Okay, enough basking. In the meantime, I've also begun a new gig as a freelance editor, in addition to attempting to carve out time for revisions on two novels, so needless to say, time has been of the essence.
But I hate to ignore my faithful readers. So as an interlude of sorts, I'll be posting some of my graduate school writings over the next couple of weeks for your reading enjoyment. And so, without further ado:
by
Sue Carr
Anyone familiar
with the state of Maine
Anyone familiar
with me will tell you I’m not an outdoorsy girl.
But when my
husband, Dave, suggested a quiet week at the lakefront cabin where he
vacationed as a child, I didn’t hesitate. After all, I loved watching Northern Exposure, and dreamed of
visiting Alaska Maine Alaska
Don’t ask me why a
decidedly non-outdoorsy girl has a thing for moose. Perhaps it’s the manifestation
of a suppressed desire to commune with nature. Perhaps it stems from my love of
our plush honeymoon accommodations at Disney’s Wilderness Lodge, decorated with
carvings of northwest wildlife in the safe, civilized metropolis of Orlando
The idea of seeing
a moose in the wild so thrilled me, in fact, that I apparently tuned out any
further description my husband gave of this cabin in Maine
We departed the Philadelphia
We approached Maine New Hampshire White Mountain range under unblemished skies.
As we neared Howard Pond, we passed signs for the Sunday River Ski Resort. I
daydreamed about our cabin nestled in ski resort country. Maybe there would be
trails leading over to the resort, where we could hit tennis balls or do some
sightseeing. Maybe we could make this a regular thing, summering in Maine
But we kept
driving farther and farther from Sunday
River
Finally we turned
onto the semi-paved road that snaked sharply upward into the dense woods. As we
turned, we passed a forlorn clapboard structure resting by the side of the
mountain advertising stamps and live bait. This, Dave informed me, was the only
source of essentials for at least ten miles.
Surely he was
exaggerating.
The exhausted
Cavalier churned its way up through the forest on an ever-narrowing path. As we
jostled up the road, I gazed at one lovely lake house after another, waiting
for my father-in-law to pull over and announce that we had arrived. Just as I thought the car might finally peter
out, he veered into a patch of packed dirt outside a small brown cottage that
resembled a child’s playhouse – and by “resembled” I mean “was approximately
the size of.” This couldn’t be it.
I pried myself
from the back seat, arched my stiff, aching back, and surveyed our lodgings.
The cabin clung to a steep hillside amid the dappled sunlight of the forest. As
we yanked our bags from the trunk, my mother-in-law pointed out places where
this one twisted his ankle and that one got in trouble for hitting baseballs
into the lake.
Built by a friend
of the family back when people still built homes with their own two hands, the
cottage felt like a playhouse even from the inside. The plank walls offered
shelter from the elements, but no insulation (which is why, Dave explained, we
visited in August and not October). The miniature kitchen could comfortably
hold a person and a half. The bedroom with its gray woolen blankets held two
twin beds in an “L.” The living area included a small table, low bookcases
packed with Agatha Christie novels, and padded benches along two walls by the
fireplace that doubled as twin beds. The scent of long-burning wood fires
permeated every fiber of the cabin. I inhaled deeply. It was cute. Cozy. Maybe
it wouldn’t be so bad.
Dave must have
recognized the pained expression on my face, and pointed me to the bathroom. Thankfully
the cabin had at least this amenity. I shut myself in, thankful for the privacy
even if only for a few minutes. But I couldn’t sit down until I carefully
inspected every crevice and beam for black widows, as anyone should in such
situations. Surprisingly, I found none.
When I came out, I
sat by Dave on the bench. “There’s no shower,” I pointed out.
“Right. I told you
that.”
“You said there
was a pump that brought water up from the lake.”
“Yeah, for the
toilet and the sinks. I told you we could bathe in the lake.”
“You said we could.” I poked him in the shoulder.
“You didn’t say we had to.”
He shrugged and
stood up. “You heard what you wanted to hear.”
I followed him
onto the narrow screened porch at the back of the cabin. My bathtub, a.k.a.
Howard Pond, filled the valley before us. The calm pool of blue was more of a
lake than a pond, truth be told. At least half-a-dozen hummingbird feeders
dangled outside, decorating the view like jewels on a necklace. Several of the
tiny birds hovered, sucking the sweet nectar left by our host. In the silence
we could hear the buzz of their wings. I had never seen these delicate birds up
close. When I stood next to the screen, I could feel the almost imperceptible
breeze from their blurred wings. I found myself watching them fly, hover,
drink, back up, fly, hover, drink. This wasn't the wildlife I had come to see,
but they were intriguing. Fly, hover, drink. Fly, hover, drink.
Okay, maybe not
that intriguing.
Unfortunately, the
hummingbirds proved to be the main entertainment. We had no television (not
that there would have been cable anyway), no internet (or anything resembling
electronics aside from the coffee pot), and no cell phone coverage (although we
did have a land-line telephone, the kind with a cord like the one I recently
spotted at the Pittsburgh History Museum).
There weren’t even
any moose grazing nearby.
We settled onto
the porch to gaze on the still, blue lake. “So, what should we do?” I asked.
Any vacation I had taken to that point involved the doing of something at any
given moment – sightseeing, dining, amusement park thrill-seeking – at the very
least, shopping.
Dave smirked.
“This.” He sank further into his chair and sighed.
After about
fifteen minutes of glancing from the hummingbirds to my family, waiting for
anyone to do anything, I went inside. I pulled Murder on the Orient Express from a shelf, curled onto a bench, and
dove in. I could do nothing for one day.
