Friday afternoons have become a fun-filled time in our little town; but then, for us, it's all about life's little pleasures. Today was Farmer Ted's last day of the season down on the dike. Seeing as how we're some of his "best" customers, he gave us a bushel-load of free veggies. I fired up the juicer as soon as we got home, because we'll have to work to make it through the bounty. But that's not all! After leaving Ted we went to pick up some tomatoes at Mack's Greenhouse (Mack is 93 and going strong) and corn, beets, eggplant and olives from Joe the Sausage Man. For some reason he too insisted on giving us a whole bunch of free stuff (do we look like we're in need, or are these old gents just groovin' off our love?). From there we hit the wine & cheese shop and then, finally, the library, to stock up on some good reading, because what goes better with a tasty smorgasbord than a witty novel?

Today, in my world, people seemed to struggle with their emotions. A friend at work, noticing the same thing, said she thought it was the change of seasons. Though I totally believe that to be a possibility, I don't feel at all tuned into it. If anything, I feel like I passed through my own strange bio-rythm in the beginning of the week (when the weather was bright and sunny) but now feel calm and tranquil. I hate to see people in crisis, but then it makes me feel good to help those in a state of disequilibrium. When Jake was a toddler he loved Thomas the Tank Engine, and I was always struck when watching it with him (don't you just love Ringo Starr?!) that the highest compliment that Thomas could receive from Sir Topham Hatt was to be called "a useful engine." I just loved that. It's exactly what I want out of life: to be a useful engine.

This is the tableland, the awesome flat section of Mt. Katahdin that leads up to the final short climb. I thought of leaving my pack here and then picking it up on the way down, just for the feeling of sheer freedom, but since it was just a day pack anyway, I didn't think it was worth the bother. Next year we'll be doing the Mahoosuc Notch, where you actually have to carry your pack over your head while you shimmy through the boulders. They say it's either great fun or a royal pain in the rear, depending on your perspective. Sounds like life itself, right mate?

Hard to believe that a week ago I was freezing my tail-feathers, sleeping in a lean-to at the base of Mt. Katahdin with a knit hat on my head and a few layers on my body; today I sat in my office clammy and over-heated as Indian summer worked its magic. I'm not complaining, mind you, as I do love that sunshine. Plus I got a nice sweat going in the shed in my daily workout with my beloved son. You see, I like nothing better than cleaning the body from the inside out by working up a good head of steam--I just don't like it when I'm in my work clothes doing nothing more strenuous than delivering guidance lecture #17.
Well, tomorrow it's back to the short-sleeved K-Mart shirt and a nice stroll along the river after work. That should suit just fine.

We awoke to the pouring of the rain, but seeing as how it was supposed to clear off, we decided to follow through with our plan for a belated celebration of our anniversary. Although our original idea was to kick off the day with a hike in Acadia, a road detour sort of dumped us off in Northeast Harbor, where we took a stroll of its gilded streets. Every house is a study in the posh but understated old world wealth you read about in fat biographies. We wondered where the regular people (the hired help, in other words) live because we did not seem to come across a single regular house (defined as costing less than a couple million dollars). In fact, there were no gaudy real estate signs on any of the well-manicured lawns, but Cara crossed the street to check out the info sheet on the one house that was presenting itself as for sale. I declined to cross the street, saying, "what's the point?" since it would be too much to even dream about. But Cara, in her straight-faced way that I've always found so amusing, came back to me saying, "it's 4 million, but that's for two cottages, so if we went in on it with Alice and Chris..." My little comedienne is pictured above in front of one of the tallest hedges I've ever seen (though it seems to me now that perhaps I'm forgetting my days of prowling around Quogue).

This birch bark wigwam was recently constructed at Sieurs du Mont in Acadia by a Penobscot family. These 100 square foot structures are what American Indians lived in thousands of years ago. I mean, talk about being ahead of the curve: they pre-date the small house movement by a couple of generations, wouldn't you say? We enjoyed a visit to the Abbe Museum (awesome little display of archaic tools), then hiked the stone steps of Dorr Mountain.

There's the mothership, awaiting its load of passengers who are busy fueling the economy of Bar Harbor. I sort of wished its passengers wore name tags so I could separate them from the flotsam and jetsam of typical tourists (among whose number I suppose we'd have to count ourselves).

Our coup of the day. About to head for home, we stop into a bakery. Cara asks how much for the onion rolls. The guy behind the counter says "$1.75." She says, "we'll take it." Me, knowing the little lady too well, intervene to say, "he means for one, not the whole bag." She's a bit crestfallen, but then somehow wangles her way into a dozen onion rolls, six baguettes and a loaf of sourdough bread all for the grand total of $9. As Jake pointed out when we got home, the whole batch should have cost over $40, but, hey, she's a professional. Ironic, it is, since I always have my "rip-off artist" antennae up when I visit tourist traps, but, like I say, that woman can hunt a bargain.

Thinking of cruising down to Bar Harbor tomorrow. Go for a little hike in Acadia, check out the Wild Gardens, walk along the waterfront where the QE2 is docked, then enjoy some Thai food. Yeah, it sounds like a plan.
I just did some Tabatas (look 'em up on-line) that wiped me out pretty good. Haven't done burners like that in a while. In the meantime, Jake did a farmer's carry around the whole property with a couple of dumbbells. He returned in a healthy lather.
So I'm sure we'll enjoy the crusty bread (purchased at Machias's own wine & cheese shop!) and fresh veggies (picked up at Machias's own farmer's market!) that we got on our way home from work.
The honey and me, we drove in together today, so the "commute" was really more like a date.
That's the way to live your life, my friends: with love and gusto!

Hey Matt, thanks, as always, for the kind words. You are not the only Matt hitting Crossfit. Today on the main site there's an interview with Matt Hassleback, the Tennessee Titans quarterback, who trained at Crossfit this summer. Let's see if he has his best season ever.
That sure did happen to a lot of athletes who went vegan, such as Carl Lewis, one of the greatest Olympians of all time who said he had his best year after making the switch. John Salley, the ex-Detroit Piston, said the same thing. There are others, too, but the list isn't all that long because athletes are so indoctrinated into the chant of protein, protein, protein. But the animals that we eat, where do they get their protein? Oh, that's right, from green stuff.
Sorry about the rant; I'm just a sucker for irony.
Anyway, Crossfit in no way supports veganism. They are into the Paleo Diet, which is heavy on meat. The idea, basically, is to eat like a caveman. But I have heard it said that "hunter-gatherer" is a misnomer, that it would be more accurate to say "gatherer-hunter," since our forebears ate more berries than burgers.
Enough of that. I sound like a crank. I AM NOT A CRANK! Though I did get a bit cranky today (it happens). I'm all better now though. What do you do when you get edgy? Do you have a glass of wine? Do you pump some iron? Watch mindless TV? Or do you just go straight for the hard stuff and slam back a monster-sized bag of peanut M&M's?

If the Almighty is going to talk to you, chances are it's going to be when you're hanging out in a place like this. Usually the voice in my head says things like, "don't fall!" But what I think about, for the most part, is love. How blessed I am knowing that I'm going to drag my aching body home to hugs and kisses and a hot cup of tea. That there are people rooting for me to be safe and sound and happy. And even if my hiking partners are off somewhere in the distance, I am still never alone.

Hey, look what I found.

The night before my trip I popped into Radio Shack and bought a new camera. I got some awesome pics both on my way up and on my way down the mountain, but the ones that pleased me most were those that I took at the summit of various thru-hikers completing their long, arduous journey. I planned to post a shot today of a guy who went by the trail name "John Wayne." He was posed standing atop the Mt. Katahdin sign in a Boston Bruins shirt he carried up just for that moment. But somehow all of my photos have been lost to the ether. A bit of a heartbreaker for me, but, as the saying goes, life will go on.
Speaking of life going on, I went to the Doc today for the first time since beginning my plant-eating lifestyle. I had taken myself off Lipitor in January, when I began this journey, so convinced was I that the diet would make the difference. If that had turned out not to be the case I would have been sorely disappointed. But now I can be an even bigger cheerleader for the cause because my cholesterol went from 258 to 177. So toss those pills, if you can, and dig into some spinach.

Tomorrow I head out to Mt. Katahdin for the last hike of the season, so no pithy observations for you until Sunday night. Might be a cold night out there on the trail. Hopefully I'll be comfy cozy in my sleeping bag. Then, it's on to the top of the world--or at least the highest place in Maine. I just came in from the shed where I climbed the rope a dozen times (ouch, ouch and more ouch) and caught the tail-end of an NPR story about a guy who got laid off and decided to hike the AT. He said that every day was "magical," but he got the flu on the trail and that was pretty tough. Then he said, "what they say is true: no rain, no pain, no Maine." (I don't know what rhymes with Georgia if you're a Southbounder). At any rate, I never heard that one before and I quite like it. Sort of makes me hearken back to my misspent youth, when I used to listen to a song with the refrain pleasure is the pain.

That's yours truly in the midst of a squat crazy (front, back, overhead) Crossfit workout. We had an interesting conversation this summer at Easy's place about the significance of the squat to human health--from an evolutionary perspective. The thing of it is, is that before toilets, couches, dining room sets and Laz-y-Boy recliners, people did pretty much everything in a squat, when not hunting and gathering, of course. So the muscles utilized in the squat--the biggest muscles in our body!--are actually crying out for this motion. You don't need to load up with a heavy barbell, either; just pretend you're sitting in a chair, lead with your butt while putting your weight in your heels. Keep your back straight and stand once your thighs are parallel with the floor (or sooner, depending on what you can manage). Do this on a regular basis and you'll feel like a million bucks. Guaranteed.

That is one good-looking lad. Strong as heck for a "tall drink of water," as his grandfather used to call him, too. I don't know how he does it. His waist is so slim it looks like he could hold up his pants with a cigar band, but he can pump that iron. More than me, as a matter of fact, but that's a story for another day because the "BLT's" (would you like Veganaise with that?) are ready and I'm too hungry to think.

Yup, even in the woods he's big business.
When we were growing up I always envisioned Max becoming a philosophy professor. Can't you picture him standing at the blackboard in his highwaters with ink stains on his shirt and chalk on the tip of his nose? I can. It's too bad, because, all kidding aside, he's got a unique slant on the world, a love of learning and a warmth that could have done a lot of students good. Anyway, I get a kick out of his opinions, even if I don't always know what the heck he's talking about.
You might recall that some time ago I read books by the neighbors on both sides of the Nearings (The Good Life people). It was interesting to read the various takes on the same events. Recently I read the new biography of J.D. Salinger. Now I'm reading the account of Joyce Maynard, who lived with Salinger for a year when she was 18-19 years old. Next I plan to read the memoir of Salinger's daughter. Crazy, I know, but this stuff just fascinates me. For example, I know from perusing the internet that the daughter paints a very bad picture of Salinger, but the son says their childhood was great. At first you might think that perhaps the daughter has some sort of ax to grind or that the son is fabricating a fantasy childhood. But probably both accounts are true. I say this because Maynard's recollection is that Salinger treated Matthew like a prince and just about ignored Peggy. Isn't that the way of most families?
Though, of course, everybody in my family is just plain wonderful.

Beautiful days are piling up. Max is up for a quick visit. We had a nice walk with Jake, a little Sigma (the camera Max gave me) tutorial, and will soon repair to the basement to watch Everything Must Go, a movie that is loosely based on a Raymond Carver story. I used to read Raymond Carver stories over and over again, glossing over in my mind how downright depressing they were because I was so bowled over by their sheer artfulness. I wouldn't say I've lost my taste for art and beauty, but nowadays I do prefer a bit of uplift in a story.

I was dating a girl back in '84 who I was head over heals in love with but who decided she wasn't quite sure that I was the answer. We broke up (heartbroken, yes I was) but actually stayed friends. I used to tell her, "no matter what I'm doing or who I'm with, if you ever want to get back together just say the word and I'll be there." Well, life moves on, I suppose, and she started dating a guy from Germany and I moved to Seattle. People told me it was over; or, more precisely, that I needed to get over it--though there was one friend, and I can remember this moment like it was yesterday, who told me just as he was about to get off a subway we were riding together, "you'll get her." I don't know why, but it filled me with hope. Yet, after two years, we were both still leading our separate lives. We were three thousand miles apart. But then one day I got my mail and there was a postcard from this girl that said, "I miss you. I'm yelling that." Well, I was pretty much on the first plane back to New York. And on September 10, 1988 I married that girl. And she has been my rock and my love and my fantasy everyday. Hey Chilly P. -- HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!!!!!!!!!

That photo is actually from the vault, so Birch Wisdom is still not operating at its full capacity--but thanks for the kind words all the same. I guess more people read novels in their youth because they tie in more neatly with dreams of fame and glory. But I didn't make that stuff up about men being from Mars; a language arts teacher told me that it's been researched and that men read 70% non-fiction/30% fiction and that for women it's 70/30 in the other direction. But I don't know, maybe that's just for middle school kids. All I know is that if I'm browsing in books (or actually really just waiting for Cara to finish up with her housewares obsession--and how much of a cliche it that?) in Target or Wal-Mart there is virtually no fiction targeted at men. Check it out: you'll see I don't lie. And anyway, what happened to that manly school of fiction where Hemingway was the headmaster? Now, even the books that men might enjoy, like About a Boy, are all about discovering the feminine side.
And hey, there's nothing wrong with that. I'm a social worker, so I've been wearing the pink collar for a long time. I'm just saying, is all I'm doing, just saying...

Men who read generally prefer non-fiction; women lean toward novels. The Oprah seal of approval is the kiss of death for a book seeking to attract male readers. Me, I pretty much split it down the middle. Right now, and I'll blame it on the rain, I'm in the midst of a novel I'm enjoying so much I feel like I could get lost in fiction forever. The point of all this is that, though there is conflicting research on the matter, I'm here to tell you that there are actual bi-readers (those who enjoy fiction and non-fiction equally). So read what you want--and fellas, you can even go and read an Oprah book. Don't ask, don't tell.

As I dressed for work his morning I reflected on how there was a time in my life when I wouldn't have been caught dead in a short-sleeved button-down shirt--from K-Mart! But there I was, suited up for an episode of Dorkville when I noticed that my belt wouldn't cinch up tight enough. I mentioned this to Cara and she said, "I guess you'll have to punch another hole in it." What's next--a pocket protector?
Did I ever tell you my idea for a movie? It's called The Etch-a-Sketch Kid and follows a young lad who lives in a loveless home but is able to create an alternate universe with his Etch-a-Sketch. He inhabits whatever he draws. It's counter-intuitive, I suppose, but the sad reality portion of the movie would be filmed in color while the Etch-a-Sketch scenes would be in Leave it to Beaver black and white.
What about you--any movie ideas you'd like me to float past my agent?

As we walked a hidden footpath running alongside the Machias River in Whitneyville, I was hit with pangs of hunger, and found myself in the midst of a carnivorous daydream. I told Cara I could really go for a big, juicy hamburger. She then told a tantalizing tale of the crusty bread salami sandwiches she used to eat in France. What's a plant-eater to do? When we got home I emptied the refrigerator of leftovers (stuffed summer squash, new potatoes, corn, etc.) into a sizzling pan of peppers and onions and the result tasted suspiciously like Shepard's Pie--but meatless, of course. I suppose that's nothing but the power of a hungry man's imagination.
Years ago I diagnosed myself with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and naturally decided to self-medicate. My medication of choice? Exercise. Check out the research: it really works. So anyway, late this afternoon I started to feel a bit wound up. I went out to the shed for a "pill," which in this case was a blast from the recent past. Burpees!
I did so many that I got to feeling a bit pukie. I treated that with Cara's delicious spaghetti with mushrooms and spinach, and now I'm feeling sated, relaxed and ready for some low-brow entertainment.
Hope you've enjoyed your long weekend.

People, people, people. What can I say? My sincere apologies for depriving you the opportunity to say, "and I thought my life was boring..." I just haven't been the same since I broke my camera, seemingly unable to roll with the punches. Max gave me a camera that I'm basically too dumb to use, and I can't seem to get past this notion that there's no point to a post without a photo. But here I am, and I'll tell you why. Today I got an e-mail from one of my favorite people, Lili Salcedo-Watson, and she told me, in so many words, to get back in gear. On top of that, my #1 fan in Bridgton isn't too happy with my sloth, and my Sweet One tells me that since she heads back to college tomorrow there's a need for a regular update from Birch Ridge Estates.
Estates. That's a bit of a laugh, isn't it?
Yet, today I happened to be up on the roof surveying the back forty and I thought, how lucky am I? Strange since I almost gave it all up. You see, we sold our camp a couple of weeks ago and literally on the same day (you gotta love it, Lorena!) we almost did a real estate swap that would have put us back in the city. Debt-free but possibly a bit poorer in spirit. If you need any more details, speak to my broker.
In other crazy Mike deals, I sold my 4Runner to a Staten Island guy (by way of Africa) who showed up here at 4:30 in the morning. He says, "this is far away." I said, "How many times did I tell you that on the phone?" But yeah, for real, he drove all the way up here to buy a 1997 Toyota 4Runner. Being the business man that I am, I obviously asked too low a price since I got about 2,000 phone calls. But I'm not kidding when I say I think his motivation was to ship the vehicle to Africa, which has my lovely wife completely freaked out since she pictures it in Somalia with a machine-gun pointed out the window.
What else? Well, I'm pretty sure I had a touch of giardia picked up on my first hiking trip. It doesn't take hold for a couple of weeks so I didn't actually get sick until the New Hampshire hike that's chronicled in my last, long-ago post. I hiked 40 miles of mountainous terrain on nothing but a couple of Lara Bars. To show you how bad I felt, I started the hike with 9 homemade oatmeal raisin cookies and didn't touch them till the last day on the trail (and that was all I ate that day). I didn't much feel like eating for a couple of weeks and I dropped down to 164 pounds. I think when I graduated high school I was 155.
Anyway, I'm once again feeling fit as a fiddle; from now on I will always treat the water I drink from the deceptively beautiful rivers and streams. Only one more hike this year, two weeks from now, to Mt. Katahdin. Hopefully by then I will have solved my photographic dilemma.
Today I had to fell a beautiful maple tree that was one of my best sap producers because it was damaged in the storm. I bucked it up and then Jake and I carried the rounds (which weighed about a ton apiece) over our heads to the splitter. It was a hard-core functional workout that I hope would do a real Crossfitter proud. Well, we're just backyard amateurs, but we had our fun.
Sorry again for my disappearing act. Hope to see you in the flesh sometime soon.