Eastward

I say it every time I return from our annual trek Eastward and I’ll say it again. Every fall I become convinced I was born to be an east coaster. This 70 degrees, sunshine and palm trees is for the birds when there are red leaves, crisp temps, scarves, sweaters and pumpkins on wrap around porches to be had. And while we’re at it. I might as well say, I was also probably supposed to be a sailor.

See? We look good on a sailboat. These photo’s, this boat, it was every bit as lovely in person. We sailed out of Northwest Harbor and spent a few hours breezing about the small islands off shore. Our captain’s name was Lou Gallagher. Tell me that is not the most iconic, east coast boy, sailor name you ever heard. It’s like he just walked out of Catcher in the Rye.

The day previous we ate lobster. Because that’s what you do in Maine.

It does seem barbaric. Picking them out of the tank and watching them meet their demise in a large cooker of boiling water. Or you seem them coming in off the boat and you almost feel a little bad. But then…you eat them, and the sadness dissipates into pleasure. And gratitude.

We also rented tandems one afternoon and pedaled through the park to lunch. We ate warm popovers and nearly lost Tutz to the crazy house. She recovered in time to pedal back.

 

And last but not least, we ran a race. That is why we go. Supposedly.

The one thing that might keep from that other coast, other than you know, logistics, is my hair. Holy crap. That is my humidity hair and that is a disaster.

The long weekend was anything but however. We slept in until 9 every morning, went to bed at 9:30, fell asleep reading, relaxed like it was going out of style. Is next September really a year away?