Drive. Pray. Scream?: Day 63: The Quiet Side

We were able to watch the livestream of the FPC service just long enough to see Mom read Scripture and catch a glimpse of Gail in the choir...then the connection died. Ugh! The podcasts of recent sermons have been so great as supplements to our attempts at worshipping with the home folks. We're missing all of you so much.

A late-morning bike ride on the carriage roads more than soothed our frustrations. Our chosen loop took us over a stone bridge, beside three ponds, and up and down several good-sized hills, which Kelsey tackled with determination on her single-speed bike. We were so proud of her! And as always, Kendall was a big help on the tag-along; I caught her pedaling on the downhills while Stan was braking. Hmmm, guess we have some more work to do before she can make it solo!

Following a quiet picnic lunch overlooking Pretty Marsh Harbor on the western side of the island, we scrambled down the hillside and stairs to the water. Rock-throwing and shell collecting (but not keeping any--our junior rangers were adamant that we not take anything from the park!) continued the relaxing theme of our day. As a cool fog began to roll in from the ocean, we headed further south down the western shore into what's known as the "Quiet Side" of Acadia...a quintessentially New England area, with villages full of weathered, shingled cottages and storefronts displaying lobster buoys alongside the daily newspaper. We were drawn into The Quietside Cafe by its sign advertising fresh blueberry pie. A very good move. The two slices that we shared four-ways, complemented by vanilla ice cream, were devoured in a matter of seconds. I was on the phone with my mom at the time and suddenly realized that I'd better eat while we chatted or I'd get nothing. Kendall even snaked a forkful off of my own fork. Then she had the nerve to say sorry, smile sweetly and do it again!

The south-easterly curve of the drive took us to the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse, still an active beacon. The fog made it especially dramatic to look at, and the importance of the buoy bells became apparent as we couldn't see more than 40 feet out into the harbor.

And now, back at our bayside campground, we're watching the tide come in, sitting next to a comfy campfire. It's been such a treat to finally be in a place where the evenings are cool enough to enjoy a fire, and bugs are not in abundance. Tomorrow's forecast calls for rain, so we're making the most of a dry evening and will roast marshmallows later, maybe over another round of 20 Questions...a fun way to wrap up our ninth week on the road.

I just remembered my promise on last night's entry to share a couple of Mike's (our carriage driver) Maine stories...skip if you've had enough of me for today!
* Fresh lobster (the good, hard-shell kind) is going for approximately $10 a pound in this region; that's for raw lobster that you take and cook yourself. It used to be considered poor man's food (its status as a bottom-feeder was frowned upon) and that it was served three times a day to Maine's prisoners! Where's the nearest bank to rob?!
* David Rockefeller, 96, the last of the sons of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., still drives a buggy through the carriage roads on his property (there's a bit of the original Rockefeller land that's privately held by the family, including a large home) and on into the park. He dresses to the nines...bow-tie, vest, jacket and straw hat, hops into the buggy with his cane, and takes off on a jaunty drive. Flags flown above his house mean he's in residence, and they were blowing in the breeze yesterday. Alas, no sighting of the man.
* Martha Stewart owns a home near the stables, and she's been on a carriage ride before with Mike. He told us, with his eyes rolled way back, that it wasn't very "enlightening"! Earlier this summer, Mike awoke to loud cracks, possibly gun shots or a fire. He looked out to see a huge fireworks display in the sky, and learned the next day it was a party she threw in honor of her 70th birthday. Nice of her to warn the neighbors, especially those with horses!
* When John D. Rockefeller, Jr., died in 1960, his family was surprised to learn that his will stipulated that his enormous, 110-room cottage in Acadia be torn down in three years' time. The family had first rights to anything they wanted from it, and then it was to be opened up to the island residents, who could--and did--pick it clean. Doorknobs, faucets, drawers, stained glass...all was free for the taking, as long as it was taken by an Acadia-island resident. And then the house was destroyed.

Kelsey on an uphill pull

Carriage road view

Stan grabbed this shot from the ravine that's spanned by this stone bridge. The creek below has waterfalls and deep pools in which weary cyclists were swimming.