Took a last picture of the campsite, packed up, and then headed up Route 1, then took a right onto Route 27...
It was another beautiful morning. The humidity was low at this point and the sun was still not at its zenith. I had forgotten just how hilly these penninsula roads could be!
New England is an extremely old geological location. Before the Rocky Mountains had even appeared, the Appalachians were larger and grander, only being scraped down to the size they are now by the growth and recession of a dozen glacial ages. What those Ice Age giants left behind in Maine was our coastline of tremendous peninsulas sweeping southward off the bottom of the state. These create a coastline so intricate and complex that to walk its edges would take longer than to walk from Portland Maine to Los Angeles California (over 3,500 miles!). This makes Maine's coastline the longest (were it stretched out) than any of the other lower 48 states, including California.
What these profound glacial modifications also did was shape the topography and elevations of a thousand steep hills, some of which I was now negotiating. In the woods along the sides of the road were granite rocks of all sizes deposited by ice flows that were carving the landscape back when wooly mammoths and the first human beings arrived in this area.
A hundred centuries overlap in Maine. The first European settlers piled the smaller boulders into stone walls that now sit peacefully, hidden beneath generations of leaves, pine needles, fallen trees, branches, fields and forests. In later times property owners reused some of these stones for their foundations, buildings, and cattle pounds. Gardens still exist that might have been producing corn, carrots, lettuces, beets, rhubarb and other staples for the last 300 years...
An old, overgrown family garden, fat with crops for the harvest soon to come.
What grandeur I felt seeing my state from the slow and steady pace of a shoe-bourne transit! What new details I could appreciate from the vantage point of the wallk!
Edgecomb Potters, a huge complex of workshops and galleries.
A sign describing the building as well as what it used to contain.
The above was a welcome sight. I'd traveled about seven miles. But Boothbay is not Boothbay Harbor. That was another five miles. It was approaching noon now, and the unrelenting sun was kicking up moisture into the air, making it dense and oppressive...
Then as I walked just a bit further, I heard a beep and looked up to see a woman in a minivan wave as she slowly passed me. It was Melinda, the friend I'd come to visit! That sure was a nice surprise. Without having a final meeting time, she'd decided to just head up 27 reckoning that surely I could be located somewhere along the line. And, she was right!
It had only been about two months since I'd seen her in Greenfield, Massachusetts at her home there, before I started the last New England leg of the Homecoming Journey. It was so nice to see her smiling face again and to just pick up where we had left off.
Of course we traversed the last five miles in less than ten minutes and made it to her cottage in Boothbay Harbor in short order. She has a wonderful eye for aesthetic beauty and I was taken aback by how comfortable this place was. Great for showing the quintessential nature of a modest Maine life on the summer coast...
It was apparent that she had given some thought to what might be a wonderful first meal, suggesting we get to Bet's Fish Fry before they ran out of food. I did a very-much needed beard trim, shave and shower, then put on my last (and only other) set of clean clothes. And, we were out the door by noon and on our way to Bet's...
Loved this!
What can I say? After eating seaweed and one sandwich a day for the last week, I was in fried fish heaven! This fish was light, not greasy, white and moist, without the hint of fishiness. They had a special dill sauce that wasn't only delicious on the fish, but also great for dipping fries.
We only ate about a third of what we got, then brought the rest home for later. Once back at the cottage, We talked for quite a while. The two of us can talk! Hours pass by. Time itself is suspended as topics weaved in and out of the conversation. At some point I realized I still had a post to publish on this day, so I took my leave and walked to the library to work...
The footbridge across the harbor. It had been in use since 1901.
Part way across I realized just how much the tourists love the things we take for granted.
It was the rising and falling tides (especially prominent because of the full moon), the seaweed,
the hundreds of boats docked and moored, but more than anything...the seagulls.
People would stop on the bridge and oo and ahh over these these seemingly conscious avian actors.
This building located about two thirds of the way from west to east has been many things,
including a private residence, gallery, gift shop and was once a rum smuggling operation during
the prohibition years, complete with trap doors in the floor.
A sculpture outside the Boothbay Harbor Public Library.
Because I had been uploading pictures every chance I got in the last few days, it was simply a matter of writing the post, editing it, and then publishing. I say "simply," but it does take a bit of thought in creative process. I don't mean to imply that writing is ever easy for me. As I've said many times it can be far more exhausting than long distance walking. All the while, it is not punishing. I love what I do and always look forward to the challenge of keeping these posts coming, day after day, despite a real lack of funding on this Maine Journey.
When I was done, I walked back to the cottage. There, Melinda had been cooking up corn tortillas on the griddle (never wheat flour ones!) then added Jack cheese, some of our leftover fish, mixed with salsa, which she then topped with a fresh spring mix of salad greens. As if this scrumptious fish taco delight were not complete enough, she also had red beans and rice on the side. I can tell you we both enjoyed this meal immensely. It was the first time - even since my extensive travels on the West Coast - that I had ever had fish tacos. Now I knew what people were talking about. I actually prefer them to beef tacos. When I'd finished my meal, she convinced me to have another taco, since there was still one lonely tortilla left. Not a lot of arm twisting was necessary.
After dinner we settled into another of our wide ranging discussions. There is something about the two of us. We feel as comfortable discussing food, relationships, our experiences and travels, as we do talking about the nature of reality, the Universe, the Sparks and the meaning of our individual missions on earth. What could be more satisfying?
When hour grew late we each turned in to our respective rooms. I had wanted the little bed in the back room. It had a firm pad and the room was just the right temperature, with an open window and a steady breeze. For once I slept soundly indoors without the trouble I had experienced with other beds in the last two years.
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