A Little ME Time - Of Trinkets, Tide Pools, and Technicolor Yawns

The end of Pax Kindelis

It was a misty, moisty morning and cloudy was the weather when our final B. H. sunrise asserted itself. For some reason a foggy morning keeps the riff-raff in bed longer, so I was able to secure a good hour or two of Kindle-time out on the balcony before I heard the shuffles within and my budding apprentice photographer emerged with her mother's digital and a smug expression that indicated she'd been using it and wasn't afraid to wield it again.

Photo by the backup camera crew.

Wrapping up a rather dense-packed vacation, checking out of the Wonder View wasn't as depressing as it sometimes is. We settled accounts, made arrangements to stow the Great White Wonder for a few additional hours, then awaited the Bar Harbor shuttle for one last morning hurrah in town.

The Wonder View Inn is a pet-friendly establishment and we had the good fortune to have neighbors on both sides who had brought quiet but very affectionate dogs along with them. L and N had spent a couple of cumulative hours over the course of our trip hanging out on the balcony playing with one or the other of the "puppies" between the balcony bars, with much excitement generated on both sides. At one point an ill-adviced game of fetch on the elevated balcony resulted in L and I spending 30 minutes in the woody undergrowth below looking for an overly enthusiastically returned rubber ball. As it would happen, as we sat waiting outside the lobby for the town shuttle one of our next door neighbors also pulled up to check out. This gave the kids one final opportunity to be bathed in saliva by the large, dopily happy mound of fur in the backseat - a Goldendoodle, a golden retriever/standard poodle mix. A disturbingly cute and good natured mutt.

On every trip of note we are obligated to address the gift-buying fetish that flows down the Harris family line (a line which, not surprisingly, also retrieves the bulk of the gifts purchased). Our morning ambitions were simple and semi-capitalistic - a walk through the kitsch shops and then a final walk by the coast. The trinket acquisitions were done by seasoned verterans and there is very little of interest to report there, other than to note the Bar Harbor could do with a couple more benches strategically placed outside the myriad "Christmas in July" stores.

By the time we were ready for our ocean walk the mists of the morning had mostly burned off, leaving a few rag-tag fog banks hanging out here and there looking rather foolish. There is a well-maintained walking path that weaves its way along the promentory rich coastline for a mile or so south of Bar Harbor. It is host to numerous rose hedges and meticulously disheveled (New) English gardens as it winds its way between the rocky waterline and the high-class blue chip hotels that look down their long lawn noses at us. It is a delightful family favorite.

Cool granite textures

The kids couldn't care less about the Martha Stewart retreats on the land side of the path. They are all about the rocks and ridges and the million teeming tidepools on the water side. Every time we go Stacy, gathering all her inner peace and centeredness, has to close her eyes, commit herself to Providence, and turn the kids loose to scamper on those fatal Maine granite boulders. She will stand off to the side and whimper slightly as she watches (or shields her eyes) as they dart and weave over and through the slippery rocks and crashing waves. Like a veteran returing from an umpteenth combat mission, you can't quite tell if Stacy emerges from these experiences a little more stalwart, or a little more prone to post-traumatic stress syndrome.

The tidepools proved glorious. Many varieties of seaweed were pointed out; many conchs and whelks and periwinkles were gently abused. The highlight was a challenge from Daddy to find a crab in what appeared at first glace to be a lifeless landlocked pool. The challenge was quickly taken up and dozens of unexpected lifeforms were brought to light before the crowning achievement - the coveted crab - was uncovered. The excitement of the victory prompted crab-walks all the way back to town.

Crab hunters on the job.

Ah HA!!!

The remaining vacation hours were a blur of bustle to get home. We drove to Portland and crashed at an airport hotel in prep for an early morning flight out. We got to the airport and our plane on the morrow without serious incident. The only "hiccup" of note occurred as we were taxiing to the runway for our departure out of Portland. The man sitting next to me had seemed a little anxious. I suspect he was a little scared of flying. His tension built until just before we got to the runway. And then...

"Ummm, flight attendent. Can I have a couple of wet paper towels please?..."

Stacy's Shower Wishes

Stacy's good friend Jen had a baby shower in Washington that she couldn't attend, so...

A Little ME time - The Kayaks vs. The Seaplanes!

Our hotel affords a fantastic view of the morning sunrise over Frenchmen's Bay, provided you are awake to see it. We were not off that ilk this trip I'm afraid. The sun was well into its workday when I got up. I snuck out on the patio and noticed at once that a big cruise ship had pulled in over night. It would have been more dramatically framed against a flaming sunrise, but it was still a pretty awesome morning view.

Click to enlarge.

L, as is her habit, was up pretty soon after I was so we abandoned the other lug-a-beds and went down to the lobby for coffee and hot chocolate and enjoyed the early morning sunshine on the lobby terrace. On returning to the room after our fine morning refresher, we roused the sleepers and strolled up the hill a bit to the Looking Glass restaurant for breakfast. I'm not usually a breakfast person - tea and coffee are my usual and sufficient staples, but vacations away from home sort of demand it. A few half-eaten pancakes later --I assure you there was no half-eaten smoked salmon omelet! -- it was back to the room to dive into swimsuits and go play.

One of the things the kids remember most about coming to the Wonder View Inn, or at least think they remember most (N has many detailed memories about things he couldn't possibly remember first hand), is the old tire swing down on one of the many lawns. That so trivial a resurrected castaway can provide so much excitement amazes me. After watching his daredevil sister tame the savage beast, N insisted on a turn of his own, but being rather timid of heart, within an oscillation or two he graciously gave over full swing rights to his sister, who, while probably not particularly polite, was nevertheless pleased. N, on the other hand, was perfectly content to gather acorns and lay them out on the picnic table as a feast for the neighborhood squirrels.

The swinging bug effectively squashed, we headed back up the slope to the hotel pool where an additional ration of prepubescent energy was effectively neutralized while Mommy and Daddy suffered greatly in the pool benches.

As surprising a thought as it was to L and N, we actually did not come to Acadia to hang out at the hotel all day. We had bigger plans in mind. We dried off, hopped in the White Monstrosity, stopped in town only long enough to mail a letter and grab some sandwiches, and were off across the island for some outdoor fun in the sun. Our destination: Long Pond and the kayak rentals! Our joy was momentarily deflated when we walked up to the rental stand and saw the "sold out" sign, but as we turned to slump moodily back to the car a lady wheeling two kayaks up from the beach stopped us and said someone had just turned some in, so we could still rent if we wanted to. Many smiles and some parting of cash followed.

Stacy and I rented a kayak and paddled Long Pond ten years ago on our first trip to Bar Harbor together. It was sweet to rent two kayaks this time. I got L up front while Capt. Stacy had First Mate N. Kayaking with a wife who has a vague idea of rhythm and synchronized paddling is a far different experience than kayaking with a seven-year-old who can barely keep from plunging overboard at any time, let alone have any concept of tandem stroking. After about ten minutes of paddle clunking and total drenching I encouraged L to just sit back and enjoy the ride and "leave the driving to us." She complied for a few minutes, but the thrill of wielding a six foot paddle could not be fully surpassed and soon she was back at whacking me repeatedly. Once we decided to make a military march of it ("Left! Left! Left! Right! Left!"), things got marginally better.

Defective kayak.  See how low it rides in the back?

Shortly after we put in, while we were still in the thick of the padding coordination battles, a seaplane docked at a neighboring pier fired up. It slowly pulled into the lake threading among the various canoes, kayaks and free swimmers, heading down lake a bit, then turned and began circling back. The kids were fascinated and froze staring at the plane as it approached. I tried to weave left; Stacy tried to weave right; the plane didn't seem to be weaving in any particular direction. Finally Stacy and I agreed on a get-out-of-the-way direction and proceeded thusly, only to have the plane then turn and bear down on us again. Frustrated, we simply stopped and waited it out, hoping the plane would decide what it wanted to do and get it over with. But the plane didn't drastically change its direction and eventually killed its engine. The pilot pulled open his window and pointed us in one direction - the one we originally were heading before he barreled down on us. We swiftly complied. The plane fired up again and soon was again heading down lake, this time at full throttle, and rose up dripping into the sky and flew off over the pine trees. I would spend another two or three paragraphs complaining about what kind of jerk would circle a seaplane around in circles in the middle of a canoeing and kayaking area, but it was cool enough to watch that I won't berate the guy any further.

Evidently Freddie Kruger vacations in Maine too.

Adios!  Don't hurry back.

Having successfully avoided being propeller pulverized, we headed our own vessels down lake and took off. (A little less quickly and slightly less elegantly.) It was a beautiful afternoon and lake and surrounding shorelines were stunning. After about a mile we emerged from a narrow neck of the lake into the broader lakebed and the breeze picked up and gave the water a little chop. Our prearranged goal, the far shore about another mile away, took a little more effort on the open lake, but we soon made it to the woody shoreline where we found a few exposed boulders expressly laid out for our lunch break.

Lunch break

The return trip was smooth sailing. I was pleased no one attempted to use us as an aircraft carrier. We got back to the dock and I returned the kayaks while L and N took advantage of the swimming platform and roped off swim area. We let them burn the sugar while Stacy and I once again stretched out by the water's edge and did as close to nothing as the needs of circulation and respiration allow.

Our final major adventure for the day involve a little more driving to Bernard on the far side of the island - home of Thurston's Lobster Pound! The whole extended family went there a couple of years ago when we celebrated Mimi and Grampy's 40th anniversary on the island. You can't get a more idyllic spot. Stacy and I each got our coveted crustacean and I got my mandatory side of steamed clams. I was hoping for great things from the kids, but L and N turned their noses skyward and insisted on a paltry hotdog. L was so disgusted by even the smell of the lobster that she couldn't eat her corn on the cob because it smelled like lobster. I'm not taking this affront to my heritage lightly and put the blame squarely on the thoroughly unadventurous strains of the Harris bloodline.

A pass through Southwest Harbor with its compulsory stop for ice cream, and our day was pretty much done. Back to the Bar! (Which has such a different meaning than it did twenty years ago...) Once settled into the hotel with 100% zonked children Stacy and I sat out on the patio and enjoyed the moon rising over the bay now abandoned by the cruise ship. I probably said something real romantic, and she probably giggled and blushed. She probably put her arm around me and I might even have given her a peck on the cheek. Vacation nights all tend to blend together.

A Little ME Time - Not Just Any Port in a Storm

The eastern Maine coast is one of the single most beautiful sites in the world. We do whatever we can to steal some time at the coast, particularly at Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, whenever we get to Maine. We've fallen into a beloved family rut of staying at the same hotel, the Wonder View Inn, overlooking Bar Harbor. Sometimes we go as an extended family, sometimes just our little huddle, but we do our best to reserve a day or two of our vacation down east. The final few days of this summer excursion were wrapped up accordingly.

We bid Mimi and Grampy and Grammy Betty a fond adieu, made our Sherman cemetery run, then hit the road for the coast. I don't know if the cemetery set a bad precedent, but as we drove the weather started feeling obligated to live up to the ominous forecasts we'd been dreading and got steadily cloudier and more dreary. We were still safe when we stopped for our quick lunch at a Greek/Italian pizza place in Millinocket, but as we rounded Bangor and abandoned the interstate for the iconic Maine back roads we were greeted with a light but thoroughly depressing bland rain that bode ill for our coastal bliss. When we hit the L. L. Bean outlet in Ellsworth (another vacation staple and one Stacy wouldn't give up under torture) we were joined by every other frustrated coastal vacationer in a hundred mile radius in what was the most insanely packed store I've seen since Black Friday. Everyone was buying rain parkas (including us) and sweatshirts (including us) and was in a generally grumpy mood (including us). After a few minutes claustrophobia began to take its toll, so I took the kids to go wait in the Great White Wonder while Stacy, oblivious to the human onslaught, continued her commercial entertainment.

Fully loaded with L. L. Bean paraphernalia and ready to face the rain (but not happy about it), we turned back onto Maine State Route 3 and proceeded south. Just past Trenton is the little bridge that takes you from the mainland onto Mount Desert Island. As we crossed our anticipation was already peaked, but how much more was it amplified when, as if by throwing a switch, the sun broke through the clouds and the doom and gloom high-tailed it to places unknown! By the time we got to our hotel and got up to our room perched at the top of the hill, we had a bright and sunny Bar Harbor splayed out below us, complete with rainbow. Chocolates on the pillow are nice, but the Wonder View Inn really went all out with the rainbow.

Bar Harbor view with rainbow. (No extra charge.)

Bar Harbor is so named because at low tides a natural sandbar, otherwise submerged, is exposed that runs about a half mile from the town shore over to the small and woody Bar Island. The temporary land bridge is a tide pool wonderland and the island on the far end has a mild trail that climbs to a great view back on Bar Harbor. As many times as we'd been in the area, we'd never actually been out on the bar. Today, however, as we took our first walk from the hotel down to town we found our timing was right and the tide had just gone out giving us several hours to explore. Knowing any commands to the contrary would be utterly in vain, we "graciously" allowed the kids to run and play on the rocky sand and to wade in the placid surf. There is no happier allowance granted a kid who's been cooped up in a car for several hours (no matter how white or wonderful). Seaweed, clam shells, crabs, starfish: All were give the awed attention of a National Geographic exposé. Then normally oppressed N was granted permission to do something unthinkable - throw as many rocks in the water as his heart desired! Such joy! You'd have thought he'd been give the keys to the Great White Wonder.

Slowly we made our way across the bar, abusing sea life and coastal geology all along the way, and found ourselves at the shores of Bar Island. A well tended trail met the beach and at the trail head was a posted a warning sign giving the high and low tide times, lest you spend an unintended half day out on the barren island. Checking the stats Stacy and I was quite satisfied with the three plus hours afforded us and encouraged the kids to come on a hike up the trail. L followed with good will, but N blanched and hung back. We'd explained to him how the bar disappeared when the tide came in, but having no real grasp of time (ten hours is the same as ten minutes to him), he was suddenly very concerned that the oceans would rise up like the Red Sea and swallow the bar and all us procrastinators. Assurances to the contrary had little effect and as we dragged him on with us his terror was real and palpable. Throughout the hike it was "hurry Daddy," and "I think we should go now Mommy." We kept pointing out the handfuls of other unconcerned hikers we met on the way, but N found no consolation in being in the midst of other doomed fools. But reckless daredevils that we are, we continued on our hike and eventually got to the island summit with it's panorama of Frenchmen's Bay and the boat-strewn harbor.

N's tension ratcheted down a notch or two as we began retracing our steps, but was not completely erased until something jarred his attention completely off the subject. L and I were walking side-by-side out front and Stacy and N were right behind us and we were halfway across where the path traversed a little open meadow in its otherwise woody wanderings. L saw them first and squealed delightedly. Three does bounded out of the woods to our left and pranced in full view across the meadow in front of us and into the woods to our right. There was much hubbub! Denied their moose in the northern realms, they gratefully accepted their deer consolation prize. While L and N stood there chattering away in animal-spotting glee there was another disturbance off to the left. A fourth doe, evidently startled by the four of us, had shied back from the main herd when it bounded across the meadow and now stood on the meadow's outer reaches as if trying to figure out how to regain the herd. In a moment she made up her mind and in an instant sprang across the path and followed its predecessors into the woods. An extra helping of kiddie glee.

We were halfway across the meadow when the deer sprang across in front of us

The sun was setting and N had forgotten all about the potentially deluged sandbar when the trail returned us to the shore. There it was, all dry and safe. Buoyed by their woodland adventure our fawns leaped upon the bar and frolicked and pranced from tide pool to tide pool, all weariness, fear and phobia long gone. As we slowly followed the kids on their distracted and meandering path across the bar Stacy and I managed to sneak a couple of sunset kisses and hugs. And then the ocean rose up, threw down its wrathful waves on the bar and sent us all to watery graves. Bummer.