I wanted to let everyone know that content is going to be a bit scarce around here for the next few days as I will be up in the wilds of Maine scattering my dad’s ashes at Moosehead Lake. I’ve set a few things to auto-post while I’m gone, but if something “big” happens while I’m gone and you come to the site looking for my take on it and don’t find it, this is the reason.
That’s dad- chicken legs and all- touching up the trim on “Camp” a few years ago. My dad, his dad, and his grandfather built this cabin (which we call, simply, Camp) in the early 1950s, although my family has been vacationing at the lake (it’s not as glamorous as it sounds- read on) since the 1920s. Originally the camp had no indoor plumbing and drinking water came from a spring about a mile away. While the camp now has running cold water and an indoor toilet, it still only has a small wood stove for heat (which is almost pointless since the camp isn’t insulated), it still has no electricity, and we still have to collect drinking water from the spring. And this is the way we like it- it’s the way dad liked it.
All of this leading up to the fact that this place and this lake were my dad’s favorite place in the world. There is no television, there is no internet, and if there is any cellphone coverage it is at the mercy of any cloud, tall tree, or soft breeze that might interfere with it. Camp is a place where you read, listen to distant radio stations at night, play cards, sit and stare out across the lake for hours, and eat as a group around a big crowded table full of dishes that are pretty much only eaten at Camp.
Basically, it’s a special place and I can’t think of a better place for my dad to return to the earth.
(If you want to learn a little more about Moosehead Lake there was this guy named Thoreau who had a lot to say about it.)