boredom is never a threat.

Tonight as I walk the path that winds along the craggy shore, I will contemplate all the good that comes and proceed through the evening content and at peace.

mother earth

Come to think of it, when I was a child I spent much of my time close to the ground or in the trees. Alone. The draw for me in my neighborhood was an expanse of land referred to as Shaw's Hill.  At the edge  was a big estate lined with a thick stand of lilacs that created a natural boundary between the two properties; one manicured and the other wild, overgrown fields and hills leading to the creek and forest.  I spent days on the wild side attempting to fly kites, picking wild berries or sliding down the hill on waxed cardboard or toboggans. Summer days my mother would send me out to pick huckleberries or wild strawberries.  Once my cup was filled, I would lie on my back and watch the cloud formation; lost in the promise that the clouds would move and change. Other times I would just walk randomly through the field and when it felt right, lie on my back. With time I would shift to my side and open my eyes to ants and other creatures as I peered through the tall grass.

The sandy beaches near my home provided another place to connect.  Here the weight of my body was supported by the tiny grains. Comfort was gained from the soft breeze and constant shift of the sea. I was always at peace near the sea with sand between my toes.  It seems that when I was young, instinctually knew what I needed; drifting off to Shaw's Hill or the beach when I needed quiet renewal.

Now, I walk through fields and into the woods and crouch low under the tree branches.  Here I find a soft bed of pine needles and I rest looking up into the blackness of bare branches that nearly obstruct the sky.  I share this space with deer and other creatures. I am surrounded by sea here on this beloved island and I seek refuge taking long walks as the sea collides with the land or is calm and still. Clearly, I am drawn to the earth, the sea and the sky. Mother Earth provides.

Gone

The Shore Path crawls with strangers and their dogs.  Rex breaks the ice as he wags and sniffs.  We strangers laugh and smile. What would we do without dogs and their non snobby ways?  The Shore Path would crawl with strangers minus the dogs.  With hands in pockets, the strangers would brush pass each other looking at their feet. The potential for connection is gone.

Birthing

Delicate bursts of new green

Proclaim

What was bare last week

Is now made new.

A  wooded path

Meanders

To a tiny cove with

Chiseled shore.

An early morning walk

Reveals

Changes

As this island births

Another season.

The Importance of Place and Time

There have been missed opportunities.  Storms have stacked up this winter one after another like bills, left in piles-expected, but not entirely embraced.  Out of shape, I am unsure that I can slog through the depths with snow shoes.  As I drive passed my favorite rolling hills with a perimeter of deep, magical woodland I long for those walks and Rex my dog gets excited. I feel guilty and recall a special day in April.

We decided to walk later in the afternoon when daylight stretched before us. Doggies in tow panting with noses smudging the car windows. Once at the field the dogs let loose running and zig zagging.  Trudging up the hill through the once tall grass pressed by winter weight, we sat. Then we lay on our backs.  Quiet.  Content.  Breathing. We squinted through the sun. Clouds filled the sky. We lost track of time.

A Study of the Horizon

Just a smudge separates sea from the sky. Each morning, I face the changing nature of the cove often prompting me to document through the truth of a lens.  The cove never remains the same, but is modified by the pull of the tide, the hue of the sky or the direction of the wind.  However, it is the horizon or lack thereof that is intriguing and draws me to stop, stare and ponder.  Some mornings, I squint through the gray matching sea to sky unable to discern the existence of a horizon.  I know that it is there.  Why the curiosity? Days that this line is distinct and thick like the mark of a fat primary crayon, I  still stare, awestruck.

Maiden Voyage

There is a certain allure to camping in your neighborhood.  Responsibilities at home prevented a trip away so we opted to stay nearby and play campers.  This weekend was the maiden voyage of our vintage Shasta camper that Jerry rescued from the strangling arms of a hunter who bore holes through the roof to accommodate a wood stove.  It was in bad shape. The weekend was a success with family and friends dropping in to visit.  The camp site brimmed with laughter, peaceful moments and good food.  I feel blessed.

Morning Walk

Compass Harbor Path

Stairs Descending George B. Dorr's Estate-The Father of Acadia

Sitting on the stoop of the Chinese Restaurant,

My daughter waits, reading.

It’s early.

We’ve made plans to walk.

Leafy ferns, still green,

Line the wide path

Toward ruins of a past life,

On the crumbling patio

I stand, pause and imagine

A grand life, hours filled with fancy cocktails,

Sipped by ladies donning feathered hats,

Tipped just so on their heads,

Their gentlemen near.

Or

The man of the house,

A recluse

Enchanted by the changing tides,

Wearing a path to the sea.

Descending the granite steps,

The path ahead

Mottled with

Light forced through the forest canopy,

We are guided toward the sea.

Never do we consider that we may not return,

The salt air courses through our veins as we ponder

The past and the present,

We return,

For we are enchanted by the changing tides.

The path to the sea is worn and has been traveled

By many.

The Quest

Heavy fog gives the illusion of stillness.   All morning we have been shrouded in this gauzy veil, but it is lifting.  Coffee consumption is always a time for gentle awakening with my husband.  As we sit on the porch-sipping coffee, we hear the world revving up for the day: a myriad of birds are singing, big trucks break the natural sound as they rumble passed and then if we listen really closely, the chorus is held together by the light rhythm of the cicada in stereo. 

“Take your flip flops off,” my husband calls gently from the settee. 

What about the red ants?  That thought is quickly forgotten as I tread quietly, the newly groomed field thick and green in most spots.  My eyes are mostly, looking forward, yet the thoughts of stinging ants or glass and sharp metal buried in the field avert me periodically from the sight ahead. I hug closely to the picket fence of the garden and slowly move behind the thicket of golden rod that looms way above my head.  I peer around to take a look.  My bright tie-dyed sleeping tee and fleece pants to match seem to scream, “Look at me.  I’m right here!”  I feel like I should be crawling on my elbows in the cool grass to approach under cover. 

Their brown coat blends in with the taller grass in the field that hasn’t been mowed all summer.  Perhaps that is why they like to visit.  The old apple orchard with twisted branches, low to the ground and heavy with new little apples provides shelter and food.  The doe pushes off her front legs and stands tall on her hind legs until she knocks off a few pieces of fruit.  Her two spotted babies, always near, touch noses as they wait in the tall grass. I creep closer and then a few steps more. Suddenly, the deer’s ears go down.  I’m close enough. She continues to munch, then begins to move to my right away from the tree.  She takes some steps, watching me intently, then a couple more with her eyes now always on me.  Her sole responsibility is to her children.  She prances off into the long grass, but waits for her young to follow.  Ever vigilant, the mother and her babies head in the direction of the stream.

My daughter thinks that the three live somewhere on our five acres.  Somehow, it is a comfort to me to know that we can co-exist on the same land.  I just hope that my little quest for “the perfect shot” did not dissuade her from returning and breach the mother's trust.  Will I be able to honor her, next time from the porch with my camera safely tucked in the dark recesses of my house?  I don’t know.  I just don’t know.

Retreating

Morning light pierces through

Fog thick

Heavy

With salty air,

Taking time to retreat

Where does fog wonder?

A Spectacle

It took some advanced planning and faith in the workings of the tide to complete the process of refurbishing the hull of this schooner.  It began earlier this morning and by noon; it looked ship-wrecked. Because of my limited experience with beached vessels;   I forgot about the principle of Arichimedes and imagined chains with a lot of pulling and prodding to upright the ship and return it to the bay.  By late afternoon, the crew had scraped the barnicles off the hull and began the job of painting its' belly. Before the moon appeared in the sun-lit sky of pre-dusk, there was no evidence in our little cove that the ship had caused such a spectacle among tourists and natives alike.  Cars and motorcyles haphazardly parked on the dusty sides of the crumbling pavement of Route 3, horns honking disapproving of the abrupt stops to gawk and take photos.  With all the high technology of today, often the simplest solutions involve the wisdom that comes with our co-exsistence with nature. 

Business With Pleasure

One of the benefits of my job is that I get the chance to visit various schools in my district to assist in year end reading assessments.  Today, one of the most glorious days in recent memory, I had the good fortune to travel to Swan's Island School.

 This is the view looking back toward Mount Desert Island.  What a way to start my day: on the water.

I never tire of these views.  Everyday I am grateful to be surrounded in beauty. Best of all, it was a work day!

Six Word Story Challenge

Fog lifts revealing a green world.

Loving Through Dreams

 This morning, I dropped my sons off at the Mount Desert Island High School and as I turned the car around in the parking lot, I  faced the mountains that border the property, Suddenly, I felt like balling, stopping the car and just letting the emotions rip.  The view was the exact one my mother and I had shared on a visit here long ago.  It reminded about the bittersweet nature of the passage of time.

My mother and I  on campus for an event, stood at the threshold of an open door and gazed at the beauty that surrounded us.  We had spent the weekend on Mount Desert Island hiking and such in Acadia National Park.  It was my first visit.  I was fifteen years old.

Standing in that open doorway which some believe to symbolize discovery and connection with the natural world, I announced, “I’m gonna live here someday.”

When I graduated from college, there were few teaching positions available.  I was granted an interview in Bar Harbor.  It wasn’t until I drove across the bridge onto Mount Desert Island that I understood that I had visited here before.  I got the job. 

My mother was able to enjoy Acadia for more than twenty years.  For this I am grateful.  The ping of sadness that hit me out of nowhere, reminds that I miss her. Standing in that doorway of Mount Desert Island High School and proclaiming a future that came to pass was an important moment.  One that I will always cherish and my mother was there to love me through my dreams.

The Cove

There are times that I just want to stay still and not move. The image is just too beautiful not to stop for extended moments and take notice.  Our little cove that I can see this time of year from our bed affords the most luscious views. This morning the sunrise was a rosy pink smudged, just above the horizon.  When I stop at the end of the road on my way to work each day, I take notice of the full expansive beauty of the cove, some days are a slate blue hue, while others are peachy or yellow.  I never tire of this ever-changing image that fills me with gratitude

Island Somewhere Off the Coast of Maine

 

I live on an island generous with mountains, lakes and tourists. Nearly every direction you head, you can see the ocean and lots and lots of smaller islands. Rounded and emerging.

This island on the other hand is "from away." Looks desolate and uninhabited. Does anyone know of the location off the coast of Maine?

Consecutive Post: Day 4 for Father John

Note: 10 year old Guest Photographer/Daughter as her mother (behind the wheel of an every creeping slow moving vehicle) directs where to point the camera. Truthfully, she needs little photographic assistance from ANYONE!