There is a mysterious feature to Deer Isle and environs that I've never encountered before. Not, at least, to the extent that it is found here. Travel on the island, for us landlubbers, is done by car. The highways are long and fingered, reaching into every nook of the island. On every road we've been on, every side road, main highway, seemingly deserted seaside drive or connector road, there are tire tracks. Not like skid marks, where somebody seems to be stopping suddenly--they're wavy lines, sometimes quite long, where some teen in a muscle car is burning rubber. Which, would be kind of funny if you saw one or two here or there, but they are literally everywhere. Maybe there's good trade in the street racing circuit here. Maybe it's a form of Maine performance art.
We started the day with a Frittata breakfast and some writing. We lazed around a bit, laptops leading the way, until we became a bit peckish at 1 or so. We wandered to Stonington (which reminds me a bit of the town of Sweet Haven in the Popeye movie, although in reality they're very different, I keep hearing that opening "Sweet Sweet Haven" song with "Stone Stonington" in its place). We ate at a place that had a dock out onto the water.
Food here is rather utilitarian in most ways. It's rare to eat on anything but paper in the tourist areas. Sandwhiches--like my burger yesterday and my delicious sausage today--are served sans condiments. You're lucky if you get a pickle on the side.
I got a coffee to go, and we stopped at the grocery for a Sunday New York times which we read with luxurious slowness. I fixed a gratin for dinner (whoa! Way too much milk! But, it was saved in the end) and some fresh corn on the cob slathered in butter and salt and pepper. quite tasty.
I'm further into Moby Dick, and forming strong opinions about the book. I'll report soon.
From Down East (as they say), here's to skidding through life leaving your marks.
Posted by: Martin McClellan
On the date of: September 11, 2005 02:31 PM