We drove to Maine at 11 pm, leaving the wedding just after the cake was cut. (The wedding ceremony was wonderful, the reception at Noche in the South End [closed to patrons for the night] was terrific.) Traffic was light, weather was wet, sky was dark, road was shiny-black. We arrived at 1:30, to find Nate up to greet us. We unpacked in a drenching downpour, plugged in everything requiring charging, and I was asleep shortly after 2 am. I woke at 6:45 to steady rain and calm air. The lake was glassy, disturbed only by the pocks from raindrops, as I retrieved the boat in from the mooring and had my morning swim. Most boats were already pulled from the lake. After coffee Nate drove the boat and I drove the truck and trailer to the Casco boat ramp. The wind had picked up and the southern end of the lake was just starting to chop. We pulled the boat, bought a Globe at the Casco AG, and returned to the camp. Now our chores are done and we can wait out what will be nothing worse than a tropical storm by the time it reaches us.
Every summer morning in Maine I swim immediately after waking. Toweling off following the swim on the 4th I saw nine ducks round South Point and paddle into the cove. I expected them to swim outside the dock. Instead, they swam past the moored boat between the dock and the bank into what I thought to be a dead-end. Undeterred four ducks swam alongside the bank and passed beneath the ramp between dock and shore. The other five swam in straight line to the edge of the dock. One hopped out of the water onto the dock and the rest followed, as I watched from five feet away. Ignoring me when I stepped towards them the five ducks waddled single file down the length of the dock, turned right, marched to the far edge, and hopped back into the lake to rejoin their companions swimming up the lake. Before re-entering the lake one duck looked at me, as if to say “what are you looking at? We do this every morning.”
After my swim and morning coffee I biked around the lake. Riding south on 121 toward Bolster’s Mill Road four vintage cars passed me, heading in the same direction. Approaching the fire station spectators lined both sides of the road, fire trucks from South Paris, Poland, Norway, and Casco assembled in lines, more vintage cars organized themselves, and I realized I was riding into parade staging preparatikons. I got stuck behind a long line of fire trucks, vintage cars, and locals waving, stopping, and starting, and joined the pre-parade parade. I kept my place, nodded and gave the two-finger cowboy wave (perfected while riding out west) to spectators, and then chatted with drivers as I passed them. “Nice day . . . great car! . . . enjoy the parade . . .” Past the staging area I was free of parade traffic and rode the rest of the way to Casco without seeing another car.