TIMES IN VT AND ME

BAILEY ISLAND, ME

From the rear:  A board, various tubes, a small green kayak, the Laser (fast sailboat), sea kayak, another board another small kayak.  Not shown here:  The Optie (small sailboat), two rowboats, the punt, and big sailboat (the "Zube")

I want a little red kayak!  Every day I took this little thing out, although it just barely fit me having been Hans's long before he graduated to bigger stuff,  I grew fond of how easy it was to lift and maneuver, even in waves and wind.  I think this would be nice to have on Lake Champlain.  Or Otter Creek.

It's so easy to get used to having the (benevolent) ocean right in front of you each day, as near as stepping out the door.  The lack of amenities (tight quarters: there were seven of us, and would be eleven at the weekend) doesn't matter, unless we were to hit a run of really bad weather.   We missed coming here to Bailey Island last summer, our first-ever miss, because of Ken's surgery last August, although he had managed to make it to Mohegan Island to meet the Zube after the Portland to Camden race.  This year we might have missed out again but for a somewhat flexible chemo schedule for Ken's continued battle with colon cancer.  

An especially calm evening, the tide mostly out

One afternoon we hunted our dinner.  At a small island (Pond Island) that barely jutted out of the sea we searched under the seaweed for mussels.  I found a few, Leah a few more, but it was Olin who found the most, simply leaning over the bow of the punt and scouring the niches in the rocks under the seaweed.  Meanwhile Cliff snorkled for oysters.  There were enough of both oysters and mussels for six servings of steamed mussels, fried oysters and, thanks to a catch of Olin's, baked sea bass.

Crystal clear waters surround the reef/island where we looked for oysters and mussels

Leah looking over the seaweed for mussel potential

Olin–rarely captured on camera of late–deeply into "The Martian" (that I'm now reading) on another day while sailing to Sand Island

L to R: Olin, Leah, Cliff, Caroline on Sand Island
(Hans was in Marblehead, working.  Well, teaching sailing, that is.)

Sand Island:  Privately-owned, empty of people except for us, decorated with the detritus of many presumably welcome visitors (there are guest moorings), all of whom seem to have made contributions to the accumulated kitchy decor.  The boardwalk leads to a high point.  The rest of the island is undisturbed and beautiful.  

The city of Bath on the peninsula north of Brunswick/Bailey Is. is quintesssential old seacoast Maine.  My cousin Fred and family bought their next home there last year.  We were only able to come visit for the first time this summer.  But we hit it lucky as while we were there they had a party and we met all their terrific neighbors, all Bathonians (Bathers?  What's the word, folks?)

On Beacon Street, Bath.  Much renovation still to come.

Briscoe (dog), Mary, Ken, Fred, on gorgeous Spinney Beach, Phippsburg, ME

BACK IN THE VT

Not ME, but VT.  It made me think of Maine though:  Otter Creek at Vergennes Falls Park

More VT waters:  Carly at the East Middlebury swimming hole.  We brought Skyler here to swim, but he prefers water for drinking purposes.

Animal visitors dropped in during early summer (see "The Hole in the Bank and Other Tales.")  There were muskrats in the pond, swallows on the porch, weasels under the patio, snakes in the grass, turkeys in the field, and tree frogs everywhere.  My last sighting of the muskrat was in late July when I came across him (her?) boldly chewing grass not twenty feet in front of me.  When he realized how close I was he jumped into the pond and swam to the other side.  I have not seen a single muskrat since.  My first sighting of a weasel came when I was standing at the edge of our patio one morning.  The weasel popped up on his hind legs and looked right at me only two feet away.  I was startled and made a sound like "Oooh!"  He didn't run, but instead came closer.  And still closer.  I thought he might run right over my feet.  I said "Oooh!" again, probably louder this time, and he ducked under the patio. Was it his home he ran to under there?  Were there other weasels waiting for a report from the surface?  I never learned anything more, and failed to see another weasel all summer.  (Weasels, by the way, are dogged hunters of rodents.  We had spotted rodents living under the patio in early summer, and judge it likely that weasels took over their living arrangements.  After a hearty meal, perhaps.)

'Tho not my photo, this is about how the weasel looked at me.
Quite small, and, I have to say, pretty cute.

Speaking of animals, the Addison County Field Days was a big event this year for Audrey who was showing two cows this year for her 4-H group.  She also exhibited at the state Expo.

Audrey in full command of her award-winning cow.

And still speaking of animals...

One of our most excellent guests, Kelsey, and Skyler caught at an intimate moment

And yes, speaking of animals, most particularly dogs, we dropped in to see the Dog Chapel on Dog Mountain outside of St. Johnsbury on our way home from Maine.  It's the creation of the Vermont artist Stephen Huneck who was prompted by a severe illness and recovery to build a place that would honor the memories of dogs.  Over the years since then the inside of the chapel has become adorned by post-its put up by dog-owners in memory of the dogs they once had and loved.  We left a note, of course, for Harry, our Harry "who was his own dog."

The post-it notes have made the walls nearly as colorful as the stained glass window. Might they at some time become too much of a good thing and considered a nuisance, like the "love-locks" on Parisian bridges?

Amen