birds : Acadia National Park

During our week in Acadia, we saw (or heard) about fifty birds. I had this idea that we would be finding warblers everywhere we turned, however, they seem to have mostly migrated by now. We did see a number of new species of warblers and other birds, enabling me to add about a dozen new birds to my lifelist (the electronic version of which I plan to update this weekend). This is meant to simply be a tally, as I’ll write at greater length about the efforts we undertook to find them on each day we were there.

Without further ado, the birds we saw in and around Acadia are: Common Loon, Double-Crested Cormorant, Great Blue Heron, American Black Duck, Mallard, Common Eider, Lesser Yellowlegs, Spotted Sandpiper, White-Rumped Sandpiper, Herring Gull, Great Black-Backed Gull, Black Guillemot, Turkey Vulture, Osprey, Bald Eagle, Northern Harrier, Sharp-Shinned Hawk, Broad-Winged Hawk, Red-Tailed Hawk, American Kestrel, Merlin, Peregrine Falcon, Rock Dove, Mourning Dove, Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, Belted Kingfisher, Eastern Wood-Peewee, Blue Jay, American Crow, Black-Capped Chickadee, Red-Breasted Nuthatch, Golden-Crowned Kinglet, Hermit Thrush, American Robin, Gray Catbird, Cedar Waxwing, Northern Parula, Magnolia Warbler, Yellow-Rumped Warbler, Black-Throated Green Warbler, Bay-Breasted Warbler, Black-and-White Warbler, Common Yellowthroat, Canada Warbler, Song Sparrow, White-Throated Sparrow, Dark-Eyed Junco, White-Winged Crossbill, Pine Siskin, and American Goldfinch.

In addition to these, we also heard a Ruffed Grouse and a Common Raven, and saw on the drive home European Starlings and Wild Turkeys. Also, I am not totally sure about the Bay-Breasted Warbler, as I identified them in fall plumage.

birds : Acadia National Park

vacation : the return trip


The sunrise on our last morning in Acadia.

Since we were already getting up insanely early for our thirteen-hour drive home from Maine, we thought we’d get up even earlier and watch the last sunrise from the top of Cadillac Mountain. However, it became apparent that we weren’t going to make it, due to my misunderestimation of both how long it takes us to get it together at 5am and how long it takes to get from where we were staying to the top of Cadillac Mountain. So, we pulled over at Canoe Point and watched the sun rise over Frenchman’s Bay instead. It was beautiful, and we consoled ourselves with the belief that we probably wouldn’t have gotten to see the blazing-ball-of-fire-over-the-ocean type of sunrise anyway, since there was a thick blanket of storm clouds obscuring the view. One more thing for us to do next time we’re up there.

Once we got on the road the trip went smoothly. Bangor’s morning rush hour was nothing like the rush hour of major cities, so the timing worked out perfectly all the way down the coast. The only excitement was car-related: we had the sidewall of our front tire develop a bubble, which made a huge amount of noise on the road and then burst in the parking lot of the gas station where we were seeking directions to an auto repair shop. Thankfully, there was a shop just up the road; once we drove the car there, they pronounced the other front tire ‘crap’ and proceeded to replace them both. We were so tired—and grateful that the tire hadn’t blown while we were driving up the mountains or just a few seconds earlier when my hands and face were in range—that we didn’t mind just hanging out reading in the waiting area. In the end, the delay was only an hour and we had beautiful traffic the rest of the way; apparently everyone in New York decided to actually stay at work until 5pm that day.

The only negative of the rest of the trip was the way we were chased down the coast by Kings of Leon. Yes, we could have put on CDs, but there are a decent number of radio stations in the stretch between NYC and DC that we were enjoying listening to. Except the Kings of Leon part, which was worse than usual because apparently they are on tour. So there was that. Having to constantly surf past bad music did spark several long conversations about alternative rock, grunge, and which bands that sing about heroin I like (Velvet Underground, Nirvana) and which I don’t (Alice in Chains). The upshot: I barely tolerate Pearl Jam out of respect for their timeliness, and all other bands that sound like them make me want to ralph exasperate me.

Now that we’re home I’m working on getting the photos off my camera so that I can retro-post about our experiences of getting up at 6am and hiking around for hours in a haze of stink and Deep Woods Off ™ before collapsing into bed and doing it all over again the next day. It was far more awesome than it sounds.

vacation : the return trip

vacation : we arrive in Maine

On the Tuesday after Labor Day we drove up to Maine from Rhode Island. It was a beautiful day for a drive, and we weren’t expected at the house until the evening, so we stopped at several places along the way. At the Kittery Visitors’ Center, we picked up a number of leaflets about regional artists and a map of the state. We also staged a cute photo of me at the ‘Relax, you’re in Maine!’ sign, which was lost along with all the other vacation photos when I inadvertently reformatted the drives on the last day of the trip. (Which is to say: no illustrations, sorry.)

Our first off-highway detour was to the Maine Potters Market shop in Portland. I was hoping to find a piece or two to take back with us, however we didn’t find anything that fit into what I was looking for. We both really enjoyed Barbara Walch’s work, it was just more delicate that the general style of our house and art pieces. Of all of the pieces we saw, her set of three nesting bowls was the closest to something we’d use, for nibbly bits and the like.

The next jaunt was to Lisbon, for a visit to the Stained Glass (and Insect) Museum. The gallery is housed in a converted church, so there’s lots of space and light to be able to get a good look at the works on display. The basement is an active studio, and we saw several artists working on various pieces. The insect museum was a bit disappointing—I was expecting more of a Smithsonian-style live insect zoo or Harvard-style entomological collection—but probably more interesting if you visit the live tarantulas in the annex (which we did not). After the museum, we had lunch at Dr. Mike’s Madness Café just down the road. The sandwiches (I had egg salad) and pie (I had mixed berry) were great, and just what we needed to keep on keeping on. The purple vinyl seats and the guy who had two creme brulées and a glass of milk for lunch alone made it worth the trip.

Just before joining the Maine turnpike at Augusta, we stopped in to a Visitors’ Center advertised as having a selection of Maine arts and crafts. We were planning to continue from there on to Brahms Mount Textiles; after seeing a selection of their absolutely beautiful blankets at the Visitors’ Center, we decided to save it for another trip since we were unlikely to buy one as a souvenir on this trip. However, one of their hand-loomed cotton basketweave throws would nicely complement the hand-loomed wool herringbone throw we brought back from Ireland (after getting to see Eddie at work at his loom, which is a story for a different time, about a different vacation). We saw several more examples of local pottery in the shop, and I found a bag made from recycled sails to covet. What can I say, I like bags!

From here we just carried on through to the house, which we settled into relatively well despite arriving after dark. We took a few moments to check for wayward spiders and then headed over to Bar Harbor for some dinner. After considering several options, we settled on the relatively new Finback Alehouse, which had both beer (the regionally local Voodoo Porter) and chicken sandwiches. It doesn’t appear that the pub has a website, but in searching for it I did learn that the manager who got us through the door from the street ran into trouble a week later (along with a whole slew of other folks, mostly drunkards; the Mount Desert Island police report gives our local one a run for its money for humor value).

After dinner we walked down to the Main Street, nipped into the Acadia Shop for a look at their blueberry-themed merchandise, and then headed back to the house, where we laid out our clothes and set the alarm for 5am.

vacation : we arrive in Maine

food : blueberries

The echoing silence around here has been due to our absence. We were off in the Great White North last week, visiting family and collecting blueberries from the family farm. Usually when we arrive this time of year the bushes are laden with fruit, so much so that it’s impossible to pick them all. Along with the fruit, the bushes are typically crawling with all manner of wasps and hornets which feast on the berries as they become overripe. Despite our best efforts each year, we’ve never been able to pick the bushes totally clean.

This year the bushes were the barest I’ve ever seen them; oddities of weather meant that the crop was unusually small. The scarcity when we arrived was also due in part to the decision to allow pick-your-own folks to access the field without set hours; the easy to pick berries at eye and hand level were all gone. Berries remained at the interior of the bushes and at heights that required one of us to stand on a stool while the other held the bucket. In addition to these, some bushes were dotted with second round berries, those that were left to ripen after the bush was picked nearly clean earlier in the season. As a result, we spent more time in the field this year for fewer berries. The weather was gorgeous, clear and much cooler than home, even on the hottest days. It was nice to be outside, and I lost track of time each day as I usually mark the hours passing by the number of berries in the buckets.

Now that we’re back home we’re eating berries in our cereal, I’m freezing some for the winter, and I’ve made one pie and some sauce to go over the angel food cake we had for my partner’s birthday. There’s a recipe for pickled blueberries that seems to be something like a sweet relish or chutney that I’m interested in trying, but I may decide that we don’t have enough berries to spare for that. I remind myself that the berries will grow again next year; I’m sure I’ll be convinced, as I am each year, to share some with our friends.

food : blueberries

vacation : North Carolina

We took two days to drive home from Hilton Head, stopping in Raleigh and spending the night at the Oakwood Inn. The Inn was (apparently) the first bed and breakfast in the city, and is located in the historic Oakwood neighborhood. The neighborhood has its own very nicely published walking tour guide to the homes, and we enjoyed reading about the places we passed when we hoofed it to and from dinner. Raleigh is not that big; we were planning to take the new circulator bus back to the Inn later in the evening, but just ended up walking everywhere. Years in Ann Arbor and DC without a car, where we regularly walked several miles a night when we went out, trained us well.

Our choice for dinner was The Raleigh Times, a local bar that’s located in the former offices of one of Raleigh’s now-defunct newspapers. It was spacious, well-designed, and played good music. Also, the guacamole and sangria was just as good as I’d been told it would be, which is always nice. We hung out there for a while, and then headed over to check out the live jazz place (the name of which I forget). Sadly, the band wasn’t going on for another hour—it was Saturday night, after all—and we weren’t up for making a night of it, even with the Irish bar right next door. Honestly, the live act at the Irish bar was a little off-putting: I’m sure they were a fine band, but their attempts to turn ‘Whiskey In a Jar’ into a sing-a-long about tequila were not what we were looking for. Instead, we walked back, past the statehouse and the Governor’s mansion, and stood under the streetlights to read the descriptions of houses we found interesting. We happened to be there on the weekend of the annual garden tour, so everyone’s yards and porches were looking particularly spiffy.

Before leaving Raleigh we were hoping to visit the Seagrove Pottery shop, however the hours didn’t work out. We did peer in the window and admire the lovely large pitchers and bowls; in terms of our vacation budget, it’s probably best they weren’t open. (Ditto with the totally funky bag shop in downtown Raleigh.) From there, we headed north on local roads so that my partner could get a sense of my experience riding my bike from Raleigh to DC six years ago. The plan was to stop for lunch in Warrenton, the town that threw the AIDS riders a welcome party at the end of our first day. Although I wasn’t able to recreate the route exactly, we had fun, and we did get lunch as planned. Warrenton was as I remembered it; everyone was perfectly friendly, although we felt a bit out of place in our casual traveling outfits as everyone was kitted out in their church outfits. In the end, we ate at the more casual Italian restaurant, taking half of our meals home to have for dinner. In Warrenton, we experienced one of the more surreal elements of town squares in the South, the Confederate War memorials. Nearly every town of any size has one (Raleigh did), but not necessarily a memorial for any other wars. (And, yes, it’s true that many towns in northern states have Civil War memorials, and it’s also true that in the end all of those dead soldiers were of the same nation. Maybe I’ll feel better about it when we have a national African-American history museum and/or a monument to the slave dead. Recognition of the existing African-American Civil War Memorial, right around the corner from where we used to live in DC, would be a great start.) All that being said, the fact that North Carolina voters chose both Kay Hagan and the prez went a long way toward our greater ease there than in rural South Carolina (where mostly we saw signs protesting incorporation of county land into towns and bumper stickers encouraging tax resistance evasion).

From Warrenton, we bid the Carolinas goodbye, hopped on the highway, and cruised home. Well, we didn’t exactly cruise; we got back off the highway and toodled half of the way through Virginia on Route 1 because it was moving more quickly. (Wow, Virginia! Your traffic is nuts! So glad I don’t live there!) They say the sign of a good vacation is when you’re happy to go and happy to return, and we were certainly both.

vacation : North Carolina