Day 1
The first day of such an adventure is always a cumbersome one, depending on one’s view of somewhat strenuous travel. That is to say there is no easy way to get to our cozy little corner of the great state of Maine. About two hours from Bangor, which has the nearest submainstream air field, Pleasant Pond lies deep within the remote stillness of the green state; a novelty which seems to be quickly disappearing in the United States and the rest of the world today.
The car ride to Caratunk, the little “town” which borders our pond, is not unpleasant, though it is neither very interesting nor unique. In fact, it is very similar to driving through parts of the southern Midwest of America. If you were to stop along the way at a convenience store perhaps, you might encounter some friendly folk, or at least a very congenial atmosphere. Mainers pride themselves on their generally pleasant dispositions, though some would argue that they equally treasure their social quirks. That will be discussed more in depth later.
When the car pulls up to the camp, there is a sensation that the trip is not fictional but very real. The arduous travel is suspended until the inevitable return journey, but all one can process is the utter beauty before him, drenched in the dew of sweetness and natural purity that Maine has to offer. The car door opens, and it is not quiet. No, nature is full of life. One can hear the soft patter of trickling rain upon the ground; the trees above rustling their leaves to the wind. Then a bird chirps cheerfully in the distance, singing praise for the rain. All is not quiet here, no; all is vibrant, full of life, truly alive!
Naturally when man first arrives in the wilderness he is first smitten with awe and reverence for the great outdoors. Give it a few minutes though, and he will begin processing how he can “conquer” the newly found land. It is perfectly natural for him to think in this manner and he will devise a plan to provide him shelter, comfort, those things which are afforded to him in the more heavily populated areas of the world.
For us, our camp is our refuge among the wildlife. Sitting afoot a clearly blue lake (or as some call it, a moderately large pond), our camp gleams in the distance from all directions. The cabin itself is adorned with carefully selected slats of birch and pine, with a green trim roof crowning all sides. The woods spill down from the hills above, coming up to our doorstep, but being careful not to sweep us into the pond. Birch and pine and ash and maple are planted all around, with flowers indigenous and exotic adorning the lengths of the camp.
This is a beautiful place of wonder and excitement, though its own tranquility quite often tricks the minds of its visitors who mistakenly believe they will be without a care or numb during their stay. Yes, one might leave behind his worries of the busy world but most assuredly he will take on new thoughts, new ideas that will drive him daily to think of what’s coming next during his temporal life among greens. This haven is not a drug or a hallucinogen; it does not fix the mind with substance based euphoria. Rather, it entreats the spirit to come alive and breathe the breath of life, sending the soul to new heights of joy and creativity. Truly the mind is released to honesty and the heart is given to genuine love.
The first day of such an adventure is always a cumbersome one, depending on one’s view of somewhat strenuous travel. That is to say there is no easy way to get to our cozy little corner of the great state of Maine. About two hours from Bangor, which has the nearest submainstream air field, Pleasant Pond lies deep within the remote stillness of the green state; a novelty which seems to be quickly disappearing in the United States and the rest of the world today.
The car ride to Caratunk, the little “town” which borders our pond, is not unpleasant, though it is neither very interesting nor unique. In fact, it is very similar to driving through parts of the southern Midwest of America. If you were to stop along the way at a convenience store perhaps, you might encounter some friendly folk, or at least a very congenial atmosphere. Mainers pride themselves on their generally pleasant dispositions, though some would argue that they equally treasure their social quirks. That will be discussed more in depth later.
When the car pulls up to the camp, there is a sensation that the trip is not fictional but very real. The arduous travel is suspended until the inevitable return journey, but all one can process is the utter beauty before him, drenched in the dew of sweetness and natural purity that Maine has to offer. The car door opens, and it is not quiet. No, nature is full of life. One can hear the soft patter of trickling rain upon the ground; the trees above rustling their leaves to the wind. Then a bird chirps cheerfully in the distance, singing praise for the rain. All is not quiet here, no; all is vibrant, full of life, truly alive!
Naturally when man first arrives in the wilderness he is first smitten with awe and reverence for the great outdoors. Give it a few minutes though, and he will begin processing how he can “conquer” the newly found land. It is perfectly natural for him to think in this manner and he will devise a plan to provide him shelter, comfort, those things which are afforded to him in the more heavily populated areas of the world.
For us, our camp is our refuge among the wildlife. Sitting afoot a clearly blue lake (or as some call it, a moderately large pond), our camp gleams in the distance from all directions. The cabin itself is adorned with carefully selected slats of birch and pine, with a green trim roof crowning all sides. The woods spill down from the hills above, coming up to our doorstep, but being careful not to sweep us into the pond. Birch and pine and ash and maple are planted all around, with flowers indigenous and exotic adorning the lengths of the camp.
This is a beautiful place of wonder and excitement, though its own tranquility quite often tricks the minds of its visitors who mistakenly believe they will be without a care or numb during their stay. Yes, one might leave behind his worries of the busy world but most assuredly he will take on new thoughts, new ideas that will drive him daily to think of what’s coming next during his temporal life among greens. This haven is not a drug or a hallucinogen; it does not fix the mind with substance based euphoria. Rather, it entreats the spirit to come alive and breathe the breath of life, sending the soul to new heights of joy and creativity. Truly the mind is released to honesty and the heart is given to genuine love.
Day 2The morning comes quickly the first full day in bliss. The air is crisp and cold; the wooden slats in the floor are chilly, beckoning for the Franklin stove to be lit. Clothed in comfy pajamas and warm slippers, one cannot wait to ascend the creaky stairs up to where the warmth of the stove is waiting for all. The house begins to bustle, its residents moving around tending to the fire, making coffee and toasting bread in the oven. Everything is moving. Everything is breathing. Everything is alive!
As the mind is slowly released, pensiveness turns to cognitive progression. The woods entreat the brain to quicken its pace. Thoughts immediately focus on religion; that awkward subject which makes people cringe when it is brought up at dinner. From there, thinking predictably shuffles through the political issues of the day: abortion, the “disgraced” senator from Idaho, the ailing press secretary, the bomb threats, the five year old driver, the mortgage crisis, the economic upswing and finally the ongoing threat of terror. It is only then one realizes why he escaped to this respite in the first place.
Despite the negativity of the so called real world, there is much positivism in examining the nagging issues of reality from a place of clarity, a place of a more pure perspective. Here the camp releases prejudices and relieves preconceived ideas about most situations. For instance: wars seem less destructive, a mere triviality of human existence. Normalcy becomes curiosity while the queer turns to trite. This is what the purer forms of nature do: ravage the world of mankind.
In keeping with the themes of release, which commonly occur on day two, it must be said that one will most definitely encounter others while on this adventure. Friends and neighbors will undoubtedly process forth from the woodwork telling stories, making food and enjoying company. Families and loved ones will circle up, pass the wine and crack the legs of the lobster, regaling each other with compliments and legends of those who have passed. “Why did the men have to go first?” is uttered by tipsy tongues, but a very lucid point is made. “I’ve known your family for thirty years!” is shouted across the table. Over and again stories are told, love is passed with the potatoes around the platform of fellowship.
The day passes quickly, more rapidly than the night before, and soon all are still in their beds—save for a quiet conversation between two siblings who have known each other for sixty years. Eventually even their kinship is trumped by heavy eyes and they are drawn to their nests. Now the camp is quiet; the cabin creaks here and there but all are sleeping, gently awaiting the coming of the new day.
Day 3By now one has grown quite accustomed to his new surroundings. He is almost through reading the novel which was supposed to take him the better part of a week to finish. He has made progress on the book he is writing and he has completed the most challenging crossword puzzle. To say that he has reached the pinnacle of his bodily and mental exfoliation would be accurate, although it does not seem to do the experience justice.
High winds and a slight chill on the air accompany the rower in his kayak on the way to South Beach. He makes excellent time getting there but his trip home takes twice as long due to the heavy gusts. During his nautical adventure he ponders the life waiting for him back at home. He shudders to acknowledge that his vacation will be ending in two days time. Friends and family come to mind, and he thinks of his condo in the city. So many people. So many things. It is tiring to belabor such matters while manning a twelve foot seafaring craft against the wind.
The seafarer wonders if he should tire from his timed strokes. Would the distance prove to be too great? These questions linger amid all other obstacles of life while collectively his ponderousness gone astray distracts him from the task at hand. Mightily he pumps his arms, arches his back and tightens his stomach. He pushes through the brisk wind and waves to finally reach his destination. Surely global warming must be a farce, for he had seen no evidence of an increasingly warmer climate this day! Relieved by his accomplishment he settles down to his daytime reading.
Oh the dinner parties! On the pond, no night is simply ordinary. Every night, however, is complete with a social gathering of friends and loved ones who come together for food and fellowship. Tonight a prayer is offered. God is thanked and praised, though not all hearts are sincere in their actions. It is interesting, though, that humans feel the need to give glory to God when they look upon a great feast.
As the night draws the day to a close, feelings of youthful passion spring up. It is commonplace for the camp to evoke romantic affections and often these emotions are not realized until the limpidness of nature brings them to light. And the intensity of these sensations is augmented with each remaining day. These are the sentiments which give us the strength to embark on the journey home. Otherwise, we might merely transform into a bulwark, remaining in our satiated state eternally.
So these quixotic impulses which are universally regarded to be impractical and unreliable actually bring us back to sensibility. Our compass is recalibrated. Our direction is refreshed. Now there is a special someone waiting for our return. And we can finally picture our return without disdain. Giddiness is a side effect and is only overcome with the diversion of a petty task such as reading or house cleaning. We await the impending days, imagining imminent fondness and our eventual return to the forest accompanied by the one we love.
Day 4The heart is pricked with the sharpness of anxiety as it realizes that the days here are numbered. Only two full days in utopia remain. Cruelly betrayed by Machiavellian emotions, one is torn by his desire to stay and the urgency to tend to his love afar. What little time is left will prove to be increasingly difficult as this tension will swell.
This day was made for all things outdoors. Paddling the kayak across the lake to view the beaver dams. Ascending the mountaintop to take into account the panoramic vista. Soaking up the summer sun and the healing power it has to offer. Today the water is calm. The wind is tame. The sun is unhindered by objectionable storm clouds. Surely this day was planned with intent; its perfection gleaming from every rock, tree and hill, reflecting on a sea of glass.
Thoughts today return to science. Is the lake water more alkaline or is it acidic? What is the status of the fish population? What kind of algae survives in this habitat, and is it in danger of extinction due to the introduction of an-other species? Will the water always be this pure? Will mankind eventually dirty the water?
For seventy years now the pond has not been affected by the surrounding human population. Many would argue this is precisely because of the care which the Pleasant Ponders have given to this lake for the better part of a century. They have pledged their lives to protecting this mass of water, and their children have learned this value, stepping in line to take over the midnight watch. That is what this place does to a person. It builds values and strengthens character. Fervor for the defenseless reaches its acme and one is empowered to fend off all evils.
The tug-of-war that is global warming sweeps over the intellect. One cannot help but mull over this topic repeatedly. The theories on this matter are tossed about like papers in the desk of second grader. The media chooses a stance and force feeds it down society’s throat, just as a kidnapper would gag his victim. They don’t want anyone to have a say, save for the zombies who are programmed to spit out what is being fed to them by the spoon of the teleprompter. Backless, boneless, seedless and sugar free is what the world is becoming. Encouraged to dope up on the mind numbing drug of conformity, citizens of the planet are choosing captivity over freedom at a disturbing rate.
No side, either for or against the theories which state that the earth is warming, has proven anything remotely conclusive. The environmentalist hacks, just like religious fanatics, expect all people to have faith in their church of fear, based upon a hundred or so years of research. For a planet that they claim to be billions of years old, that does not seem like enough information to draw any type of responsible conclusion. But they know the facts, and if you don’t agree with them, you must be a cold, heartless republican who is responsible for hurricane Katrina.
Scientists who are unafraid to point out the inconclusiveness of the limited research however, are slow in forming more studies themselves. Few care about doing the work. It seems that celebrities and failed politicians find it easy to make movies spewing fear and rhetoric from their religious machine. People might take these characters more seriously if they would unhinge themselves from their plush lifestyles of gulf stream travel and multiple mansions and personally make the needed sacrifice.
Then it is time to calm down. Thoughts turn to time and space and the relation to the infinite vortex of light. Will man eventually catch up with light? Will he exceed the speed of light, catching up with the original flicker? Will he meet God at the end of this tunnel? Only time will tell. For now, the boundless splendors of purest nature will content the heart, as the kayak makes its way back to the dock.
Day 5Bittersweet. The only conceivable description of the final day. Tomorrow travel resumes and its wear on the body is duly noted. One refuses to get out of bed this morning because he knows that once awake, the time will fly by and in a fleeting moment it will be nightfall. Oh, the dreadfulness of the last day! It will be glorious though, as the celebration will be at its highest.
One last trek into the woods; a last voyage on the waves. The hours fly, and the sun sling shots through the sky. Glorious Maine, in all its splendor, luminous above all of man’s creation, the land basks gently in the rays of the sun. These past days of reflection and refreshment will leave with the traveler. Onward to home and upward in life, one does not forget what is learned here, what is gained. Carefully calculated and calculated carefully, the journeyman will remember this place with great fondness as he is imbibed once more into the vastness of life.
