Back when I was an infant, my aunt and uncle decided to buy themselves a little private space away from the rest of the world. My Uncle was the head of a prestigous medical school in Boston, my Aunt owned an art gallery in Cambridge and they were the parents of 3 kids. They needed a place to regroup where nobody could find them. A place that was hard to get to, absolutely gorgeous, and didn't have electricity or a phone. When they said "getaway" they meant getaway.
They bought an island in Maine. An entire island. A small island, but it is an island that has always belonged only to them. Now that my Aunt has passed away, my cousin has the island, and as it has always been, the family is invited up for the first 3 weeks in August when the water is at it's warmest and the loons are singing loudly in the lake. The blueberry bushes are overladen with tiny wild berries, the lake is filled with fish, and the scenery is at it's best.
Of course, locating this island isn't for the faint of heart. It's a six hour drive straight up the Maine Turnpike to Lincoln, where you get off and start another hour or so of traveling right towards the Canadian border. At Springfield, hang a right at the gas station (it's the only on in town) and go down the dirt road to the end. At the end of the road there is a private camp. Stand on their dock and yell as loud as you can while waving like a lunatic. Sooner or later someone on the island will see you, get a canoe out, and come to pick you up.
The island is right on the border of Penobscot and Washington Counties, about an hour outside of Canada in the middle of Syslodobsis Lake. It has three structures on the island: the main cabin, the girls cabin, and the boy's cabin. The main cabin has a kitchen, two propane refrigerators, and a bit of a living room. The other cabins just have beds and a bathroom. Oh, and bats. Every cabin has bats. You learn to live with them. I'm not a huge fan of sharing a space with bats, but heck, it's better than some other animals, like bears.
Every summer eagles come onto the island to partake in our fish leftovers. They are magnificent to watch and they don't seem to mind us as long as we just sit on the porch and watch quietly.
The days proceed very slowly when you're so far away from civilization. Mostly we stumble into the main cabin for breakfast, either oatmeal cooked over the wood stove or pancakes loaded with blueberries. We tend to eat inside because it's still cold, and the discussion always turns to what we're going to eat for lunch. Depending on what's on order we might head into the teeny store in Springfield or make the big trip to a supermarket in Lincoln. We have to stop at the liquor store if we're in Lincoln and stock up on spirits of all sorts. There's not a lot else to do at night but drink.
Lunch conversation usually is about who is going to cook what for dinner, and what snacks we'll have at cocktail hours. Everyone brings up food including their favorites, so dinner ranges from the sublime (my Aunt's peking duck) to the ridiculous (sloppy joes). There is almost always a blueberry pie to eat. Right at 5 it's the cocktail hour and we all sit on the porch and chat about our day. The guys often head out fishing and the women often head out in a canoe and go berry picking along the shoreline.
Once or twice during the visit we'll go antiquing and check out the flea market. You never know what you're going to find. Once I got a purebred Maine Coon Cat at a flea market. I didn't expect to bring home a kitten, but OMG he was adorable.
I haven't been up to the Island in a few years. It's so far, and my kids aren't that interested in being in a place with only an hour of electricity a night. We have a generator up at the Island, but my Uncle insists on lights out at 9 pm. The rest of the evening is spent with propane lamps and flashlights. Teenagers find this incredibly boring.
They are so wrong. There is nothing more delightful than the island in Maine. Trust me on this.
OK, February. I get it.
