The Space Between Bookends

My journeys to and from Maine both included my mother. The first time was miserable because she didn't want to leave me; the second time was joyous because I was coming home, and because we took a mini-vacation in the days leading up to our drive down south. It was so nice to be able to share places I had loved with her, putting Maine in a totally different light than the dismal, tear-filled one it began with.

Day 1: Cape Elizabeth & Enough Lobster to Last a Lifetime

Forever enduring as a favorite place in Maine, I had to take my mom to Fort Williams Park. It has always so fully been what I expected Maine to be like.

A good hardy Mainer swimming in the bay

Light keeper's house

We drove from Fort Williams Park in Cape Elizabeth up to Thomaston for a real lobster roll. As someone that does not enjoy seafood, but really enjoys cultural experiences, I had saved the momentous occasion of partaking in the lobster roll for my mom's visit. I also didn't want to pay for it. As a typical Maine lobster shack/pound, the restaurant was located right next to the water, had picnic tables to dine at, and was BYOB.

View from the dining area

some clam diggers

Lobster.... I never need to eat it again. Following dinner, we made our way up Route 1 to reach Bar Harbor where we would be spending the next two nights. We stopped at Owls Head Light just before the park closed. I was so happy to have seen that cute little light house!

Good to the Last Drop

In the final weeks of my New England life, I have been enjoying Maine more than ever. Free concerts, friend visits, Appalachian Trail hiking, festivals... I am happily along for the ride as I try to enjoy every single moment of every single day. This means much spontaneous application of carpe diemic principals.

The Head And The Heart

L.L. Bean graciously hosts a free outdoor summer concert series on their lawn in Freeport. My friends and I went to see The Head And The Heart who were magnificent. They make pretty, folky music and apparently attract some super dancey hipsters. There were people with helium balloons tied to themselves and also blowing balloons. And the dancing- oh, golly. It was like a mountain tent revival, people jumping around and reaching their arms way to the sky.

Staked out our spot in the parking lot

The band

Adele was an older lady who did NOT like people standing up to dance around.

Dancing, but not like some of the others

With My By Myself

Doing things usually done with others while alone is exhilaratingly disarming. Being unprotected by the company of another human leaves me to just my own senses and thoughts, making for a more keenly aware experience of the ordinary. The first time I recall being metacognitive of this feeling was when I was maybe 9 years old. I was staying at a high-rise condo with a balcony facing some palm trees at Myrtle Beach with my family. I sat in a plastic adirondack chair on the balcony by myself one night and felt very moved within my 9 year old spirit by the sea breeze, the stars, and my aloneness. My cousin came out to sit with me after a little while and tried to talk to me. I distinctly remember telling her, “Keep the peace.” The entire vignette is crystalized in my mind and makes me laugh at myself. It’s fun for me to retrace that root and know that I was who I am, even at 9 years old.

I’ve recently been able to do some neat things alone.

Reid State Park

On certain days, it is essential to be at a beach. The day after the highly successful youth service day I was part of planning, I majorly slept in to recuperate, but needed to be on a beach. I eventually left my house around 2:45 to go to Reid State Park. I knew it was a late start, but the sun stays out late and I decided I could either use my time to do something good for my soul or to watch Netflix. I stayed until sundown and it was so beautiful that it made me sad because I knew it was not mine.

Lost in Translation

Somewhere along the way from the South to the North, people begin mispronouncing the world Appalachian. They start saying App-uh-LAY-shun, and I always feel bad for them, so I make sure to correct the error. It's App-uh-LATCH-in. We go on to raise evidences against the validity of each regional dialect, and (in my mind) I always win (because we say it correctly where I come from). Despite the inability to reach a concise pronunciation translation, there is no disagreement concerning the splendor of the most famous bearer of the name: The Appalachian Trail. For that, there are no words upon which to disagree; it speaks for itself. I thus don't have enough words to articulate the magnificence of my recent Katahdin summit, aka The Greatest Mountain, aka the Northern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Converting experience to written language leaves much lost in translation.

Weather conditions were not promising as we drove toward Baxter State Park, but we pressed on. The camping trip had been planned for months!

Looking ominous

Entering the park!

Wild, winding gravel road inside the park

This campsite was home for two evenings

Fancy camping food

The plan for the trip was to arrive Friday evening, camp two nights at Abol campsite, summit Katahdin on Saturday, do a little backpacking into a lean-to site at Katahdin Lake on Sunday, and leave Monday. The weather was not cooperative for Katahdin on Saturday, so we post-poned it and did a 6 mile hike on Saturday instead. The trail was soggy and buggy but still nice.

In the distance

Just a Perfect Blendship

Friendship, friendship, just a perfect blendship.

Highlights of this post:

1. Portland Weekend
2. NC Friends Visiting
3. I am 23 now!
4. Friendship is a special kind of love

If It's the Beaches 

I took myself on a visit to Crescent Beach State Park after an evening in Portland with friends. I was supposed to go volunteer at 5am, but slept in til 7am (HA. "Slept in.") instead.

Tons of seaweed. You have to wade about 10 feet into the water to get past it! Very icky feeling.

Jackson Pollock seaweed

I continue to find myself mesmerized by the marks of time on rocks in Maine.

So stunning

Years of the ocean's handiwork

So, I mentioned, I hung out with friends the evening before. We had SO MUCH FUN. And also really good grilled food. Here are pictures:

In my list of words to describe Maine, I'll include "Potlucks"

 

TLC --> ME

How BLESSED I am to have the friendship of an incredible group of women known as TLC. Two members of the posse came to visit me. I took them on a jam-packed tour of the land I love. 

Matching sweatshirts we got on our field trip to UMA.

Cape Elizabeth & Portland

The caption of the above photo tells you that we took a field trip. Because my friends' flight got in so late, I made them come with me on my middle school students' field trip to the Holocaust museum. They behaved absolutely appallingly (the students, that is). Some of them have clearly been indoctrinated with hate by adults in their lives, as they were saying blood-boilingly terrible things that trivialized genocide and profaned the various religious faiths of many people. I was so over them at the end of that day, except for one thing: we did an activity where we were all supposed to affirm each other in small groups. I loved speaking good things into their lives; to see their faces light up when I said, "You are so loved," or "I've seen you be an amazing friend," or "you will make the grades you need this year," was priceless.

After the awfulness, I of course took my friends to Fort Williams Park and the Portland Headlight! It persists as one of my favorite places in Maine.

My, oh my! Hello, July.

The prolonged, patriotic showcase of man-made thunder I still hear across the sky confirms that I've just celebrated my nation's independence, though it seems impossible that we're creeping up on mid-July, and I another year of life. It's wayward time that I believe passes in retrograde spells of fast forward and slow motion. Just last week seems like a lifetime ago because the days move slowly, but I hear that crocodile clock tick-tock with its profound, terrifying freedom as, second-by-second, it elapses toward The Non-Plan. The Non-Plan is based off of the question, "What the H happens after August 26th?" I do not have a set plan; what I thought was a set plan has not panned out. However, I do not want to live in that time yet, a paranoid Captain Hook fixated on impending events to the point of present distraction. Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow; sufficient is the day with its own challenges.

The Hunt Brothers' Visit

My first visitors to my new life from my old life were my good ole bros. Now that I've had people from my North Caroline world in my New England world,  I am experiencing a strange array of emotions. First of all, I feel strange that only two people from a very complex social support network have seen the life that I lead here. It's weird that, up until now, no one from NC has shared in my current life experiences. I've thus felt like a bit of a survival-driven wanderer as I've grabbed things around me to build my ragtag AmeriCorps life. Having shown home people the result of said grabbing, I feel much more legitimate and much less a wanderer. I became aware to my rootedness while sharing my, yo no sé, garden of life? I have surely labored in cultivating this life, so yes, my garden of life. As a result, the second sensation I'm experiencing is one of appreciation for my Lewiston community and the special things I'm able to do in the Pine Tree State. Showing people all of the good things about Lewiston and the investment I've made into this community makes me feel proud of and grateful for my time here.

Lewiston is Cool Sometimes

The first night the brothers were here, I took them on a miniature culture crawl. Starting at Gritty's Brew Pub for happy hour, crossing the Lewiston-Auburn bridge for drinks at Baxter, strolling along Lisbon Street for the Art Walk, and ending the night at The Blue Goose couldn't have made me feel more at home in this still-foreign city. It's empowering to be the expert.

Acadia: Part IV

The next morning, after a guatemalteco inspired breakfast of refried black beans, eggs, goat cheese, and avocado slices, we drove to Acadia National Park for a weekend of hiking and exploring. I've been so very fortunate to have gone to Acadia four times since I've been in Maine, each visit with its own distinct feeling thanks to the seasons of weather. On the first day, we walked along Sand Beach and hiked the Great Head Trail. Storms were moving through which made the tumultuous sea crash itself with great violence into the cliffs, making me feel about as strong as a plastic bag drifin through the wind. I will not fully disclose the misadventures of this particular excursion for the sake of my mother's nerves, but I will say that it was perhaps the most humbling, awe-inspiring Saturday I've ever encountered.

Eerie, misty Sand Beach

So humbling!

We don't listen