Return to Maine

I’ve been a westerner for a whole lots of years now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the state of Maine. When I was 16, my dad changed jobs and dragged the family, kicking and screaming, from Seattle to Philadelphia. By August of that year, when my dad’s vacation time came up, we had a single plan—to drive north to escape the heat and humidity. We didn’t stop until we got to Maine. And every year thereafter, we looked forward to the trek north in August.

After a long absence, I just returned from a magic week on Orrs Island, Maine where my son-in-law’s family has been summering since 1910. Charles Henry Arndt, an Episcopal priest in Philadelphia, must have been feeling the heat way back then when he established a summer chapel on the island and built a house there for his wife and three sons. It is still in the family, owned and managed by some of his descendants. Other family members have migrated there as well. There are Arndts all over the place.

In the early 1900s, the trip from Philadelphia took two days beginning with a trolley ride to the train station, a train to New York, a taxi to the dock, an overnight boat to Boston, then a steamer to Orrs Island and a carriage ride to the house. 

The Arndts have become a family of sailors, some of them skilled enough to sail across oceans. There are fish to be caught, beaches to comb, trails to explore, and for those gutsy enough, there’s a unique bridge to jump from into the bay and distinctly refreshing water to swim in. This year I only got wet once when three of us managed to capsize a small rowboat, making for a good story to tell.

There’s a fireplace in the living room that has big windows facing the water, a quiet room to escape to for a solitary read, an impossibly difficult jigsaw puzzle challenge and all the time in the world to sit around and talk.

Dinners can start off with a table set for eight and end up with an extra four people. The food always seemed to stretch as needed. Of course, we had to have a traditional lobster dinner.

Wandering the side roads and villages in Maine is like walking through a picture post card.

For me, the place is full of memories: cool nights, boat rides, long walks and good fellowship.

 

By: Libby James

Goodbye, Geneva

My Mother-in-law, Geneva, died this morning. For the past 5 days she has struggled to leave a 100 year old body that refused to let go. And for those 5 days her 5 children, their spouses, many grandchildren and great grandchildren have kept watch over her, saying goodbye, overseeing her comfort and ensuring that her death would not be unattended. Today we share a collective sigh of relief wrapped around our sense of loss, gratitude, and love for a strong woman whose generous spirit and loving nature touched each of us. She addressed our higher qualities and assumed the lower ones would ultimately fade into obscurity.  As a family we organized ourselves around her and my father-in-law who died last December at age 101. With many of us living so far from the family home and from each other, It remains to be seen how we redefine and maintain our connections. Yet another of life’s inevitable transitions.

By: Bonnie Shetler

Joys of Hiking Post-75

Last weekend we decided to get our hiking legs back in shape after a lazy month along the shores of Lake Michigan. We headed to one of our favorite trails to the ridge near Meadow Mt. (RMNP). We arrived by 6:30 a.m. to beat the heat, 90 degrees that day. The goal was to take in the beautiful views from the ridge above, about 2500' elevation gain (7 mi. round trip). Successfully we snagged a parking spot and with hiking sticks in hand, we started up into the quiet forest enjoying the peaceful morning. No conversation, just moving at a nice steady pace, watching where our feet were landing so we could return without any new tweaks to the joints. Then somewhere along the rocky, steep part, we were reminded of what we uttered 2 yrs ago, “we're never doing this hike again!” (Main reason is that going down is so hard on the knees.) What were we thinking?  However we kept on, becoming distracted with the last of the wildflowers, especially the deep blue bottled gentian.

About midway as the sun started beating down, we needed some good conversation to keep us going, nothing funny or entertaining came to mind -- we were getting testy. A little later another couple, a bit younger, came by and blurted out, “We're not having any fun!” We heartily agreed. Then, some strapping shirtless young men came by, charging up the trail on their way to summit St. Vrain Mt, coaxing their big furry dog to keep up. Poor thing, all he wanted to do was lie down in the little bit of shade. Smart dog! Later we wondered if the dog survived their enthusiasm or collapsed somewhere with heat stroke.

About 30 min from our destination, I could feel I needed more calories, the rest of my Payday saved the day. This wasn't normal for me: was it the heat, altitude or attitude? Hiking those last steps to the ridge was exhilarating, especially when the chilly wind hit us full blast. Wrapped up in my jacket and sitting on a rock, the panoramic views into Wild Basin and over to Longs Peak made it all worth it. It was glorious, lots of pictures were taken, but we still said, “Beautiful, but this IS our last time!”  Well, maybe.

By: Meliss Anderson