Missing Maine

It's hot and humid, I have a tough deadline this week, I've skipped the gym for three weeks, I have painful puncture wounds from pilling Snicky, and I'm generally cranky.  But mostly I miss Maine and our lazy, barefoot lifestyle there, which boils down to eating, getting wet, chattering with locals, and napping. Every other guest at our inn gets up early to head to Acadia National Park for hiking, biking, sailing, kayaking, and whatever. We go to the island to do nothing but hang around outside, at the inn or around the island.

We did wrench ourselves from the hot tub to swim in Echo Lake, at a private spot our innkeeper introduced us to. The water is warm enough, and crystal clear — full of soothing minerals, according to the innkeeper. I miss the lake:

View from shore: just cool water and mountains. Click to enlarge...

But I miss the hot tub and pool much more, even though the pool heater is broken. Turns out I'm very hardy and can tolerate cold water, if "cold" means about 73 degrees.

Looking pristine: the innkeeper just finished 

with the leaf-blower, his favorite toy/torture device. 

I miss breakfast on the porch, which had been stretching to fill a couple of hours. There are multiple courses, starting with freshly baked scones and a chunk of zucchini or blueberry bread. Then comes a bowl of fruit or a cobbler, then some delicious entrée, like berry crèpes, or an omelet with pesto, tomatoes and ricotta. Then maybe more bread with our tea.... Then we waddle over to the armchairs to read, socialize, and nap. Note the catnip cigar in the photo below: it seems that Possum packed it in my husband's suitcase so we wouldn't forget him. He needn't have worried: I pine for him the whole time we're away, and his furry cohorts, too.

Almost any porch is a wonderful thing.

A porch where people bring you breakfast is heaven.

I miss the hot popovers and blueberry iced tea at the Jordan Pond House in Acadia. I can make both of the recipes at home but it's just not the same. I need a picnic table, a pond and a mountain view:

Popovers, the perfect vehicle for soft butter and strawberry jam.

I miss C.J.'s Ice Cream in Bar Harbor, where a "kiddie" size equals "medium" or "large" on Newbury Street. Their sign didn't include their frozen yogurt flavors on this particular day. I can't digest ice cream but I can handle hard yogurt. In Boston, I'm lucky to find one or two flavors, and one is always yucky old raspberry. At C.J.'s. there are always at least five yogurt flavors, including my all-time favorite, chocolate peanut butter swirl. Plus chocolate almond, Heath Bar, and butter pecan... and they taste as rich as ice cream. Oh, man....

Top flavor: "I'm Not Sure Yet," vanilla with a little of everything mixed in.

I miss rocking in an old rocker on the old porch at the old Claremont Hotel, as old WASPs play vicious games of croquet on an old court beside the sea.

We should spend a night here one of these years.

But there's no pool!?!

I even miss the Tom Cat, down the street, where we go for iced tea and other drinks when the owner decides he's open for business. Talk about rustic charm:

Sighhh. Time to go back to work.