A night in Maine

I really can't say why I get so lucky.  Maybe it isn't luck at all.  Whatever it is, I do seem to have a knack for stumbling into great situations.  Wonderful situations.

After I put the boys to bed last night, I bundled up and went out on the deck.  There were a few errant clouds, but they couldn't hide the bright, waxing moon, or Jupiter.  Both were brilliant and lit up the pond and surrounding woods.  It was beautiful.  Then the coyotes started singing from across the pond.  First one, then the whole pack.  And then they were answered by another pack on my side, but farther up.  Not to be out done, the ice on the pond chimed in as well.

If you've never been on a large, frozen, body of water, the noise the ice makes can be anything from disconcerting to downright terrifying.  The ice is under great stress as it expands and then contracts with the rising and falling temperatures each day.  Even though the stress is moderated by the water underneath, we're still talking about a pretty big mass of ice.  When a crack starts, it can fire off for hundreds of feet.  Then it fills with water which freezes almost instantly.  So, a thunderous CRACK and then the gurgle or rumbling of rushing water.

Now, looking at our small moon, your perspective is such that it appears to dwarf the largest planet in our solar system.  Listening to the sounds of nature in the dark can change your perspective pretty quickly too.

Moving to Maine was never in our long term plans.  The log cabin we live in now is about as far from posh as you can get.  And despite my home improvement efforts, it seems determined to crumble back into the dirt and rock it rests on.  It probably wasn't built to well to begin with, being out in the country as we are.  The building codes aren't exactly strict, and the code officer is only in his office two days a week.  You can find him in the town office/library on Tuesdays and Fridays, usually accompanied by his dog.  

But, on a moonlit night, stars shining, with a curl of woodsmoke drifting in and out of view, this broken down cabin can be downright romantic.  Norman Rockwell couldn't paint a better picture.  I'm happy here.

We haven't been here long, but I've learned enough about Mainers that I'm also a bit sad realizing that I'll never actually qualify as one.  For example I know that the phrase 'stove up' has nothing to do with cooking, nor do you cook lobster in a lobster pot.  Less than six inches of snow is a 'dusting', while real storms are called Nor'eastahs. The Black Capped Chickadee is the state bird (squeaking out a narrow victory over the mosquito and the black fly). I've learned that beans are never cooked in tomato sauce, that fiddleheads are delicious, and how to pronounce Calais.  I've learned that it's okay to put in an insurance claim for 'salt damage' to your vehicle.  And that wicked and Ayuh are wonderful, multipurpose words.

Kidding aside, I've also learned that Mainers are a special breed of people, and that in Maine, the American Dream still exists.  Not the one where you hit the lottery and get rich overnight.  Or sell complicated derivative swaps and get even more rich.  I'm talking about the real American dream.  The one where you can work hard, stay honest, raise a family, and have a real happy life.  The Mainers I've met not only possess that legendary Maine work ethic, but that wry Yankee humor as well.  I hope the boys grow up learning both.

We ended up here on a lark.  My boss mentioned at a meeting he needed a new General Manager for the store in Bangor and was whining (In Maine they would say he was being spleeny) about how hard it was going to be to find someone.  That night I emailed Autumn some links to real estate and said "Want to move?"  A few weeks later, and we were living in a cabin in rural Maine.

Now that we are here, I look around at all things the  boys can do that don't involve game boys and cell phones.  I'm hoping to take them ice fishing for the first time this week.  Ice fishing may be a bit boring (It's a hole... in ice), but I'm sure they will love trying to run and slide on the ice.  This is going to be a great place to grow up.  Actually, I knew that when the boys were infants... someone finally explained why all these old Mainers kept calling my newborn sons 'Cunnin'.

If the boys wake up in the wee hours again, I'll be bundling them up and taking them outside.    Early in the morning, the Quadrantid Meteor shower will peak, and it should be a good show.  Hopefully the coyotes will sing us a song or two as I point out shooting stars in the clear, cold Maine sky, unpolluted by city lights and noise.  And I'll wonder again how I got so lucky.  Lucky to live in such a beautiful place surround by wonderful people, with a wonderful wife and two beautiful boys.

Then again, maybe it isn't luck at all.  Maybe it's perspective.  This run down cabin does look better in the dark after all.  Better still with a pretty woman and two cunnin heathens standing next to me.