The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

My "most wonderful time of the year" is Autumn,  mid-September through mid-October when the leaves are in various stages of color, the lakes have a lazy morning fog hanging about til the sun peaks through, revealing all manner of water fowl, fish, fishermen, and fearless, hungry ducks. The mountains are ablaze with color and one has only to walk outside to feel the snap of a crisp Fall day,  ripe apples falling from our four apple trees and my house fragrant with home made apple sauce and apple pie. Geese and loons are contemplating their winter journey south but still hanging about for a last fattening up from the bounties of Summer. My husband and I usually take day trips staying close to home for spectacular local color.  This year was different. Recovered from respective Spring surgeries, we were ready to hit the road.

First stop was Frenchman's Bay between two of the three Acadias. We spent a week hiking, biking and exploring the territory in what is regionally known as Down East.  Warm weather, mostly sunny days and spectacular natural surroundings made this trip memorable.

The 163rd Fryeburg Fair, "Maine's Blue Ribbon Classic", came to town late September.  This is the largest agricultural fair in New England home to blue ribboned farm animals, a large midway with fair food and endless rides, woodsmen's day, sled dragging, harness racing.  People watching is the best part.

 

Schoodic Point, Acadia National Park, Maine  September

 

Acadia National Park, Mt. Desert Island    September

 

 

 

 Morning fog on Back Lake, Pittsburg N.H. October

 

 

 Cole Scott Sunset shoot 

Schoodic Point  September

 

 

 

"A Fast Pace" by Cole Scott

Harness Racing at the 2013 Fryeburg Fair in Maine

October

 

Fryeburg Fair midway at dusk 2013
 by Dick Pollock

 

The Grand Theater in Ellsworth, Maine

September 2013

 



Next stop was Coos (pronounced coh-oz) County, New Hampshire, an unspoiled country of rolling hills, spectacular lakes, rivers, forest, hunting, fishing, snowmobiling in winter and now home to the brand new Ride the Wilds ATV park, over 1000 miles of trails in New Hampshire and Southern Quebec. We took an entire day to ATV a very small portion in a Polaris Razor known as a two-up.  What a rush that was!  It was like being on a very scary ride or rollercoaster for over 40 miles.  Not for the faint of heart.  We got stuck twice and they had to winch us out of mud and logging trail ruts in two different places.  It was a gorgeous warm sunny day so no problem.  I do not have photographs of this trip, having dropped and broken my new camera while in Acadia.

 

Here is a link to a newly produced TV feature on this not-to-be-missed part of my state.  

There's No Place Like Home

"I've lived so many places in my life and times..."

Yes, I share that with Leon Russell.  My husband and I have lived in LA, San Diego, Utah high desert, Lexington KY, Richmond VA, now the White Mountains of N.H.

My favorite place is and always has been San Diego.  It's where I finished college,  lived in my twenties after a divorce and moved back again in my late thirties with a husband and two toddlers.  It is the most perfect place I've ever lived.  Why?  The weather is gorgeous, mean annual temps hover at 68 degrees.  It's dry, it's beachy, it's home.

I was always grateful to be there.  Every day was a gift.  I would awaken, more often than not, to a sunshiny, temperate day of blue skies, soft ocean breezes and unlimited outdoor recreational opportunities.  I learned to play racquetball and tennis and badminton.  I body surfed.  I  rode bikes, swam, soaked up the sun.  I played softball.  It was almost effortless.  Being young can be effortless.   As I've aged, I realize how important that warm, temperate weather is.

What sticks with me?  The friends I made and still retain; some date back to college.  Most, however, were during my first "corporate" job in advertising.  It was a fertile time for twenty-somethings, working in the same fun-filled atmosphere of a cutting edge marketing department where we were encouraged to think outside the box and to always have a great time.  We traveled together in a pack, all of us unmarried, in our prime (so we thought) and not too serious.  Weekly movie excursions to large theaters with large screens allowed us to analyze and argue each and every frame.  Concerts, another go-to as most of us could get tickets for free from the local radio and tv stations with whom we advertised.  We spent big bucks.  It was an unspoken quid pro quo.  So were  Padres baseball, Charger football, San Diego State football, all three played in the accomodating centrally located Jack Murphy Stadium.  The Volvo Tennis Tour played in Balboa Park for years; the Virginia Slims played La Costa.   Outdoor concerts with fabulous entertainers on Shelter Island or at the Marina made summer evenings fly.  Happy hours on the beach in iconic restaurants where we'd stop after work and relax, watch the sun settle over the ocean, and embrace what the weekend might offer.

San Diego was once a sleepy town comprised of  fabulous beaches, the world class San Diego Zoo,  in  the world class Balboa Park, iconic restaurants, outstanding Mexican food at every price point, beautifully preserved architecture from the turn of the century (a rarity in SoCal), an excellent Amtrak system, an excellent freeway system and an easy-going attitude.  People were friendly and unpretentious (unlike LA).  I've been gone 15 years and no longer know if this holds true.  Once San Diego developed thriving biotech and internet-related industries, LA folk started moving south, developers began paving paradise and we left..  That said, it held true for the 25 years between college and raising my sons when I moved in and out of there three times.

I haven't been home in 5 years.  Physical liabilities, timing, other have prevented my taking that once a year trip.  I am homesick, no doubt about it.  This is going to be the year I go home, see my friends, walk on my favorite beaches, eat real Mexican food, soak in the sun and the salt air.  My heart won't let me stay away any longer.  

This is in response to a writing prompt on "imaginary garden with real toads"

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Secret Invitation

My mutually shared 60th birthday began as a secret; a secret invitation sent out by my husband to a large group of our friends.

He wanted to surprise me for my birthday by taking a villa in Tuscany to share with our friends.  It's something we've always talked about and he decided somebody needed to take the bull by the horns and investigate the possibilities.

He researched the best months to go, the available properties, whether to get a staff or go "bare boat".  He put together the plan, sent it out and asked them to come, to celebrate in Italy.  It wasn't just about my birthday, there were at least 8 of us turning 60.  It was also about shared friendship.      

He planned it with 9 months lead time thinking that would be enough.  It wasn't.

Out of 20+ invitations, only one person responded she would go.  One said she'd try, the rest were either a flat no or they'd get back to him..  But they never did.  He was crushed.  He never told me.  I didn't know anything about it.

I accidentally found out in the midst of the New Orleans plans.  His trip idea sparked a smaller, shorter, more manageable excursion but it was also more cliquey and not all-inclusive.  One of the women organizing this trip let it slip to me that it was "all Scott's doing."  When I asked what she meant, the cat was out of the bag.

My husband is a thoughtful man.  He loves a surprise.  For his 40th, I surprised him by kidnapping him to Mexico, booking a beautiful hotel in Ensenada where all our friends, at least 14 of them, were waiting.  He's also had a few surprise parties over the years but  I've shunned them for myself.  A few years ago, however, I expressed the desire to really celebrate sixty.  He obviously did not forget.

He was hurt by the lack of response from our friends.  He thought there would be enough of a consensus, say four or five couples, to put it together.  Once I knew and was able to discuss with him, I empathized but told him he shouldn't have too many expectations of friends.  It's often a shifting street, a slippery slope.

It all worked out.  But wouldn't it have been magical to take that villa in the golden hills of Toscana?   We'll get there together.

You know what they say, "When God closes a door, he opens a window"