[at-l] Thank God It's Friday!

["Ern Grover" <ern@cybertours.com>]

Thank God It's Friday!

Anneke and I had been out on service calls all morning.
We'd just finished leveling and oiling a grandfather clock
setup at Old Orchard Beach.  The traffic was light compared
with the hustle and bustle of summertime traffic at coastal
Maine.

Our stomachs told us it was time for lunch, so we made a
stop to the Country Buffet at the Maine Mall in S. Portland
for our usual fare.  Katelyn took our $13.06 then stapled
the receipt to the table pass.  "Thank you, enjoy your
meal."  I'm sure she must say those same words a thousand
times a day, and because of that, it must be difficult for
her to utter a genuine and sincere greeting.  At least I
think she recognized us, since I always give her the exact
change.

We beat the rush, so we had our choice of window seats.  I
could smell the clam chowder at the steam table.  It was, by
far, the best clam chowder I'd ever had in my life.  We'd
been coming here for the past couple years, and we've never
been disappointed with the chowder.

Lois, our regular, came over to the table.  "Hi folks, good
to see you here today."  Lois was a genuine human being.
She's always been flabbergasted when she clears our table,
since it's always been our custom to leave a tip.
Apparently it's a rare event for her.  Naturally we've
always had royal treatment from her.

I made one last service call to a job in a neighboring
community while Anneke stayed at the mall.  Traffic in the
Portland area has always frustrated me, and today was no
different.  On a full stomach, the last thing I needed was a
game of "Dodge 'em" on the busy change lanes at the mall.
Anneke met me at Bookland, we gathered our things, and we
headed out the door to the van.  I was momentarily
distracted by blue skies overhead, a warm light breeze, and
a seagull in the distance.  It was a nice feeling to be
"away" from the commotion of bumper-to-bumper traffic and
the hustle of shoppers.

Instead of turning onto I-95, I decided to take the back
road through Hollis.  It wasn't a fast road, just a pretty
road.  She already could read my mind as I lowered the
window and looked out over the countryside.

"You know what?" I asked as I looked in her direction.
"You're thinking of going camping, yes?"

"How'd you know?"  I had a puzzled look on my face.

"I guess it's the way you're fingering the end of your
walking stick, Silly."

We came home down a remote stretch of road in Alfred, Maine.
Within a five-mile stretch of road, possibly 12 houses were
tucked away in unkempt lots.  Though some of the homes were
well built, many were derelict.  They were reminders of a
sad day when the railroad removed rails and left a gravel
bed in return.  Smooth asphalt replaced the washboard road a
mere five years ago and transformed this lonely stretch of
shacks into a modern thoroughfare called Gebung Road.

The Great Fire of 1947 leveled York County to cinders.
Forests were destroyed of any new growth.  Hardy pines and
spruce were all that towered against the ash filled skies.
Intense heat unlocked millions of seedpods from hardwood
species.  Combined with summer rains and a bed of ash on the
forest floor, birch, oak, maple and other hardwoods competed
for growing space during their years of maturation.  Great
boulders were split open by the raging inferno as if the
jagged daggers of lightning had pierced the heart of each.
Years later, the forest has recovered from its wounds.  Most
of the tallest and largest softwood species have been
harvested for pulp and lumber, and in another 50 years,
hardwoods will be dominating the tired backs of the logging
skidders.

Buddy Brown greeted us as we came to a stop in the driveway.
Dogs are marvelous.  No matter what my mood is, she always
wags her tail.  If I'm having a "bad hair day" or if my
breath stinks, she is always eager to show her approval.  As
I emerged from the basement with my backpack, her emotions
went ballistic.  Camping!  Hiking!  This was to be more than
a walk down the street!

Packing the last items in my backpack, thoughts of whether
or not to take my pillow demanded a decision.  Yes, it would
go with me.  It was one small comfort I enjoyed.  My old
feather pillow with a flannel case was packed atop my food
bag.  Buddy was jumping and squealing as I hoisted my pack
into the van.  The stopper from my water bottle popped off
momentarily; and some orange juice dribbled to the floor
before I could recap it.  We made one last stop at a
convenience store for some junk food.  As Anneke drove me
down Gebung Road, she asked me a bunch of questions about
where I'd be, how long I'd be hiking, or if I'd forgotten
anything.  As we neared a pull off, Buddy sensed the van
stopping before Anneke had hit the brakes.  Howling with a
laughing bark, I was afraid she'd pee in the van if I didn't
let her out soon.  Funny dog!

We embarked on an old logging trail.  It hadn't overgrown
yet, since logging skidders had been active in this area a
couple of years ago.  Ice Storm 98 devastated our hardwood
forests by shearing off the upper 25% of the treetops.
It's anyone's guess what the long term effects will be.  On
the other hand, this provided an ample supply of firewood
for hikers if you're able to navigate through the maze of
downed trees.

We walked for a half-hour up the old logging trail,
distancing ourselves from the asphalt reminder of
civilization with each step.  I made a turn directly north
in order to intersect with a stream.  It took only 15
minutes to reach this gurgling and sparkling fountain of icy
water.  We had to be careful as we descended down the slopes
adjacent to the streambed, for the leaves didn't provide
very good footing.  It would be embarrassing to return home
with a hole in the seat of my pants.

Buddy jumped across the stream first, and I maneuvered my
way using some bare stepping stones.  The bare rocks meant
this was a reasonably fast moving stream most of the year.
We climbed up the gentle slope on the far side of the stream
together.  We sat together and looked around beneath a
canopy of birches and maples.  A few blue jays were vaulting
from tree to tree, and squirrels and chipmunks were
scurrying around the forest floor in a last ditch effort to
prepare for the long months of winter.

A small clearing was just above us, skirting the edge of the
stream.  According to the map I had, this stream was spring
fed and had its origins only a mile beyond this point.  We
found a suitable area to set up camp.  A group of rocks
about two feet high offered a natural windscreen for a
campfire.  It faced north, which meant we wouldn't be
plagued by smoke in our eyes during cooking.  Heat from the
campfire would be reflected nicely to anyone sitting within
a few feet.  A few more rocks were added to this natural
array to make a fire ring of around three feet.  Dry leaves
were swept back for several feet in all directions with a
broken tree branch.  Buddy was delighted with the spot,
lying on her back, paws up in the air, wagging her tail, and
waiting for my hand to scratch her tummy.  It's been said
that dogs don't smile; I'm here to tell you that's not true.
Does she have a soul?  I don't know that answer; I'll only
say, Buddy will go where her master goes.

Within minutes I'd gathered an abundant supply of firewood
from the scattered hardwood debris within our immediate
area.  A nearby yellow birch provided some tinder.  I've
always been amazed at how God could create a tree like this.
No matter how wet the weather, the bark of a yellow birch
always stayed tinder dry.  My clumsy thumb finally
cooperated long enough for my butane light to burst to life.
Within seconds the campfire was crackling and flaming to
life.  A cheery fire warmed us and offered the promise of a
cozy evening.

Darkness soon fell, but not before my ground pad, mattress,
and sleeping bag were arranged on a level spot.  My pillow
was tucked into the opening with a stern warning to Buddy.
"No dogs allowed!"  I left my tent at home, because the
local weatherman's crystal ball was reading clear skies.
Actually I put more trust in my arthritis.

After a nice dinner of lemon curried chicken over a bed of
steamy rice and chopped celery, we settled down in a pile of
leaves to enjoy the campfire.  I tried to do a little
reading, but the fire lured my attention continually.  Who
needs Prozac when you can have this?

Bright and sparkling stars looked from overhead, whispering
"Good night" to each of us.  The sound of snoring from Ern
and Buddy was heard throughout the forest last Friday night.



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