Travels With Becky

The circle of life doesn't include Grammie

True story from Lancaster. At the fair, a farmer was giving away rabbits.  Well, it's hard to turn down a free rabbit, so the family took a couple -- much to the delight of the two-year-old girl -- brought them home, then dispatched them and stewed them up.  The parents explained to the little girl that the rabbits had died and now they would eat them.  It was the circle of life.  The stew was delicious.

All well and good until Grammie died.  When Mom and Dad gently explained the situation to the little girl, she said: "Are we gonna eat Grammie now?"

Summer stories

Oh it's been a wonderful summer.  Weather wise.  On the hot humid days we've tried to plop ourselves in the cabin on the lake -- or on the dock -- or in the lake.  So the muggies didn't bother us too much.  Mostly I've been working on my new book about New Hampshire town meeting.  Pretty sure this one will be a best seller. I mean, New Hampshire town meeting -- what could be more dramatic!  I'm hoping Robert  De Niro will play the moderator, with Angelina Jolie as the town clerk, and Jim Carey as the quirky chief of police in the movie.

In my spare time, I went to Weeks State Park in Lancaster to tell stories one warm evening.  The view from the top of Mount Prospect was spectacular, though locals apologized.  On a really clear day, they said, you can see a "360 degree panorama of mountain splendor, including the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Kilkenny Range, the Percy Peaks, and the upper Connecticut River Valley."  And that's just for starters.

Here I am telling stories in the Lodge, which is on the National Register of Historic Places.  Note the moose on the wall -- he's paying strict attention.  




Here's the lodge from the outside.  It's real pretty up there.  You might want to take a trip up.  There's entertainment -- music, lectures, and, yes, storytelling -- on Thursday evenings all summer.

Loving those Frenchboro lobsters

The secret to the delicious lobsters served at the Lobster Festival in Frenchboro on Long Island, Maine, is salt water.  They cook the lobsters in salt water.  Serve them with a roll, cole slaw, beverage of your choice, and homemade pie.  All for $20.  If you ever get a chance to take the ferry out of Bass Harbor on Mount Desert Island on the second Saturday in August and enjoy the annual Frenchboro Lobster Festival, you must do it.  The ferry costs $10 regular, $5 for seniors (luckily my husband qualifies for the discount).

Frenchboro is one of the most beautiful island villages on one of the most beautiful islands in Maine.  The ride out takes you past many other islands -- and seals and dolphins and a salmon farm where you can see the salmon leaping.

Magical.

I'll say no more, but here are some pictures.  See you in Frenchboro next summer.

Well, just a couple more things.  Lots to see in Frenchboro including the Library and the Big Beach.

Beach in Maine can mean many things.  Not necessarily sand.  This beach may look bony but it is enchanting.  Don't try it barefoot though.

Messing about in boats

In a nutshell, when my husband saw retirement looming he bought an old sailboat.  It sat on our lawn for three years and he fixed it up.  It needed a lot of fixing up.  This summer (into the 4th year of sailboat ownership), we rented a slip at Winnipesaukee.  And took the boat out on the water. 

The first trip out the old motor seized -- and we didn’t dare go into the big part of the lake without a motor for back up, so we headed back to the slip.

A new motor was purchased.

Next trip out, with new motor purring (mostly purring, occasionally stalling) we sailed onto the broads.  A big gust of wind hit us. John said, “Oh no.”  That was moments before we “demasted.”  That is, the mast broke off and fell over.

Luckily, with the new motor we limped to a cove and gathered what was left of the mast onto the boat.  Returned to the slip.

Got mast and riggings fixed.

Took the boat out one more time.  John calls the boat "the Tub."  I call it the Queen Frickin Mary.

And, guess what, we sailed and sailed.  It was fun!

We anchored off an island and watched other boats racing.  Here they are.

I love sailing. It’s so relaxing.

 

Is that a rock or a hard place?

In Rochester at the Heritage Festival, I told this story while Neil English acted it out.  Just today I got the pictures from my friend Ron St. Jean, a professional photographer (check out more of his work at www.ronstjean.com).  Here’s the story and the pictures.  

There’s a fellow in town named Neil who likes to split rocks -- and he’s good at it.  He uses chisels and feathers.  To split a rock with a feather -- that’s really something.  Neil can. When he has an audience for rock splitting, which he usually does because it’s so interesting, he’ll pound pound pound and the people gather around.

Just as the rock is about to split -- he can hear it in the change in sound as the hammer strikes the chisel -- he’ll stop.  He’ll say: “Now you’re about to see something no one has ever seen before.  He gives the stone one more whack -- and there it is -- something no one has ever seen before.  The inside of the rock.  All its secrets revealed.

 

It's how you look at it

 The tourist said to the local:  “Do I go over the covered bridge to get to Walpole?”   

The local says:  “if I were you, I’d go through it.”

Or is that a humdinger?

  Sometimes a picture tells a story.  At our camp on Donnell Pond in Franklin, Maine, we spend a lot of time watching the hummers -- that is, the little ones, hummingbirds -- at the feeder.  This summer we've seen as many as seven at a time.  Hungry hungry hummers.  Note the hummer in silhouette to the right of the feeder.

No need for speed

 This story comes from Paul Yelle of Campton. He writes that his mother rode his three-wheeler when he was a kid.  She was timid but proud to be riding it.  She made the comment:  “I wish it had a speedometer so I could tell how fast I’m going.”  My father didn’t miss a beat:  “It would need a calendar at the speed you’re going.”

I can identify.  I may have mentioned back in the fall that I sent my husband out to buy a new snow shovel and he came home with a four-wheeler with a plow.  Well, summer’s come and we’re trying the quad (cool people call them quads) out on old roads and trails. I poke along.  Once I drove through some mud and over some rocks. I can’t say I enjoyed it.  The flatter the going the better if you ask me.

Get misty for me

Tom, traveling in the West as part of his tour of national parks, struck up a conversation with a stranger.

“Where are you from?”  the stranger asked.

“New Hampshire.”

“Oh,” the stranger said, “oh, so green and misty.”

I guess New Hampshire is green and misty -- especially in the spring.  Takes an outsider to remind us.

Maybe that should be our new state motto:  “NH: Oh so green and misty.”