11-6-2010 0645 Searsmont. Sitting at Joannes dining room table…well, of course its Marty’s dining room table as well, and he certainly has his mark on the house, on the living space, on the life that they have here. I didn’t mean to diminish that. And yet it’s comfortable to think of this as Joannes Table. The dancing bears painting over the entryway from the kitchen living room, as I sit at the table facing away from the driveway and towards the lake. The glass panes of the mullioned doors of the glass holding cabinet is comfortably and memorably to my left, and the windows that look out on the entryway to my right.
Its getting light around all the edges now, and perhaps also time for Fuji to go out.
She loves it. She scampers off into the breaking day, head up, ears even upper, eyes scanning the terrain ahead. It’s a fast canter really, not her full ears back pursuit gallop, when she stretches out and flows over the ground, airborne for long moments as she crosses a low spot or the line of rocks that marks a ruined stacked wall.
Its completely still, of course, the lake reflecting shiny colors from the sky, the browns and yellows of the thinning foliage framing little shards of reflection, and impossibly metaphorically pure two long strong quavering calls; a loon. Soundscape..
Fuji blends right into the fall woods, and its hunting season, time to seriously and with purpose shoot anything that moves. According to Joanne, there is no middle ground. Those cars parked beside the road mark the spots of the venison harvesting righteously gun toting huntermen. And in this immediate vicinity there are postings that say the taking of any rock, wood or hunting of any kinds without written permission will result in being shot on sight. So you’re shot if you don’t, and shot if you do.
We drove from Woods Hole to Boston yesterday morning. As usual, Alan had all the good reasons why a 8 AM or earlier start was essential. And as usual, it was after 10 when we actually the Fitz-Ritter wine, the coffee, and the breakfast sandwiches in hand and were heading over the Bourne Bridge. I wonder at my own attachment to early departures. There is definitely something beyond the esthetics of the crepuscular time, although that’s certainly a memorable part of it. I love the beginnings , the seemingly empty stage revealed as the mist draws back.. A moment later the squirrel that has been frozen on at the base of a limb suddenly starts down the tree trunk. The coyote that was standing slighty behind the large rock trots forward across the seaweed battlements piled on the rocky tideline by the storm last week. The downy woodpecker sidles into view around the trunk of the dead pine. The loon calls.. once… quavering.. and then again.
Driving North, Gracey kept trying to get us off US 95…apparently her program is trying to save us money by avoiding toll roads. It rained. The little dog wanted to sleep on Sala’s lap. NPR stations along the way have finished their fall fund raising, and were back to routine broadcasts. We went through Portland on 285, and then turned off at Freeport, for the annual visit to LL Bean.
Actually, Fuji and I have an annual walk in the woods; Sala carries on the serious family shopping. And then I leave Fuji in the car and go to gawk at the latest in pheromone attractants, camo tree sits for deer hunters, and those major compound bow hunting outfits for only a shade over a thousand bucks. It was rainy and a little cold…the ice cream stores looked a little folorn. We got back on the road as the light faded.
Got to Searsport about 6:30, and a noisy welcome from Lazlo and Lydia, the resident dogs. Fuji has been here…but of course there is some high tail posturing and we were careful to follow Joanne’s advise to re-introduce them outside the house and of course without any food in the equation. No growling, and we all sit down for ice cold oysters, then scallops, sautéed fall vegetables and salad dinner. Bliss.
Well, its later now. Marty and I took two canoes and Lydia and Fuji and went down the lake to the dam. This is a herring run lake, and Marty as an experience water man takes an active interest in the herring..who are constantly being threatened by the bigmouth bass loving freshies who want to damm out the damm anadromous minnows. The reflections were exquisite, hard to paddle into even, and if it was cold, it was still a perfect cold. We let the two dogs off to run back along the shore. Lazlo had disappeared earlier, probably in search of bacon from the house next door.
And now its time to go to Liberty Tools.
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