Seasonal beauty on Road 132 from Perce, QC to the NB border. New Brunswick to Maine: In Campbelton, quaint bilingual border town, I heard local stories at the cozy Super 8 spa. Crossing the border at Van Buren was a bit challenging. I rounded up the day with a seafood meal in Machias, ME, and the Bluebird Motel.
Last Visit at the Pond
Bye Bye Beloved Pond
Last days at Pond: Poor Farm Road, Loons, Funky bar
Poor Fram Rd. ; Wrapping up; Bye loons, Bye pond; Funky Bar; This transient moment
Coming Home and Poor Farm Rd.
I arrived at night again. It was actually nice to drive at night on the highways, then turn off into the smaller Alfred’s Rd., and from there into the cozy Kennebunk Pond Rd., Poor Farm Rd., and eventually to our private little driveway. Homecoming.
Jim explained to me that in days of yore there was, indeed, a “poor farm” nearby, a place where destitute people were expected to provide for themselves by farming. The name “poor farm” connotes days before social security, before federal welfare.
A quick search yielded very interesting information about this institution most Americans do not even realize existed. In the old days poor farms, poor houses and almhouses, as they were called, were the last solution for the lowest on the social scale, including “fallen women”. Some sample sites:
https://youtu.be/eSYmNSoFHXw ;
https://bangordailynews.com/2017/11/25/news/bangor/bangors-former-poor-farm-spills-its-secrets/ .
Automn Colors, Turkeys and a Number to Boast About at Home
In the morning, we returned the car to Hertz with half a tank full. They said they’ll notify me and Jim about the demand letter, once they figured out what they would sue the insurance for regarding the bumper damage.
Otherwise we said goodbye to everybody and thanked them again. I availed myself to another candy and another flashlight key holder. Everybody was super friendly, ignoring the car damage and concentrating on keeping up the good atmosphere. T. even made the effort to dig out my mileage from the first trip (3054) from the depths of his computer. That totalled my drive this journey to a nice 5968 miles, something to boast about at home.
To my amazement, a few weeks down the line I was notified I did not owe anything on the car damage and the claim was closed…
Jim drove us back to The Pond. I made him stop several times along the country roads to take pics of the magnificent Maine foliage. The leaves were just too beautiful to pass by without giving them their due respect. And then there was a pack of turkeys. So far I have never succeeded to stop in time to take turkeys’ pictures in the parks, but here they were out in the open, posing…
Wrapping up
I spent the afternoon going over the huge amount of paper I collected on my trip – brochures, maps, receipts. Trying to sift out the ones I wanted to carry home was a mentally-taxing task.
Later, I took Jim out for a fish dinner at “the Kennebunk Inn”. The front was decorated with pumpkins and straw arrangements, dressed dollies and flowers wreaths. Halloween was up and coming…
On the way out, we heard ball hits. Two couples were playing against each other on a unique court, something between a ping pong table and a tennis court. None of us had seen that before. I liked the idea. I am not built anymore for much running due to my knees, and I love ping pong which is not quite as physical. This game looked like a good compromise. It can be played by couples on a wider area, or by singles on a smaller range. We watched for a while, enjoying the dynamics, talking to some passersby about the game, then headed back home.
It’s cold here and fairly lonely. Jim is sleeping in his bed on the porch and I am camped in the middle of the living room – another night on the traveling mattress. The second story is too cold and kind of dreary. It’s nicer down here with the heater on. Jim pulled down the door his father installed, the one that rolls on pulleys, and separated the ground floor from the top floor. This way the heat would not escape upstairs.
The parents had already left to town in preparation for the up and coming winter, locking the waterfront houses. I did not get my chance to say goodbye. The two of us seemed to be the only souls around the Pond. Summer is over.
Bye Loons, Bye Pond
October 8th
But today Daughter arrived as well as Sis and Brother-in-Law. The Loons were also here, apparently waiting to say goodbye before we all migrated out of here – they to their winter homes offshore on the Atlantic, Jim to Kennebunk and me back to the Middle East…
Everybody thought me crazy, but I went on a last kayak trip in the wind and the cold. The trees were colorfully beautiful and reflected in the lake. I was determined this time to take loon pictures from inside the Pond. For that purpose I packed my cellphone in a Ziploc bag, and wrapped it further in a piece of cloth, then placed it at the water-safe side of the kayak at the very front.
I was so nervous about the phone’s welfare it was a miracle I succeeded to take any pictures at all, and their quality is dubious. Nonetheless, I tried to immortalize a few colorful trees on the banks, holding the phone in one hand and the oar in another. It was very precarious, as the wind was making it harder to stabilize the boat. Despite the difficulties, I succeeded to take a few pictures of the faithful loons, but from a fair distance and out of focus. I simply could not row and hold the phone simultaneously. These are fairly plain pics of the loons, no big show-offs or interesting movements, but, still, I “captured” them …for the last time.
The Funky Bar
Then we all went out to Funky Bar, a very local hangout, and a real last minute bonus of Americana before hitting the Middle East. There was a band playing sixties and seventies in a large canopied tent, a drink stand with very enthusiastic bartenders and a food joint at the far end. Outside there were high tables and a sitting area around a large black cauldron with fire in it for people to hang around in the cold.
Everybody was extremely friendly, but I discovered many people here view the world with a different slant. I held a long conversation with a friendly folksy guy who said he would vote for Johnson because Hillary is “evil” (anybody remembers Johnson?). I can’t get to the bottom of how Americans think these days and what is shaping their worldview. This was an eye opener. You can dislike Hillary, but “evil”?
His kid, a beautiful boy, was encouraged to play with other kids on the hill behind, so we can have our political conversation. The mother joined us and seemed to hold political views similar to her husband.
Hillary’s and Obama’s mistakes brought a series of disasters for Israel and made our regional situation ever more precarious. The call to change in Egypt brought the establishment of an Islamic state in our backyard (thank Al Sisi for foiling that). Our northern border became a diaster zone where every terrorist group found a haven. Assad slaughters his people unhindered, and Russian SAM anti -aircraft can now target Israeli planes. I criticize Hillary’s and Obama’s foreign policy, but even so I will not call her “evil”. How do people come up with such strong words? Evil connotes an villainous intention. That was not there.
It was a nice opportunity, though, to witness and be a part of the community life of Mainers, and hear some old much beloved songs in a great atmosphere.
This Transient Moment
It feels like an end-of-season sale. Jim folds up the house, I pack. Snowflakes start flying. I am closing the door on my journey. It is OK. Questions start to arise about Israel. Perhaps it is good I am getting back for Yom Kippur. At least I will have one day of peace and quiet to digest the change.
Bye Loons, bye Pond, Bye Jim. I’ll be back, and if not exactly here, then elsewhere. My wanderlust will keep me going. Somewhere around this beautiful fascinating Planet, probably up north. I still need to see my aurora. Arivederci.
October 9th The flight was due at midnight. I had the whole day to finish packing and get agitated, which I successfully did, getting very agitated. I gave Daughter some clothes, and Sis gracefully accepted some boxes of superfoods and sweetened fiber. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of assuming I was allowed 20 kg a bag, without double checking. As a result I stuffed a lot onto my carry-on, including my three pairs of shoes, but left behind some useful maps, pamphlets and campground information, as well as the book “Don’t call me a racist”. Jim in his graciousness sent me the book along with some maps later by mail, but much of my trip information was lost for posterity… Alas!
Ironically, once at the Turkish Airlines check-in, I found out I was allowed 23 kg for each suitcase and the problem for them was actually my heavy carry-on. That was solved by transferring stuff from the carryon to the suitcases, which still did not reach the 23 kg limit…
We drove to Portsmouth in pouring rain. The trees were incredibly beautiful, shining their oranges, reds and purples through sheets of water. Traffic lights reflected red and green in the wet pavements. We stopped on the way by several small stores where Jim got vegetables, vitamins and other staples. I stared at everything for the last time. I was going to remember these quaint little towns, the color magnificence, that transient moment.
Here is the link to the Epilogue.
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