Schoodic Peninsula

Elementary back stroke races

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This thought just tickles me. We are taking a few swimming lessons to improve our strokes. I pretty much swim freestyle, always, and Tim does this and the backstroke. While giving us tips about our strokes, our teacher is intent on teaching survival skills as well, and the elementary backstroke, which used to be a favorite of mine when I was young, is really a survival swim. Since gliding and doing nothing is one of the most important aspects it made me chuckle to imagine a race with everyone doing nothing.

My concentration ebbed. The instructor asked me to count my strokes for the length of the pool – and I forgot to. Then when I remembered to count my strokes, I forgot to kick, because we had been working on another drill. It’s a good thing I wasn’t chewing gum as well, who knows what might have happened.

Back on terra firma, I have finished a lovely merino shawl for a friend. It is Print o’ the wave stole by Eunny Jang and the second time I have knitted it. Very satisfying. And I did memorize the patterns so something is still working up there.

Then I got carried away and decided I needed to weave a ribbon for the package. I hope to finish and mail it tomorrow.

We walked on the sand bar over to Little Moose Island which is only accessible at low tide. The day was glorious, 50’s and sunny, and we were not alone. But we always find secluded places to enjoy the sea and rocks.

I thought lobsters only turned red after they were cooked. Who cooked this one?

I saw a mitt in this rock. How about you?

Ah, how the mind wanders.

Dendrophobia

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The fear of falling trees. I have it. I always worry about hiking when it’s windy. Hikers are killed by falling trees. Tim thinks I am ridiculous. The other day, while we were driving as a gale blew, I asked him to look up the word for the phobia. I thought it might be arborophobia, but dendrophobia is the word. We continued our drive, swam at the YMCA and headed home.

The last part of our drive is six miles along a spruce lined coastal road. While Tim was gazing off somewhere, I watched as a medium size spruce fell on the road…right in front of us!!! Moments sooner it could have been us. And that same day, a woman in another part of Maine was impaled, in her car, when a branch somehow came crashing through the dashboard. Be advised.

The past week included a trip to finally see my family, now that I am vaccinated, home to work and back to Maine. I have grown accustomed to long car trips.

Schoodic Peninsula morning

I left early on a beautiful day.

Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park

I spent a few exhausting days with grandchildren then headed home to work, which was not as exhausting but not as much fun. I got home to this.

Once again I shoveled a narrow path to the house.

Clouds on my way to work

I took a brief look around, since I didn’t have much time to do anything. The beehive is still surrounded by snow as is my she shed bee shed that I built last summer.

I tucked it all in and headed back to Maine for the final leg of our winter care taking stint. I’ll stay in open fields when the wind blows.  “Well, Jane, it just goes to show you, it’s always something — if it’s not one thing, it’s another.” Roseannadanna (Gilda Radner)

Does a lone loon sing ?

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This one doesn’t. Loons call to communicate between a pair or to report threats. This one seems to be alone, unthreatened and mum. Audubon reports that, “in winter, they are silent and more subtly marked. They are solitary when feeding but may gather in loose flocks at night”. Although we are in a National Park, the only animal sound I hear is from squirrels chattering in the woods or from a tree in front of our townhouse.

Rockefeller Hall is on the grounds of the Schoodic Institute. This was part of the Navy Base that was here after John D. Rockefeller donated his land to the National Park Service.

Wayside image, audio description provided

Today it contains upscale housing and exhibits about Schoodic Point. We make sure it’s secure when we do our rounds.

Swimming at the closest YMCA continues to soothe me, twice a week. It’s a breathing meditation that goes by quickly, calms me, lets me sort my thoughts and get a little exercise to boot. I’m certainly breathing a little easier today. Since Tim is recovering from a broken wrist, I like to go early and the morning seascapes always catch my breath.

We haven’t had much snow that lasts yet and I appreciate the dry surfaces. I walk the peninsula with a camera, which I can use with gloves, and iPhone, which I can’t. Oddly enough, sometimes, the iPhone captures the best pictures. This is a new favorite.

I’ve packed up my loom to bring home and switched to spinning cotton again on my book charkha wheel. Such a simple clever design. They became widely used in India when Ghandi encouraged people to spin their own yarn to weave into cloth. Under British colonial rule, they had been growing and exporting their cotton, which was then spun and woven into cloth and sold back to them, heavily taxed, and many people could not afford it. When things go well, it’s another form of meditation.

I see some hand spun towels and maybe a shirt in my future.

We like to pack light for our trips. I brought two heavy sweaters and the yarn and pattern for a new one. It was a kit from Ysolda Teague called Bleideag and worked up quickly. A new classic and my souvenir from my winter at Schoodic Institute.

Add it to my good memories.

It is written in the sky

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There is no doubt about it, things will change. And to confirm it, I saw a sun halo yesterday while we hiked at low tide out to an island. A very brief internet search called this a sun dog, sun rainbow and a whirling rainbow. It was thought to be a sign of change by Native Americans.

Specifically, weather will change while a front blows though today but I can only hope that a lot more will change. My Christmas wishes: the pandemic will ebb and we can hold our distant loved ones again, safe and healthy; people will get along respectfully, listen to one another and be kind. During my eight hour drive the other day, a John Denver song, “Country Road” came on the radio. It made me think what a different time that had been. So much gentler.

Tim asked me to walk across the great abyss with him. He found a way over large slippery rocks and boulders with seaweed and streams thrown in for fun. I began, then said no way. You have fun. I often balk at his adventures and sometimes rightly so. I’ll admit this time I was wrong. After I gave up and walked along the road and he continued onward, I saw a much more reasonable path over small gravel. So after he disappeared, I too made it to Little Moose Island.

And as usual, it was worth it.

Here’s the view looking back to where we are living. There is a water tower on the shore and our townhouse is back in there.

The island with its rock formations, surprisingly reminded me of Barn Rock (my favorite place) on Deal Island – on the other side of the world and in a different hemisphere. We are all from the same core after all.

I watched these clouds form a heart and it filled me with gratitude.

Or, now that I look at them, maybe I was already thankful and thought I saw a heart.

We made it ashore before the tide washed away our path. I look forward to more adventures with this guy.

Happy holidays and to wishes for a healthy, happy, peaceful New Year.