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

The culture crawl, early morning, and hiking made us very tired so we changed out of our drenched clothes (really, mine were actually tolerable; thank you, Laurie Tewksbury, for teaching me to never wear cotton ever) and went to Southwest Harbor in the attempt to find less touristy lobster offerings than Bar Harbor. And, yeah buddy baby boy, did we find a good one. Toward the end of the lobstering/fishing hub, we found Beal's Lobster Pier. I am really making a conscious effort to start eating seafood, because it's dumb that I don't, so while I didn't order myself anything but hot buttered cron and beer, I ate off of my brothers' massive plates of fresh lobster and fried seafood medley. Results: scallops and haddock are gooooood. Lobster is also gooooood, but I don't want its whole carcass at the table with me which I don't think is a ridiculous comment.

Beal's Lobster Pier

You pick your own lobstaah

While they cook it up, you go walk around on the piiaah

Da traps

Then they call you to come get yer food...

... and you sit at picnic tables to eat in this little sun room.

We ended the evening by returning to Bar Harbor, doing a tasting at Bar Harbor Brewing Company, and strolling about the town's (sorry, just have to say it) contrived and artificially quaint shops. I do love touristy things though, so I enjoyed myself.

We went hiking s'more on Sunday after a stay at the Jasper Inn/Lobster Restaurant. The weather cleared up enough to yield a few heapin' helpins of sun nuggets, but not while we climbed the Beehive, which was slightly disappointing since my bros couldn't experience its phenomenal views, but also gave the climb a befitting New Englandy sense of mystery.

The Iron Rungs! "Seems kind of dangerous for a national park."

After the Hive, we walked to the Bowl and said, SHOOT FIRE, MAH SPOON AIN'T BIG ANUFF FER THIS.

f/36, shutter 1/4s, 100 ISO.

We kept hiking for a way longer time than anticipated, so I was the only one that brought water and I had done left the trail mix in the car so we ran out of energy and had to return to the Sandy Beach earlier than we would have liked, but not before singing like MJ in Free Willy on top of big rocks will the wind blew, time warping into Maine circa the dinosaur years, reciting 18th century Tyger poetry, and pretending to be Rafiki.

Correction: I know yo fadda.

There were also these busy bees

We kept delaying our departure from the park because we didn't have much to rush back to in Lewiston. We stopped by Thunder Hole and then decided to drive up Cadillac Mountain. More weirdness ensued. I love my family.

Just to the left of Thunder Hole. I liked this picture better.

Go, car, go!

!!!

weird, weird, weird.

Will You Be There?

There is so much more that could be said about my brothers' visit, but I can't properly articulate it. I am immensely grateful for those two men (yes, they are men now, which is so weird!) and their lovely hearts, depth of character, adventurous spirits, and stupid-silly senses of humor. It is such a gift to have the family I have. Thank You, God!

Let Freedom Ring

I demonstrated my National Pride yesterday with all of the American essentials: Great friends, a trip to Wal-mart, watermelon, cron on the cob, PBR, a spontaneous slip-n-slide, and perhaps most patriotic of all, candied bacon. That is a real thing. I love when I have friends that house-sit because I typically reap the benefits, but this mooch surpassed all other previous mooches. Ending the day with fireworks and floating lanterns and the sounds of Lewiston kids running into the Androscoggin River with no sense of it being weird for them to do so made this a spectacular Day of America's Independence.

Blurry but really like

Also blurry but likeable. There was a carnival across the river.

Excellent turn out.

Perpetual State of Southerly Confusion

It's totally confounding to me that the temperature earlier this week, in all its misty glory, reached as low as 57 degrees, and the latter half of the week, in all its humid-hazey glory, has been hanging at a slightly-uncomfortable-even-for-me temperature of 80-90 degrees. New England's weather patterns are bizarre to me, but I am fully embracing each varietal from back porch lawn chairs and snuggled under blankets and charging forward into the rain-spattered sea. Currently, I am feeling that summer night feeling I wrote about last year around this time, though it's describing NC summer:

j'aime l'été, part deux:

1. sun-melted skies so transient and beautiful they break your heart
2. lying in the sun, falling into cool water, lying in the sun, falling into cool water, lying in the sun, falling into cool water...
3. the sweeter season running its fingers through your hair on those extraordinary nights that gather a breezian cicada'd voice with which to seduce you to restlessness and bare feet, luring you to be as you came- a wanderer, enchanted, betwixt the gardenia and magnolia and pine, eyes like saucers, skin like stars, spirit like a drumbeat

No breezian cicada'd voice, nor gardenia nor magnolia, but plenty of pine and skin growing starrier with each sunny moment. This warm night air- this hopeful, warm, July night air- carries the restless energy of summer with it. It's the restlessness that brings not anxiety, but this holding-of-breath, closing of eyes, deepening of spirit, exhale, selah, we have made it; let's be still. How one can be both restless and still is what makes these warm nights of summer so bewitching. An energy of acute awareness; enthrallment with the smell of sweet grass, the trio of cricket strings, peeper calls, and evening dove coo; the feeling of edge-of-your-porch-seat, don't-want-to-miss-this peace. To satisfy this particular inner restlessness, you must be still. Summer makes you sit down for the brilliance of her coming out and keeps you captivated until she graciously retires to the opposite hemisphere. It's too much! It's too good! I can't take it all in.

To swinging in hammocks and rambling nights,

JB