The Road to Trinity Lake KOA

Vagabond, gypsy, wanderer, we’ve been called many things but truthfully we just have the coolest job ever!  Our latest destination is Lake Trinity KOA in Trinity Center, California.  The Californian Alps… like Shasta, and Lassen baby!  I’ve been so excited since it was offered to me that I was almost afraid to commit it to paper.  I have a “two day” rule that kind of follows me around.  Some people have a ten second rule for eat cookies off the floor… I have a two day KOA rule that changes the location of where I am going next… it goes like this… if the big cheese or the bigger cheese offers me a location, I say “great!”  Then I wait two days before I repeat this knowledge to anyone else.  No news?  Great!  Start making arrangements… but don’t get too comfy, cuz there is another two day window just prior to departure.  All Cheeses reserve the right to change their mind. 

I feel safe to publish my excitement for Trinity Lake KOA since I have passed both sides of the “two” day KOA rule… and on top of that I am only “two” days away from arriving in said locale, we are more than “two” thirds of the way across the country. GREAT!

The journey to Trinity is paved with I-10 this time of year.  Each time we pondered a more northern route, the forecast of snow quickly changes our mind.  Alas, we have stayed on I-10. 

Did you know it takes 2 days to get out of Florida?  After that Alabama and Mississippi fly by and you end you in Louisiana.   Louisiana’s cajun food, bayou music, and an infectious zest for life have always called out to me… but is it not to be on this trip… Texas looms large on the horizon.
Texas is wide… really wide… like three days wide going from east to west via I-10.   Thankfully we had a stopover at Lake Conroe KOA and broke bread with some KOA Kompadres.  It’s always great to see a friendly face along the road.   Thanks! 
Then we had a bit of rig trouble… which put us on a beeline for Phoenix where we had an appointment for repairs.  Wanting to get somewhere fast doesn’t get you there fast… nor does it give you the luxury of planning our timing.  We hit rush hour in Houston, San Antonio, and El Paso… just lovely.  

We spent a night at a scary roadside motel/campground in nowheresville.  I can’t believe we didn’t take pictures… lol.  They put us next to (inches) the building, we could only put one slide out, our door opened up to a view inside the dumpster, and they charged us $45.    Ruth said she could see the “I Love KOA” mantra circling my head.  In the morning our host offered to lift the electric lines with a pole for us to pull out.  We opted to back all the way out to the street rather than risk electrocution.  We didn’t notice until later that stuff was stolen out of the back of our truck.

Happy to cross into New Mexico is a slight understatement.  We counted down the last 10 mile-markers of Texas, hooted and hollered and kissed the dogs… the only thing missing was “auld lang syne” on the radio.    

For everything that didn’t feel right about Texas this time, New Mexico did.   Ruth feels a kinship to the Red rock and the mountain buttes.  Me?  Well, I am amused by the rest stop signs.  I know weird right?  Somewhere in this area, they start to warn you for snakes and scorpions… great!  I have to admit to Ruth that it is some beautiful country. .. perhaps someday… I ponder as I fall asleep all safe and cozy at my Las Cruses KOA.

Until next time... Peace, Luv, and Sweet Dreams,

barbie

Sea Turtle!

Dry Tortugas National Park

The Tortugas, Spanish for turtles, is a cluster of seven islands… overgrown mangroves on coral reefs really… The isles, like its transient pirate inhabitant, have little integrity yet hoards of treasure hidden just under the surface.

It is an isolated outpost more than 70 nautical miles off the coast of Key West home to pirates, explorers, soldiers, immigrants, prisoners, and now researchers and tourists. It is accessible only by boat or seaplane.

We wish we had taken the later after our voyage out. The swells were wide and deep and the hour and a half trip was stretched into to three. I was starting to dread my decision to take this trip. Luckily the crew was quick to assist those in need. By the time we spotted the fortress on the horizon the entertaining snorkeling instructions and video had turned our attention to coral reefs, rare birds, and tropical fish.

Some opted to tour Fort Jefferson, while others of us headed straight for the beach and to snorkel the coral reefs. Unfortunately the previous days’ storm and the winds kept the waters murky and the fish hidden from view… not to mention that the water temperature was a wee bit chilly for my thin Florida blood. The birders were quite happy. Over 70 species of bird were identified including two from Cuba. No passport required.

Fort Jefferson and its moat all but covers the island but for a small strip of beach, the boat dock, and room for less than a dozen primitive campsites.

Can you imagine the starry constellations at night? I think I would be too excited to sleep.

All in all a good day and another National Park checked off my bucket list!

PS.  Key West was fun too. 

Everglades... a subtle beauty

The Florida Everglades are in the beautiful category… albeit it a subtle beauty… a beauty that is often left behind. It doesn’t have the sweeping beauty of palm trees, white sandy beaches, or tropical hibiscus blooming. You have to look more closely. I knew this already. I came looking for textures and the lighting.

Most visitors are attracted by its reputation rather than its good looks. The attraction is its danger. It has alligators, venomous snakes, and panthers. Of course the Ibis and Herons are really cool too but it is truly the gators and crocks that most people come to see.


They get what they came for… and I got and unexpected treat.


The treat was audible. The everglades began to chatter. Really! As we walked the dogs down the path the clucking, chirping and squawks rose in the air. It seemed to roll over the dense flora fauna that had become a natural border between the everglade wilderness and the safe harbor of our campground.  

A rather large number of birds began to hold court. I imagine them discussing the day’s events.  It must have been an eventful day. It was loud... but sweet. For me it was amazingly soothing. It was more like a collective song. Perhaps it was a concert… Even our dogs ignored them and went about their business. We continued our stroll down the perimeter path and the aviary caucus faded off behind us.


30 minutes later we had circled around to the same spot but the symphony was in repose. A few stray conversations popping up here and there. But for the most part matters of state were settled, chorus was over, and the birds had retired for the evening.


It was an amazing brief moment of beauty.


Peace, Luv, and Song Birds,
 
barbie, ruth, stella, and brando

I Believe

This time of year is my favorite. I am eager and anxious to greet the winter holiday. 

Even though… I overhear many an unrepented Scrooge “bah humbug” the season; and why not I suppose… It’s the one holiday that we start counting down the days to before the embers of the previous Yule log have waned. It is over commercialized, over materialized and satirized.

Of course this is not a 21^st century invention, we just perfected its abuse. Christians turned the Roman’s pagan holiday of Saturnalia into Christmas in the name of a higher conversion rate… and Nicholas was just nice benevolent old man with a fine reputation that continued to grow until we turned him into a Macy’s marketing plan. Blah, blah, blah…

Yet, I eagerly await its and his arrival because I believe...

I believe in the kindness and generosity that Christmas seems to elicit.

I believe in the aroma of kinship rising from the dinner table.

I believe in the laughter that escapes out the door as another friend arrives to join the frivolities and twinkly lights reflecting hope in the snow…or in my case sand.

I believe… and I hope… that I can find a way to keep it in my heart all year.

Peace, Luv, and Holidays,

barbie

The Procrastination Pod

Last week I was sorting again… seems like I am always sorting out something. Paring down, thinning out… does one’s life really need to be so organized? I suppose it does when you travel light. This should really be the last of it (says my left brain) oh no it’s not (says my right brain). Sorting is a lifelong process...

The storage box was in the yard when we arrived last night. In the dark the 6 by 10 box loomed large… burdeness… foreshadowing the emotional choices yet to be made. There is no putting it off. Both finances and schedule required me to address… “the procrastination pod.”

We save/store for many reasons. In the procrastination pod goes our unwillingness to decide, our refusal to accept, our unrequited amour for the inanimate objects representing animated moments. I will need this… later. I need to keep this. I’ll fit into that after… I can’t let go of… blah, blah, blah, and we stuff it all in the pod postponing the decision for another day.

The Procrastination Pod” for some is arduous. Some people meticulously sort and select items to for retention while for others, no sorting is required… if it fits - it stores. Regardless of your personal process, in the end, the door swings closed, the lock clicks, and the precious along with the not so precious cargo is driven off to an undisclosed local. In my imagination it is delivered to a happy little subdivision with many other pods that all look the same. Somewhere just past Timbuktu and around the corner the Isle of Misfits. I could go on and on but that’s another blog entirely...

Anyway…

Somewhere down the road another day arrives bringing the procrastination pod with it. The prodigal pod has been returned. My initial reaction upon seeing it was anxious excitement for all the good stuff I must have kept... followed by, emotional in trepidation, a little resignation for the task at hand, and finally excitement again.

It took me the entire next day to go through, sort, divide, and conquer. Time eases many things, including decisions. I kinda felt like I was in a reality show. Somewhere between “Clean House”, “Cash in the Attic”, and “This is Your Life”…my own personal Twilight Zone.

Due to previously commitments for Ruth, my task was a solitary one. I really didn’t mind other than it meant revisiting some boxes that were not mine to sort. I shed a few tears over a few photographs of people I miss… living and passed. Prompting me to make phone calls to those I could. Just chatting with some and actually making plans with others. Was it yet another delay tactic? It is hard to tell.

I also found myself laughing. Really laughing… Picture it: I was sitting on the front porch floor with a corrugated landscape of cardboard in all directions. I was reading greeting cards that we had sent to each other (almost weekly back then) when our hearts overflowed with the mere site of each other. One tickled me, I threw my head back in laughter and hit my head on a box top mountain. I was jolted back to the present. I quickly surveyed the land beyond my nook to insure I was still alone. “Was I talking to myself? Was I talking out loud? The coast was clear. Feeling secure in the knowledge that I was still alone I recovered my self-abandon and delved back to my nostalgic reality show. I continued through the day without too many commercial breaks/message from my sponsors.

Eventually, my “Procrastination Pod” show had to come to an end; door shut for the last time, empty, hollow, and ready to be returned to once it came. I envision it on stand-by waiting to be delivered to someone else. Ready to be neatly stacked with crates of someone else’s deferred decisions… Piled with someone else’s reality show in the making. Opening date: tba,

Peace, Luv, and Sorting,

barbie 

Significant Scribblings Before Dawn…

How do we know what we are destine for? How do we know what Greatness we can achieve? I don’t… how can we? says the voice inside my head. But don’t tell that to my heart. My heart tells me I have something inside me that is bursting to get out. It always has. Perhaps “greatness” is not the right word. Greatness is a big word. Greatness to me sounds monumental, too big. I think Significant is more likely the word I am looking for. Significant has enough consideration but feels more singular, more personally noteworthy with enough room to color outside the lines.
   

When I was a kid. I would dream of ideas, or stories, or little vignettes. I would tell some to my best friend, some I wrote down, but mostly they lived in my head. They still do actually… 
   

I imagine a village of short stories, blogs, and poems. Tome Alley has cats and rats feasting on overstuffed trash cans of discarded concepts. Lanes with lawns to sprawl out on or picnic or write my painted pony. And if you know me, you know that my village has gardens full of unruly misspellings and dangling prepositions poking their heads through picket fences.
  

That neighborhood is sometimes forgotten. Adulthood can do that. We race through childhood, where kids rule and imagination is Queen of Prose and Poetry. Followed by adolescences, where I was absolutely convinced everything drama around me was the end of the world and/or the next best seller. And then adulthood, where most of us move to the suburbs of our brains… the neighborhood where we rewrite ourselves right into middle age mediocrity with perfectly paved walkways of reason without rhyme. Copy cats nibble on excessive punctuation, and of course the verge is neatly trimmed of its fragmented sentences. 
   

But I feel lucky. I wonder back occasionally. If just for a few moments before dawn, I take a stroll through the old streets. And to my delight if no one else’s, I drown myself in an excess of alliteration and hyperbole. This blog is just such a wondering. 
   

And who knows? A significant scribbling could be just around the corner.

TaWanda!: Here Kitty Kitty…

TaWanda!: Here Kitty Kitty…

Here Kitty Kitty…

This winter we have been offered a different path. Instead of returning Otwon we have joined the Naples Marco Island KOA in SW Florida.

It has been 25+ years since I have lived in a coastal Florida town not to mention a town surrounded by a nature preserve. There are a few things I remember but would rather not encounter... like alligators, no see-m’s, and rattlesnakes. Then there are a few I am not accustom to… armadillos, bobcats, and panthers.

Really! Cats! Big Ones! I was a little freaked out. I had traded hawks and bears of Maine for gators and cats!

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Florida… and to my sunshine native sisters like Lucy, Barb, and Dixie: I have not turned into a whining Yankee, I promise. Cross my heart! But Panthers and Bobcats? Really? I have dogs. Little dogs!

I had been forewarned by a few co-workers to be careful at night and not to let my dogs out by themselves. OK, this freaked me out a little more. Then, I realized I was getting my information from snowbirds… I would generalize and call them all Yankees but one couple is from Georgia (say no more about them Dawgs; lol) and another in from Carolina. Both would cut off my head if I called them a Yankees. So I suppose there is a difference between the “South” and “South Florida”. I needed the 411 from a local… a year round resident.

They are easy to spot. They are the ones in flip flops and a rugged tan. They informed me that although indeed there were critters to be concerned about… they had never seen the “cats” here at the KOA. And the rest was common sense Florida… which fortunately we have.

We have been here a week now and so far have only seen a raccoon or two… or three… or ten. I figure if there are coons around then the gators must not be. And the biggest issue we have is with the” no see-um’s” Help! Does anyone have remedy?

PS. Secretly I am hoping for a glimpse of a “Cat”. But that may have to wait for a trip to the Glades.

Until then… Peace, Luv, and Dreams of Cats, Here kitty, kitty…

Me and Dr. Seuss Recall the Season

I took a summer hiatus from blogging. I’m not sure why… part of me said that this was a travel blog and we have transitioned from traveling to lifestyle. But then again, we are still kind of wondering about the country. So this blog is a catch-up blog of sorts.

We had a great summer... more often than not captured in a digital pictorial format so I am going with that and will try to use my words sparingly.

One flower two flower red flower white flower

Pink flower, blue flower old flower… new

What would my blog be without just a few

~

One sign two sign old sign bold sign

Some tell you where to go; some tell you what to know

From there to here, from here to there, interesting signs everywhere.

~

One friend two friends; straight friend gay friend

Some have two feet and some have four

My peeps, my family, my country and more

~

Where do they come from?

I cannot say.

But most have come a long, long way

~

The summer came, the summer went

A New England welcome to all was sent

So come to see us where ever we are

Where ever we are, near or far

~

Still not sure of what to think?

Then check out the pictures by following the link

http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=Tjzsr7vy-NSFNdE_E_K-V&_=1

You might be a Lezbakistanian

The other day we watched the comedy special called “Blue Collar something and something…” with Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable guy, and a couple of others. Some of it was prepubescent male humor that we didn’t laugh at but some of it was darn right lyao… anyway… subconsciously it must have rubbed off on us. Because… we were driving down the highway in our RV and we saw this sign at a Golden Corral. All it said was catering available. And I instantly blurt out. If Golden Coral catered your last wedding, you might be a redneck!

Well,… that is all it takes for me to get thinking… I knew right then and there that it was a blog waiting to happen. Not the redneck part though… the “you might be” part. So for those of you that were hoping to hear about how pretty the dogwood were in South Carolina or how the morning dew glistened on the 1st Tee, will just have to wait for another blog.

This blog is call “You might be a Lezbakistanian. “ Yes dear friends, Lezbakistanian, not just lesbians. Lesbian is too general, too undefined. Lesbakistan is a country Pedro likes to call “our people”. It is loosely defined as the womyn we know… and friends of the womyn we know… and some relatives, and some neighbors, while others might be more comfortable with the term honorary Lezbakistanian. I could try to define or describe us more but I will let the blog do it for me.

• If you know how Pedro got her name… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you have ever worn a feather boa golfing… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you can name all three queens... you might be...
• If you have seen a certain County Commissioner in drag… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you are a Z-Ho… you are a Lezbakistanian.
• If you played dirty Santa and the top “prize” of the night is a tie between a Home Depot gift card and Ms Claus T-back panties… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• Hell… If you earned a toaster oven in Orlando “before the new millennium”… you might be a Lezbakistanian.

I could go on but I am sure some of you may have your own to share. Please feel free to add them to the comment section below or send them to me for future blog consideration.

Peace, Luv, and Marshmella Biscuitte w/2 tt’s,

barbie

A Circuitous Path through Georgia

On our way to the land of lobster… albeit a circuitous path… the destination for the summer season is Bar Harbor again this year. But the path in which many travel vicariously seems to be the one less traveled... or at least some of it.

The first stop Jekyll Island. This is a familiar stop and one well traveled… at least for us. It is our stop in which we “get fixin’, to get ready, to go.” Translation to Yankee: it is the place we go to get our minds and our rig back on the road. And of course do a little golfing. This year was no exception and we also got to witness Heather’s maiden solo voyage with her camper with Grandma in tow for moral support. You go girl! For those that have not been to JI, it is one of Georgia’s best kept secrets to get away from the crowds with ample options of fun or just chilling. It really is all good.

From there, we decided to head up into the GA hills and try another state park. We heard tell of a number of parks that have golf courses called “state resort parks” and we went off to find one. Hard Labor Park east of Atlanta and south of Athens is where we ended up. It is pretty spectacular.

Rv people notes: Water and Electric the sites are beautiful, level, and easy to get in. There are some pull thrus for those that need them but the better sites are deeper into the park and are back-in’s. Dump available. Good showers and bathrooms.

The rest of the notes: Cell service, Wi-Fi, and TV are a few miles up the road in a quaint town of Madison. The café / diner have a wonderful breakfast and is well worth venturing out to one morning. There are lakes throughout the park, 26 miles of hiking and equestrian trails. I was also surprised to find that there were campsites with the horse stables. Very cool.

The golf on the other hand is promising. The golf pro promised us birdies. We saw plenty… just not on our scorecard. For those of us used to the flat lands of Florida, the hills were challenging but great fun. We play two balls off and on the entire 18 because during the week it was not busy. And the azaleas and dogwoods blooming fulfilled the nature lover in me.

As for the name, Hard Labor State Park. My imagination conjured up visions of chain gangs and a voice in my head is saying “what we have here is a failure to communicate”… both would be my imagination at work. The truth is that it got its name by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s when they built a variety of parks in Georgia and it was the place where they hewn the trees which was “hard labor”.

So while the name is not enticing the beauty of the park is… and we’ll be back.

Peace Love and Georgia, barbie

march, marCH, MARCH!!!

At first I wasn’t sure how to feel about this Equality March in DC. I’ve done quite of few protests for various causes including Gay Rights, Women’s Rights, Lesbian Rights, Reproductive Rights, AIDS/HIV Health, blah, blah, blah… I’ve gotten a little apathetic, a little cynical, a little out of shape. My Marching muscles (both physical and mental) needed a boot camp or at least a pep rally.

Walking through DuPont Circle district on Saturday was it. Not because we walked for about a gazillion miles nor because the streets were strewn with rainbow flags or because my gaydar was beeping non-stop. The shot in my arm was that is was none of this. The shot in the arm was the normalness of the scene. The streets were filled with tourist, window shoppers, and friends laughing at cafe tables. You had to look closer to see that it was a predominantly gay crowd. This is what normal life looks like for all of us, gay or straight. We have come so far…

The next day at the March it was very much the same. Oh there were signs, and chants, and cheers for all the colorful queers… but for the most part gone were the Drag Queens, gone were Chap clad boy toys, and the radical spike dykes beating drums from previous Marches. We didn’t need those to get noticed. We are not just a fringe community with a few that feel brave enough to show our faces… we are mainstream! We are your neighbors, your bank teller, your grocer’, your pharmacist, and postal workers, all marching without the fear. We are the baby boomer survivors refusing to give up struggle… and we are the students that have picked up the torch and assumed the struggle.

One neo-nuclear family mom pushing a stroller said to me that she was marching in hopes that “her daughter would not inherit the struggle.”

The signs over head say it many ways but the message was singular. EQUALITY… EQUALITY… EQUALITY…!

And if a picture is worth a thousand words… here are a whole bunch for you. click here for my slideshow or click here for individual photos

Peace, Luv, and Equality for All, barbie

Drive By Fall

Fall arrives early in New England. As we readied for our departure from Mt Desert Isle, fall showed up. It’s like the curtain went up for the third act and the scenery change was a shock. It should not have been… if the soggy first act “Spring”had not been foreboding enough, then surely the every so brief appearance of Summer in the second should have been all the warning we needed. But not us, our oblivion we complete as we were too swept up with the story to notice the back drop. So here we are, with (for now) the best seat in the house/country and the pictures to prove it… albeit from the rig and its balcony view.

Enjoy.

PS. The encore of pictures is Portland, Maine which we found to be an amusing town as well as the home of Longfellow.

Peace, Luv, and Crimson Colors, barbie

Photo link: http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=jmoofKTU3eXcxVQhPr9H8&_=1

Exploring more of Acadia: Schoodic Point

Schoodic Point is part of the Acadia National Park… probably 10 min’s by boat 40 min’s by car. I’ve have pretty much ignored it thus far. There has definitely been enough to keep my attention here on the “mainland” of Acadia.

Which is what I heard a Ranger call it… which makes no sense since the “mainland” is an island where the bulk of the donated Acadia lands are concentrated. The remainder of what is not the “mainland of Acadia” or the islands of Acadia is actually on the mainland… primarily on Schoodic peninsula and a few islands dotted off the coast. Confusing I know.. anyway…

My bro-in-law gave me a book, (which until now) I had forgotten about. Now I am curious to unwrap some of the history that makes the Schoodic peninsula unique. Of course the day we tooled down the Schoodic – The National Scenic Byway, it was pretty much fogged in. I am beginning to think that the fog is a plot... a master Mainer plot to limit the tourist from the outer reaches, thus keeping it protected and safe. The misty Sheppard herds the masses back to Bar Harbor where they are fed lobster rolls and sold Down east trinkets and t- shirts. Only the persistent traveler (and those with days to wait) are rewarded for their patience with glimpses of her coastline. Today was now our day.

But I am not one to be deterred… I find other things to look at. What ended up catching my attention were a few old edifices and some mid-century signage. Route 1 from Hancock, Sullivan and all the various Gouldsboro kept my attention… making mental notes of places to stop for photos on the return trip. Prior to entering the official Acadia Park, we passed thru the town of Winter Harbor. Once a hob-knobby spot now a well worn working harbor and front porch artisans. Our intention was to stop for lunch as either Chase’s or the Fisherman’s Inn (both recommended by a local) but the fried fare was not what we were looking for and mostly what they were serving.

We moved on to the one-way park loop of Schoodic. It was serene and peaceful although limited in the scenic scope as I mentioned earlier, we enjoyed it none the less. We also found a small primitive campground that is limited to single overnights that would be a tenter’s paradise. Each of the 10 sites has a well banked campfire pit overlooking the bay, no electricity. The parking, fresh water, and the flushing commodes are far enough away to keep it quiet.

The remainder of the loop road ribbons its way the length of the coast with a watery view popping out of the mist occasionally… very occasionally. We found ourselves heading back up the other side of the peninsula and Prospect Harbor. Once again limited for desirable food options, we pressed onward to Route 1 for the return trip. Lucky for us, one of the mental notes Ruth had made was a Mexican Restaurant in a log cabin on Rt 1.

(It is interesting to observe that Ruth’s mental notes almost always encompass food or golf while mine often focus on architecture and wildlife… all in all, a find complement to one another I would think… although hers are much handier)

Happily we found it and it was called “The Mexican Restaurant” (go figure) run by an Honduran woman. The food was excellent and had a few Central America influences for those that are a bit adventurous such as: Honduran Tamale with fish and peas in banana leaves and Hurachita a rice based drink that was pleasant but a bit too sweet. In the end our main entrée was a quesadilla of chicken and cheese accompanied by beans and rice… all very yummy!

The remainder of our outing was filled with retracing our steps to capture previously noted photo opts golf course called Bonnie Blink. All in all a good day.

Photos:http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=PLUtcUJodOv2KyD0oOgdA&_=1

Peace, Luv, and New England Tamales,  barbie

Maine Show Off Its Beauty

It was one beautiful day upon Pedro and Mel’s arrival. They could not have picked a better day to arrive on the island. Low 80’s, sunshine, slight breeze… just Beautiful!

They had to take it all in quick cuz around here just as suddenly as summer arrives… it can slips away. Kinda like slipping away in the night Like the Van Trapps’ pushing the car down the driveway to escape over the Alps… Headlights pierce the chilly night… the gastopo (Pedro) was here to stopo summer from disappearing before we could get a good week of gallivant among the floral/fauna and then it was “So Long, Farewell, Aufwiedersehn, Adeiu”

Well before the leaves fall, I should say a few words about their visit. Insanely busy! Pretty much from the moment they arrived until the frantic moment they left… and that is another crazy story… but I digress. I’ll get back to that later.

These two were hiking fools. Not that I blame them… there are so many great hikes of all levels in Acadia that this truly in a hiker’s paradise. They started with the dome of Cadillac Mt the afternoon they got here, Jordan’s Pond Loop the next day, then a non-specific carriage trail (they have no idea where they where… just happy to find the car), followed by the Sand Beach stretch and up Gorham Mountain, and finished with a morning climb to the Beach/Canadian Cliffs. That’s 5 out of 6 days. Not to mention they golfed twice, toured Acadia by car, a carriage ride, a lighthouse tour via the water ways, dinner and lunch in Bar Harbor, ample shopping, a few campfires, a cribbage tournament, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree! I don’t think I wouldn’t have to try very hard to get the twelve days of Xmas… Oh that might be scarey… the twelve days of Pedro? No, I won’t go there.

I saved the best for last of course… There could be no visit without at least one calamity… we are talking Carlette here! The morning of their departure, we are buzzing around the rig having a leisurely breakfast of banana nut pancakes and Vermont syrup while the girls are packing and showering. It was a buzz but a slow buzz. Plenty of time… Carlette asks Ruth to check on her plane to see if it is on time etc… When Ruth notices that the time was about 30 minutes earlier than what Carlette has been saying all week. Suddenly our pace went from la te da to a frantic get in the fr@%king car pace!

To make matters worse, there is heavy construction on the first half of the 44 miles to the airport. I am driving as fast as I dare, with Carlette asking me to floor it. I am making senseless conversation… anything to get Carlette’s brain on a different track. All while I was trying not to kill the little construction dudes with the flippin’ slow signs on the side of the road. In the end, a ride that should have taken us 60 minutes lasted 90… actually 89. Pedro leaps from the car and runs in to “check in” with literally one minute to spare. We arrived at 12:44 for a 1:15 flight. Way too close!. As they are whisked away to board the plane I waved a fond “So Long, Farewell, Aufwiedersehn, Adieu".

So there you have it… summer and Pedro arrived in their own good time, scurried around for a while, and without a moments to spare disappeared.

Soon we to will migrate, but not until the leaves start to burst with color… Alas, that is another blog and until then…

For a better look at the photos and captions click here: http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=pJmofCEp44u3FcjvL31cd&_=1

Peace, luv, and mountain trails, barbie

Who's Who on the Rock

There have been a few famous people that have lived or I should say “summered” on the island over the years. Rockefellers, Fords, JP Morgan, the Vanderbilts, Astor’s, President Taft, L.L.Bean, John Travolta, E.B White, Dan Folgelberg, and currently the reigning queen of all “Good Things, Martha Stewart. She is the topic of much fodder here on the island… that is… fonder among the not so rich and not so famous DownEast locals.

• But only when pressed, most often they would prefer to ignore her existence all together, just as they have other celebrities throughout the centuries. (Mainers as I may have mentioned before are quite tight lipped.)

• It amazes me that Mainers think nothing of strolling through one of the premier National Parks created by their land donations without once letting a notable name pass their lips. Unless perhaps, if a helicopter should fly a wee bit low over a certain seal swimming harbor in route to the jetport. Then perhaps you might hear, “Mable said her ankle bracelet keeps her limited to the old cottage”

• Translation: At least Martha keeps her ass on the estate and doesn’t wonder through the park anymore.

• Mainer’s will also staunchly defend tradition... even when it makes no sense.

• For example: Mable’s family has been employed at the “cottage” and its adjoining acreage for generations. Once owned by the Fords, each fall Uncle Cliff shovels the pink granite gravel from the carriage way and stores it in the garage for the winter. This may sound ludicrous or at least a typical sample of Martha’s vulgar opulence. Not so says Mable, storing the driveway in garage has been done forever… not shoveling it would be ludicrous.

• But that’s not what I intended to talk about in this blog. It was the architecture… more specifically the architecture of the afore mentioned rich and famous. We took a tour of the Lighthouses surrounding the island but I was way more interested in the cottages... a euphemism for mansions. I loved how each home is strategically hidden from view from anywhere on the island. Rockefeller started this tradition when he built his home and the horse carriage trails… as to not spoil what nature had perfected.

• But on our boat tour all/each is revealed… uniquely styled to take advantage of its uniquely gorgeous granite perch. I would love to give you a narration along with the pictorial tour but truthfully I can’t remember which is which. Suffice to say there are a couple Rockefeller’s, an Astor, a few Ford’s and Martha’s etc, etc, etc…

• Enjoy!
• Oh yeah, a few lighthouses too.
• Here's the link to the photos http://picasaweb.google.com/wanda.climbs.the.shenandoah/RichUp2?feat=directlink

Peace, Luv, and Little Pink Pebbles,

barbie

Top Ten Things about my Summer in Maine

Before you begin let me assure you that this is a short and sweet blog... unlike Uncle Joe's slide show of his trip to... where ever he went. Zzzzzz.....

Top 10 Best Things I love about my Summer

1. Campfires and Cribbage – time with my honey


2. Lobsters – soft shells, steamed in salty ocean water


3. My best Golf game ever, Lucerne Golf Club


4. Lucerne Golf Course – my best golf game ever


5. Hiking Beach Cliffs – my new fav thanks to Rickie for finding it


6. Lobster and Fresh Mussels from our beach - Yum


7. Mainers – collectively all of them


8. The Margaret Todd – her sails, her full figure sails…

I’ve been trying to compile a top ten list about my summer. I am stuck at number 8… The first few flew out of my head like Emeril Lagassi’s Bam!... Bam Bam Bam!

Now… no Bam…


Then it dawns on me that my summer isn’t over yet… and there is some kinda cosmic force trying to keep me in the Present… in the Moment... the Here and Now. That is really the most challenging concept to practice. Think about it. We either rehash or over analyze or we spend days planning schedules, our vacations, our futures… until our present is one big planning or lessons learned session. Well snap out of it girl!

I have 6 weeks left in Maine. Heather, Mel, and Carlette have yet to visit; I have a hike to get to this morning.

Snap! Just in time too, Brando almost peed on my foot trying to get my attention. I really zone out sometimes. (leave it alone Pedro).

Peace, Luv, and Full Sails, barbie

Sister, Sister! My fun loving sister Mary has just left and I am sad… and exhausted. Note to self: I am working and can’t keep up with the vacation club. There is a fine line between keeping your guest entertained and losing yourself in tourist Never, Neverland…

…because Bar Harbor Neverland is whama jamma full of fun!

with hikes, bikes, and karaoke mikes.

Buses, boats, and blueberry floats

Lobsters, puffins, and popover muffins

Canoes, kayaks, and my aching back

Carriage rides, high tides, and t-shirts that are tie-dyed

Seals, Whales, and endless Trails

Fishing, fountains, and Cadillac Mountain

Lighthouses, Lumberjacks, overstuffed backpacks

Campfires and cribbage… and we haven’t even golfed yet!

Alliteration and rhyming aside, we had a grand time and we loved having her… and all our family and friends that came to visit this year.

Of course we didn’t do All the things while she was here but a few of our favorites we enjoyed were watching the meteor showers from the top of Cadillac Mountain, the Acadian Island boat tour: We saw a fledgling eagle take her first flight, 2+ lb Lobsters at the Down East “Pound” for dinner, and golfing at Lucerne.

So now we have returned to our normal routine of campfires and cribbage with a hike and a little golf thrown in there occasionally. That is until Heather arrives in two week!

Peace, Luv, and Lobster Claws, Barbie

PS. I almost forgot the Lobster Pound question… which at this point is a little anti-climatic. The real meaning behind calling it a “pound” is much less entertaining than the “Wait, wait, don’t tell me” versions and the subsequent submissions from the peanut gallery. But a promise is a promise, so the boring but yummy truth of which you may have guessed is that the roadside Lobster Pound restaurants

“Sells Lobster By the Lb.”

PSS. Sign/Saying of the day: “While golfing I spent so much time in the trees that I figured I be oughta take up hunting”

More Pictures: http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=7y9jClF-1ztTkBY46l8oq&_=1

Fun, Family and Frivolities

The Herwerden clan was here as you might have guessed by reading the last blog. But a footnote on “Lobster Pound” surely isn’t enough (and don’t call me Shirley) and the day by day diatribe of their summer vacation seems a big much… so perhaps a pictorial portrayal. Enjoy.



Peace, Love, and Summer Vacations, barbie

And the Tails under the Sea continue... theory # 4

guest contributor: Joanne "Ariel" Berens

This is also a well-documented series of events that led up to the terminology ‘Lobster Pound’ prevalent in Maine. The early settlers of the coastal region of Maine were mainly composed of fisherman (and hardy fisherwomen). It was a harsh environment, but one that kept their communities fed. Fishing nets were mainly used to capture the many and abundant varieties of fish and all were prosperous and well in coastal Maine. Until, of course, the nets became snagged and damaged by a strange creature in the deep. In modern times we know that there are certain migratory patterns that have been followed for centuries by certain animals. The settlers, however, were quite unsettled by this and concerned with their livelihood. Many meetings ensued and the angry settlers decided to round up these strange creatures that were entangled in the nets and burn them, similar to witch hunts and burning at the stake ceremonies. This would surely send the message to the powers who watched over the seas that they were making this offering in appeasement. Well, the net damage continued as well as the burnings until one very disastrous season when food was scarce after a very harsh winter, the ones that Maine is famous for. On the very next burn, the adult settlers were aghast as dozens of the hungry children risked physical danger by reaching into the fire to pull out what we now know as crustaceans, or lobsters, and commenced tearing the hard shells apart and eating what was now succulent meat. Adults, just as hungry, decided to partake as well and all left with full bellies and happy smiles. As word spread about this delicious, abundant new food source, the elders once again convened to discuss the events that were taking place. On the one hand, the new food named lobster was destroying the fisherman’s nets and supplies to repair and make new nets were running low. And on the other hand, they wanted to continue to capture this new sea creature that kept their hunger at bay. Many of these folks had visited out West where on the vast plains cattle grazed. When it came time for the cattle to become tomorrow’s food they were herded into confines while they awaited their fate. Well, the elders thought that this concept would work under the sea and put in place a plan to ‘herd’ the lobsters into a confined area. So the settlers collectively built a huge underwater holding pen built of scrap horseshoe material. They had several ideas on how to persuade the lobsters in the correct direction and into the trap. The one that they decided they could accomplish efficiently was to have all the fisherman’s boats loaded with long steel poles with a big plate on the end of it. Then they formed a line and ‘pounded’ the poles on the bottom of the sea thus making the lobsters scurry towards the pen that they had built. [insert: Kinda Oceanic Monster Mash] It was a huge success! It became a tradition long after the technology changed and today it is commonly known as going to the lobster ‘pound’.

Hhmmmmm.... It could happen.

PS. If this makes no sense to you... you may need to go back and read a blog or two. :)