After one week

 

We've only been at our new digs in Stockton Springs, Maine for a week or so but already we've become enchanted with the Downeast life where mighty Penobscot Bay meets the Penobscot River as it winds its way on up to Bangor. (pronounced Bang-gore, not Bang-gah in case you were wondering)

The eagles pictured above (mom and adolescent I believe) were photographed from our deck one gray morning a few days ago. Here's the thing: I have been obsessed with being able to view and photograph eagles in the wild for a million years. The closest I ever came was the sight of a large sooty seagull at Nantasket Beach in Hull, MA in 1963. It had a white head. Ironically, Nan and I had planned to travel to Alaska's inner passage on a small ship cruise this past June but Nan's mild case of Covid knocked us off the tour. The sight of hundreds of eagles and a chance to spend some time with good friends were the primary motivations for the trip. Our friends saw the eagles. We saw Covid test strips.

And then, two months later I walk out onto our lovely Stockton Springs deck and there they were. They might have flown over from Alaska as a way of making amends. We look forward to seeing them again.

On another morning I saw this incredible sunrise:

As you can plainly see, this part of Maine is illuminated by TWO suns. It's probably why homes are more expensive up here. If one of the suns burns out, you can always depend on the other one. Anyway, in less than a week, without having to leave our deck, I saw eagles and a double-sun sunrise. As Larry David would say, "Pretty, pretty, pretty good."

Little by little we've been able to meet some of our 15 sets of neighbors. They all seem nice and several have gone out of their way to help us settle in. 

Which brings us to the U-Haul incident.

Several days ago I had decided to play a round of golf at the charming Northport Golf Club, a 100-year-old nine holer that will eventually become our summer golf club. Nan wasn't keen on golfing that day but agreed to drop me off at the course while she did some shopping and browsing in nearby Belfast. For the record, I'd rather have unanesthetized testicular surgery than do any shopping or browsing, so this was a trade that helped both teams. When we left for the golf course in Nan's trusty Ford Edge, we noticed a plume of bluish-gray smoke billowing from the exhaust and following us to the golf course, about 30 minutes away.

"Hmmm," we both said.

"Probably just the temperature difference on a cold morning," we both agreed.

"Doubt it's anything to be concerned about," we both commented, concerned.

To make a long story short, I completed my delightful round of golf and called Nan for a ride. I detected some annoyance in her voice when she answered the phone.

"How did your browsing go?" I asked blithely.

"I'm stuck on the side of the road waiting for a tow truck," she answered. Her tone was somewhere between annoyed and totally pissed off.

"Do you want to know what I shot? By the way, the hot dogs at the club are to die for," I commented.

"I think today is the day I will kill you," Nan mused.

It turned out that she couldn't pick me up because she was waiting for a tow truck to take her and her crappy Ford Edge to the Belfast Ford dealership where someone would hopefully be able to determine why the engine warning light was prominently flashing on the dashboard and the car seemed poised to blow up. 

Meanwhile, I was stuck at the damn golf course.

And they were out of hot dogs.

In rapid succession, here's what happened next. Jonathan, a complete stranger and a proud member of the Northport Golf Club, listened to my plight and insisted I allow him to drive me and my 500-pound golf bag to the Ford dealership where I could await the arrival of Nan and the tow truck.

Meanwhile Nan had been in touch with her brother, Ken, who runs the family's 50+ year-old Ford dealership in Havana, Florida. Ken consulted with his people and the Maine service people and they were able to diagnose the problem. 

The solution was a replacement part (I would name it but then I'd have to kill you) that would have to be ordered and would not arrive for at least two days. This development inspired a frantic search for a rental car to tide us over until the Edge was repaired.

Here's a fun fact: You can't rent a car in Belfast, Maine. Whoever you call, and Nan called 'em all, will tell you that they have no cars for rent. (Insert Seinfeld reference here: "You know how to TAKE the reservation; you just don't know how to KEEP the reservation.")

Thankfully, there was one exception. The local U-Haul place was willing to rent us a 10-foot truck, however it wouldn't be available until the next day. As a matter of fact, they were willing to "upgrade" us to a 15-foot truck if we preferred.

"We'll take the 10-footer," said the two new truckers. "That's a big 10-4, good buddy."

 

The two days we drove that damn truck around were uneventful, thank goodness. At 89 cents a mile we tried to use 'er sparingly but still managed to put 100 miles on it.

Too much browsing if you ask me, although we were able to move a few pieces of newly bought furniture into the condo. 

Since we couldn't pick up the truck until the next day, we needed a ride from the dealership to our place and then a ride from our place to the U-Haul place the next day. The dealership brought us home, even stopping at Young's Lobster Pound where we picked up a couple of pound and a half beauties. Bill and Diane, our new neighbors, brought us to the U-Haul the next day.

If you're counting, that's three gracious rides from three brand new acquaintances. There's Maine for ya.

Just about the ONLY sounds you can hear from our deck are the chirping and buzzing of birds and hummingbirds, which prompted us to buy a bird feeder to hang on the stand left by the previous owners. So far the primary customers to our bird feeder have been several enormous Blue Jays.

Not him:

 But him:

So with the U-Haul incident behind us, our return to Destin is planned for next week. Meanwhile we enthusiastically join Buddy Hicks Getman as he savors the last few days of a Downeast summer.

Ain't life grand!