the winding road into the mountains

 the green mountains with camel's hump in the distance

fog and drizzle mark the beginning of my 3 day trip to the mountains. (but the weekend is supposed to be unseasonably warm and sunny—hooray!).

out on the free and open road, i cruise over the big "yay maine!"bridge—a family tradition, started over 50 years ago by my mother-in-law when the family used to vacation here, is to yell "yay maine!" on the middle of the bridge when traveling back into maine—to new hampshire and zip to concord in the fine company of mpbn's world news, the writer's almanac and concertos by scarlatti  and mozart.

the ascent commences on route 89. a lone, wild turkey flies across the highway. the road leads up and up, curving through the fog, occasionally punctuated by a short, meandering descent but always more up than down in this direction. here is the vietnam veteran's memorial bridge, spanning the connecticut river between new hampshire and vermont.

finally i'm in vermont.

past exit 1—quechee, killington—i notice the first of several bright yellow signs placed at intervals along the highway alerting drivers to be cautious: MOOSE CROSSING. DEER CROSSING. BEAR CROSSING. i have only seen deer along this highway in vermont (in maine i have seen moose). it would be a real thrill to see a bear. (a bear could cause a potentially dangerous pile-up of cars, but it would be worth the risk.)

the fog thickens. on this day i am out of luck—no large wild animal sightings. and even if large animals are indeed walking on the side of the road, it is not possible to see them. the fog is as thick as a blanket. at first i can make out about four car-lengths in front of me; suddenly, the visibility drops to one car-length. i feel blind and almost smothered by the fog (but i like the eeriness, too). i drop my speed from around 80 to 55 (the speed limit is 65). in the distance, appearing and then disappearing about three car-lengths away, i see a tall, ghostly form. now it's there, now it's not. as i drive i get closer to it. it turns out to be the back of a huge truck with no lights on.

the fog clears but everything is still gray, a translucent gray giving way to a gray that is transparent—gray upon gray upon gray. a slight drizzle coats the windshield. the shapes of vermont's green mountains are mere one-dimensional  silhouettes—like mock mountains built for a stage set—of generic rocks and trees and dirt. i know they are mountains because i know mountains. (but had i been a space alien, none of these undulations would make any sense.) clouds hover around the towering gray forms and rise up stringily like acrid smoke from thousands of smoldering campfires.

i'm almost there. some mountain bumps seem to follow me, watching over me. usually the camel's hump double bump is directly ahead or just over my shoulder. but not today. i must be patient. i will have to wait until the clouds lift to see it.

my girls live in these mountains, my girls—one a college student, and one, my oldest, with her own bump, a baby on the way.

yes, and i'm so thrilled, thrilled beyond words.

i've arrived at my destination and i'm going to be a grandmama.

january sea idyll

~january 9, 2011~

i sit and stare at the sea. i am held here near the edge of the ocean hypnotized and mesmerized, entranced by the sight and sound of the gulf of mexico spread out in front of me. oddly, the endless pounding of the warm waves on the sand reminds me of home, of maine. i close my eyes. that "shhhh" sound....in maine the temperature hovers in the teens and a northeasterly wind blows through the pines. i can just hear the air lifting over the snowy branches and across the frozen woods behind our house. maine is here in the infinite lapping of salty water; the sound of waves is so similar to winter wind, an echo of home....

in january all is quiet on the beach except for splashing waves, dancing breezes and chattering gulls and terns. only a few people walk along the shore, some moving quickly with dogs straining on leashes. a few others search for shells. the holidays are over and winter and spring vacations are still weeks away. i like the island best this way. i welcome solitude. i welcome gentle warmth. i am not slick with sweat. inside the house there is no need for artificial air conditioning. on sanibel in winter i can leave the porch doors open and invite the rush of fresh breezes and the sigh of rolling seas into the rooms. peaceful. the outdoors is indoors and the indoors is outdoors, and nature is all around, with me always....

sanibel island: day 2

 view of the rising sun through our bedroom window. sanibel island, january, 2011.

a glorious dawn lured me out of bed and onto the beach by 6:45. i had left the curtains open the night before, and i would definitely continue to do so, because this is the scene that greeted me every morning while i was still lying in bed. there was no wind; the air was warm and moist as i made my way downstairs, crossed a short stretch of lawn, hopped down a couple steps onto the beach, and then dug my toes in the sand.

the beach was practically empty. every morning at daybreak i found myself here, alone (the rest of the gang were still asleep upstairs), wandering along an almost deserted gulf for an hour or so. solitude is a lovely thing. your thoughts are given a chance to expand in uninterrupted silence. but really you aren't alone at all in such a place, and to be completely truthful nor is it always silent, with brown pelicans (only somewhat noisy when they roost and make their nests in trees during the march and april breeding seson), gulls (the really noisy residents of the island), terns, dolphins, sandpipers, plovers, starfish, crabs, sea cucumbers, and mollusks to keep you company.

later in the morning it would start to rain, and the rain would continue for most of the day, the only rainy day we had on the island. it stayed delightfully balmy and thundered intermittently. at one point, while i was sitting on the porch, it was difficult to distinguish between the distant thunder and the thrumming of the waves. the sound of the surf transformed into a sweet lullaby at night. my head would rest on the pillow, the droning of the whooshing sea would fill my ears, and i would be gently, slowly, transported into my dreams....

sanibel island: day 1



miles of seashell covered beach outside our door. sunset on the gulf of mexico, january, 2011.

there is florida, and then there is the other florida, namely, sanibel island. we arrived on sun-soaked sanibel a few hours before sunset. sanibel is a place unto itself. we are familiar with island life in maine (we have so many of them!) - quiet, unhurried, simple, existing apart from the rest of the hustle and bustle of life on the mainland. so it is on sanibel.

the tallest buildings on the island are four stories high, and there are just a few of those. one small grocery store and a few mom and pop markets supply the locals and tourists with needed provisions. the grocery store is hidden under dense shady tropical growth, and along the short path leading to the entrance there is a little courtyard with a bubbling fountain and squawking parrots.

sanibel shops and restaurants are clustered in what might be characterized as mini malls, but they are oh-so-quaint. little white and pastel colored wooden buildings on different levels, connected by stairs and decks, are nestled at different angles (never just parallel to the road) in lovely landscaping displaying palms and flowers and tiny ponds interspersed with winding pathways and an occasional small wooden bridge over the water.

there are no traffic lights on sanibel. two "main" roads bisect the island into north and south - periwinkle way and sanibel-captiva road. the rest of the island's few roads require very leisurely driving speeds. ha, you are forced to just RELAX behind the wheel. the northern part of sanibel island is almost entirely national wildlife refuge. we will visit the j.n. "ding" darling refuge in another post. more reading tomorrow. see you then!

windy harpswell

looking out at whaleboat island.

maine, if you haven't already guessed, is a place i love. i have traveled quite a bit, and i enjoy visiting new places, but there is nothing like coming home to this state. the woods, the ocean, the mountains, the change of seasons, the people, all of it, makes me happy to call this place home. i was born in boston and lived on the northshore until i got married. beck pond will always be a special place to me. but maine is the most special place of all. recently, ed decided he dislikes the cold, and would love to be down south for part of the winter. but i, on the other hand, enjoy the variety the seasons bring. from sweaters, starting now, to heavy coats, mittens, hats and uggs before we know it, bring it on! sure, after winter's cold, i look forward to the warmth and renewal of spring and summer with enthusiasm. but that's just it....give me the incredible transformation that takes place in the garden and the woods behind the house as the seasons march on. never a dull moment....

harpswell on this chilly, windy, late afternoon/evening was compelling. there were no people out on the little, pebbly beach. the water was lined and streaked and ruffled by the puffing breeze. the wind whipped in toward me and blew some sand in my eyes as i took this snap. ah, maine....