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Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Downeast and a mountain full of memories


"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.”

– Martin Buber, Austrian philosopher





Cadillac looms in the distance as we head up to the top. Anthony enjoys the view from the top.









ELLSWORTH/BAR HARBOR/MOUNT DESERT ISLAND, Maine — We roamed a mountain top where the heavens are at your fingertips and hiked a demanding trail at a national park that resurrected a forgotten boyhood memory.

We met a Highlander who played the bagpipes free of charge on a grassy bluff overlooking a short stretch of beach and marveled at Mother Nature's handy work — the stunning shoreline of Bar Harbor.

During our three-day adventure, I was introduced to helpful park rangers and wonderful people from across the globe. We travelled 350 miles and walked miles of beaches and quiet, secluded woods where you could hear leaves ruffle and creaking branches of decades-old trees without interruptions from the noise of a big city.

Our vacation destination was only 150 miles from our home. We stayed at a comfortable inn, but I was confounded when I saw prophylactics and decks of cards in a snack machine. I guess if you are in the mood for love and an all-night poker game, why run out to a store.  Amenities were few and far between for guests, but the employees were pleasant. The ice machine spit out cubes at a rate of two per minute. It could take a lifetime before you filled a bowl of ice. I wondered if the town was rationing water due to the heat wave. And there is a newly constructed road that forces tourists to take a one-mile roundabout to get back to an inn. I don't know why the city of Ellsworth agreed to invest in this engineering debacle.

We had no intension of hanging around our temporary residence. It was a place to sleep — nothing more. Bar Harbor, Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park were our true destinations.

Before we left the inn, there was the unpacking of the car, which is as enjoyable as packing the car. We took 45 minutes to decompress and agreed to visit Bar Harbor's numerous shops and walk the gravel paths around the shoreline.

Harbor lights

We visited a used book store because we dislike Kindles. We will only read print. The prices were reasonable and I enjoyed listening to Terri and the owner discuss Maine's famous authors. You can't take a step without bumping into an antique or used-book store.

The next stop was a clothing store to buy shirts sporting Bar Harbor or Acadia. We weren't leaving empty handed without some sort of souvenir. There are more than a handful of restaurants, but we are always on a budget and settled for sandwiches at a local deli. Terri said it was the best veggie wrap she has ever eaten, but I was more impressed with their home-made muffins.

An hour of shopping was all we could handle, so we walked down a narrow street where magnificent homes with magnificent gardens lined a road that led to the shoreline. We followed gravel paths and marveled at numerous islands in the distance and coastal rock formations.

We studied a huge ferry and a pair of Dahlgren-Rodman cannons, apparently leftovers from the Civil War. The twin iron behemoths face the shoreline — a warning to enemy ships.

Walking through town we noticed Cadillac Mountain standing high above the landscape. For residents, I am sure the mountain is like an old friend. We would tackle the summit the next day.

The hot evening sun was getting to us so we did the double quick (Civil War talk) to get to our air-conditioned car. My son, who can read maps better than Christopher Columbus, guided us back to Route 3A. We were racing down the road when we saw a man in a kilt carrying bagpipes on a bluff above a tiny beach. We debated for the next few minutes whether to turn the car around and introduce ourselves to this sharply dressed Highlander.

Anthony urged us to head back to the bluff. A few moments later, we were walking through tall grass where David Weeda was about to perform. 

I waved and he introduced himself. I asked him why he enjoys playing the pipes at this spot. He said it is the perfect scene to play his instrument. I think he enjoyed serenading the calming sea. He gave us a brief history of it and he agreed to play the pipes for us. "Scotland the Brave" sounded incredible against the backdrop of the shoreline.

I was impressed with his talent, showmanship and his knowledge of the ancient instrument. Weeda is also the owner of the Williams Pond Lodge(williamspondlodge.com), which is located on 20 beautiful acres in Bucksport.

His playing drew a handful of onlookers and traffic slowed when drivers caught a glimpse of the Highlander on Route 3A. We reluctantly bid Weeda farewell as a curious crowd gathered on the beach. It was a privilege for this family of three to meet a musician whose iron lungs and compassion make his wind instrument come to life.

On top of the world

Acadia National Park would be the highlight of my stay. I wanted to hike at least one trail and tour the top of Cadillac Mountain. Anthony acted as our tour guide. He is like having GPS in the back seat.

There was a poignant reason why I wanted to visit the summit again. I was a 12-year-old when my dad, who is facing a losing battle with Alzheimer's, took the family to Acadia on a short summer vacation. My sisters don't remember a thick fog that spoiled our view at the top. This visit would become a quiet tribute to my father, who no longer knows me, as well as a second chance to appreciate the National Park systems with my family.

A brief history

Sprawling Acadia (49,600 acres) occupies most of the land on Mount Desert Island, and Cadillac Mountain towers above the tress

For active people who like to travel by bike, there are 45 miles of trails. Visitors who travel on foot can hike up to 110 miles of trails. There are also miles of paved roads and visitors can kayak many pristine lakes.

The wealthy made the area a tourist destination during the turn of the 20th Century. The Rockefellers, Astors and Vanderbilts all built summer getaways, but grew concerned that the area was being overdeveloped. The rich and famous were instrumental in making Acadia a national park, thanks to President Wilson in 1916.

Cadillac Mountain was certainly the highlight our visit, but there was also Thunder Hole to see and an opportunity to hike a trail at a national park. Cadillac's highest point is 1,528 feet and offers majestic views of Mount Desert and its smaller islands that dot the landscape. Peeking over the edge at the summit can be dizzying for visitors like my wife who have a healthy fear of heights.

The greatest natural show on earth


We stopped at a visitors' information center to pay for our $20 ticket to witness Acadia's numerous wonders. The ticket is good for seven days, and I feel the price is a real bargain. The park's caretakers rangers showed us where to go and what to do on a map.

We entered the park and Anthony guided us along a path that leads to a man-made bluff that located in the shadow of Cadillac. We took dozens of photos and noticed a posh home that commands an incredible view of the ocean.

It was time to visit Sand Beach where the water temperature was a leg-numbing 56 degrees. We found a spot in the stifling heat. Towering walls of ancient stone surrounded the pristine beach. Despite frigid water, Anthony took a dip, which was an eye-opening experience for my intrepid son.

I didn't want to broil in the hot sun so I looked for a shady trail to hike. The path ran parallel to the road. Climbing up the path was like trudging along on a Stairmaster, and the heat made it that much more difficult as I marched to the top. I rapidly made my way along a path that winds around behind high cliffs overlooking the beach, giving hikers awesome views of the ocean. For three miles, I snapped a handful of photos and took moments out my hike to step gingerly down paths to clearings where rocky ledges provided incredible views of the beach from about 300 feet above the water.

The shade disappeared and I decided to reappear on the beach and soak my sweaty head in frigid ocean water. My family had enough of the hot sun and we took refuge in an air-conditioned car and headed toward Cadillac. The six-mile drive to the top of Cadillac put my driving skills to the test, but if you fail to negotiate the numerous hairpin turns on the way up or down, you will end up like "Tounces the Driving Cat" and will plummet off the side of the mountain. 
I thought my wife was about to bail out at 1,000 feet and without parachute.

We found a parking spot and left the comfort our air-conditioned car and began walking around the top in searing heat. 

I suddenly felt like I was on top of the world when I looked down for the first time. My wife decided to remain in the middle of the summit while Anthony and I wandered from one location to another to get a panoramic view. Cadillac offered a variety of views and a visitor can see for miles. What I found interesting was the many small islands that dot the shoreline. I also noticed my hearing was muffled because our altitude. By the time we returned to the base of the mountain, our ears popped a couple times after we swallowed.

Terri was having an anxiety attack on the way down, but I was thinking about my dad and a dwindling memory of our family trip nearly four decades ago. I was also grateful I got a chance to revisit the mountain with my family.

My dad no longer remembers me, but a mountain in Maine will never let me forget him or our trip to the top on a hot summer day.
















Saturday, December 15, 2012

The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 2: The perfect tree



“Tradition: Sit with husband in a room lit only by tree lights and remember that our blessings outnumber the lights. Happy Christmas to all.” 
-Betsy Cañas Garmon

AUBURN, Maine - Nobody I know wants a Charlie Brown Christmas tree drooping in the living room.
Brown's fragile tree might work for the Peanuts, but here in the real world a runt like that one just wouldn't do in the parlor. 
Guests would talk about us. We can't have that. What would Martha Stewart think of us.
That explains why we go searching in the New England cold for the perfect tree to adorn our living room.
But it costs money when you are seeking perfection.
Selling out and purchasing a fake tree feels like I am celebrating an artificial Christmas. We did buy a small fake tree that would give Brown's worn-out plant a run for its money. We bought it at a yard sale, and it sits in our closed-in porch during the holiday season.
It's our back-up tree.
But imagine stumbling upon a vendor who sells you a fine, full Christmas tree to fit your budget.
He's out there, and he offers returning customers a cup of good cheer by knocking money off of the price of a tree. He doesn't do it for everybody, but he seems to enjoy trimming the cost for me, and I appreciate that.
For the last 10 years, this "guy" travels from Waterville with a forest of Christmas trees in tow and spends about a month selling them in Auburn.
Calling him a nice guy would be understating this human being's genuine concern for his fellow man.
Every holiday season, we seek him out and he enjoys our annual hour of conversation. He delights in seeing my son and loves hearing about his academic success in the classroom.
He is the reason why you can't write off humanity and declare the human race a train wreck.
We pay the man and drive away with our tree that will soon brighten our living room with the sweet smell of pine,  stunning lights and decorations.
I look forward to seeing him next year.
Setting up the tree and clearing out a corner of the living room is a quick-and-easy task.
But after the lights, wraps, and decorations are up and a flashing, bright star is placed atop of our tree, it is all worthwhile.
The tree connoisseur
My father taught me the art of choosing the right tree. He really knew how to pick them.
Dad would find something we could afford and haggle over the price of the tree with a stubborn vendor. These guys would have made great congressmen.
He scrutinized its appearance, checking for bare spots and damaged branches before making the vendor an offer he couldn't refuse.
Then came the Herculean task of jamming the tree into the narrow sleeve of an iron, home-made tree stand that should have been sold for scrap years ago.
Dad drove the stand up the stump of the tree while spewing adjectives that would make our ears smart. He directed his anger with every blow he took with a sledgehammer.

I can still hear those colorful words, along the clanging of the hammer, ringing in my ears.
Once the tree was upright, then came the decorations.
When I became a strapping young man, dad designated me as the official tree lifter. 
I carried my load.
Thanks to my father, I can pick out a fine tree at a reasonable price. But that rusting, old iron tree stand still sits in his cellar as reminder of Christmases long ago.
But I won't part with it. I will keep the hunk of steel as a warm reminder of those cold winter evenings picking out a tree with my father.



Friday, July 8, 2011

They say it's your birthday

Our pride and joy. Happy birthday, big guy!



AUBURN, Maine - He turned 15 today and I am proud to say Anthony has surpassed me in nearly every way when I was his age.

He is wiser and smarter  — and we are not the least bit envious of him.  He is not a follower and marches to his own drum. He thrives on our unconditional love, and he  still doesn't mind having us around, although that will soon change.

He is growing up in central Maine and I was raised in the Greater Boston area, and they are worlds apart when it comes to the fast pace of life.

We both like to think we had something to do with Anthony's solid upbringing, and we don't take each other for granted. But we never take all the credit for his performance in the classroom and his wise choices when it comes to friends and doing the right thing. He has made those decisions on his own, but he also realizes we are his first phone call when life goes awry.

I have often told him this: 

"I am not your friend. I am your father, and I am better than any friend you will ever have. I am not cool and I will always hate your music because I am older. When it comes to sex, drugs and rock-and-roll, we are open 24 hours a day and the coffee is free — so come on in and talk to us."

If you are any kind of a parent, you want your one-and-only son to excel in this unstable world. We have always put his needs and interests first — and that is the only way it works in this please-and-thank-you family.

If you are an adult who doesn't share this philosophy about nurturing children, then do us all a favor and don't bring a kid into this world. Society doesn't need another horror story about a neglected child whose parents put themselves first.

That's why parenting is the best job in the world and why I enjoy holding the job title of "dad." But this family could not function without dear-old mom - Terri - who is the go-to person when it comes to compassion and understanding. 

Anthony is smart, but I have cautioned him about arrogance and indifference. He understands life is fickle and has a way of knocking you down no matter how many degrees you have earned in this brief lifetime.

He has been warned about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, knowing I have a zero tolerance for narcotics or the town drunk. He is aware that we have never used drugs and drink very little. I was a bartender for years, and I can tell you from experience there is no good drunk.

Anthony now stands at 6-foot-1 and weighs 160 pounds. He is a damn monster who consumes milk by the gallon. I can no longer offer him one hamburger when we cook on the grill. He is good for two or three burgers.

He is not sports fanatic, but he knows nearly every warship since the 1700s. He is a writer, poet and history fanatic who doesn't mind watching "All The President's Men" for the umpteenth time with his dad. He is a skier and swimmer who loves hiking with his parents. In the summer, Maine's pristine's beaches and lakes are his playground. In the winter, he heads to the mountains with his skis.

He campaigned for President Obama when he was 12 years old, speaking with angry voters over the phone

He is heading for the high school, and I worry about him even though he is smarter than his old man.  I always worry about him and my wife. You do that when you are fortunate to be a member of a loving family.

I am apprehensive about the future, but I am looking forward to the next 15 years of my son's life — and I am sure my wife feels the same.

Happy birthday, son! You are a fine young man.

Out and about

Take a walk on the wild side around New England's outdoors. Come walk with my son and I as we explore state parks, historic sites, and creepy cemeteries. This is the good stuff in life, and there is nothing worth watching on television, anyway. Join us as we take advantage of Maine's beaches and pristine forests. In between our sojourns through the Pine Tree State, look for political insight and a few well-written opinion pieces as well.