On a beautiful fall day in Maine, we drove up the coast to Stonington.
.
.
A picturesque village… quaint and quite pretty.
.
.
With the feeling you’ve stepped back in time.
.
.
Stonington is a fishing town and known for being the largest lobster port in the state, if not the world.
.
.
Last year they hauled in $43.26 million dollars worth of the glorious crustacean.
.
.
And though I can’t eat it anymore… cue the random sobbing noises… I was still hungry after the two and a half trip.
.
.
Enter the Harbor Cafe, one of only two restaurants in town.
.
.
It sits right across the street from the harbor and at first glance seemed like a good choice.
.
.
There were cocktails and my Pimms cup was delightful.
.
.
The clam chowder was thinner than I like, but had a wonderful flavor as well as being loaded with clams.
.
.
$23 seemed a bit steep for my crab roll but it was delicious, not the overly dressed crap that passes for crabmeat elsewhere. Husband was less than thrilled with his fried haddock as it was extremely thin and arrived in a plastic basket. Want to piss off my spouse? Charge him a high price and serve him a meal without a plate. The mashed potatoes that accompanied the fish were truly inedible. Real, but so over whipped as to be nearly liquid with an overpowering taste of margarine. Epic fail for what turned out to be a $102 bill with tip.
.
.
But back to Stonington. Tourism has tried but thankfully failed to change the flavor of the town.
When we’re in the Jefferson New Hampshire area we always make a point of stopping at an excellent little family run restaurant called the Waterwheel.
.
.
There’s an actual wheel that was turned by water back in the day and every meal we’ve ever had there was delicious.
.
.
It’s a down home country place only open for breakfast and lunch, but since Covid they’ve had reduced hours and are closed a few days a week. Naturally every time we’ve stopped in the last two years they were shut up tight.
.
.
So we were thrilled to find them open on our trip home and stopped for lunch. Though there were a lot of empty tables, they were short handed for staff and we had time to browse the gift shop before we were seated.
.
.
I really should have bought some of these for gifts.
.
.
Or at least a few of those. But our name was called and we quickly sat down to order, mouth watering at the memory of homemade chicken pot pies, fresh roasted hot turkey sandwiches and creamy chowders. And then I opened the menu.
Gone were all the previously delicious selections… and what was left wasn’t even worth considering . Hot dog, hamburger, grilled cheese. I was beyond disappointed and though we weren’t really in the mood, we ordered breakfast instead.
.
.
Ugh. Biscuits and gravy that looked (and tasted) like Alpo with home fries that looked and tasted like cubed frozen french fries. Husband ordered poached eggs with Hollandaise and didn’t fare much better. Tiny eggs, tiny portion of Hollandaise.
They say you can’t go home again, and it’s a shame but I doubt we’ll going back here either.
After traversing the Green Mountains in Vermont, we entered New Hampshire.
.
.
Still mountains, but now they’re White. Although technically right now they’re red, orange and gold.
.
.
This is a beautiful section of NH and one we drive through quite a bit in the autumn.
.
.
There are random wooden moose.
.
.
Glorious fall foliage.
.
.
Random skeleton coffee house greeters.
.
.
And more colorful scenery.
.
.
I think my husband shed a tear over the state of this neglected barn.
.
.
Common to this area? Random filling stations for crystal clear mountain fed spring water. Bring your bottles, fill for free and make some amazing tea or coffee when you get home.
Since we weren’t in a huge hurry to get home, we took the longer scenic route back and that meant driving through the Northeast Kingdom.
.
.
It’s a rural and mountainous region of Vermont, similar to areas in northern Maine with its low population density and differing political views.
.
.
Unspoiled and undisturbed.
Beautiful? You betcha!
.
.
This region takes their designation seriously so you’ll find “Kingdom” gas stations and “Kingdom” diners scattered throughout the area.
.
.
There’s even a covered bridge staircase.
.
.
While the majority of Vermont is an environmentally friendly, liberal, churn your own butter, Birkenstock type of place… the Kingdom is a bit wilder and leans much farther right. It’s often said there are two Maines, southern and northern.. I find that’s true of Vermont as well.
.
.
And if you’re wondering how far north we were?
.
.
I could see Canada from my window.
.
.
And though we didn’t cross the border, Verizon let us know we might as well have.
After dealing with constant pain in my right knee for the past two years, I finally cried uncle and made an appointment with an orthopedist. Thankfully it was a different orthopedist than the one who told me “It will either heal or it won’t” two years ago when the injury first occurred. She diagnosed a deep root radial meniscal tear ( the worst kind, the kind that doesn’t heal) as well as damage to my MCL and told me I’d probably need surgery. Wanting to avoid that…. I tried everything else. Ice, heat, massage, exercise, even acupuncture. Nothing worked and instead of getting better, it actually got worse. Groaning every time I got up and coming down stairs one at a time like an old woman was getting, well… old.
The new orthopedist did tests, and told me what I already knew… nothing had healed, and to add insult to injury, I also have holes in my cartilage now. Yay me. The options were slim – have surgery to remove the meniscus which would alleviate the pain but hasten the road to total knee replacement.. to which I said no thank you… or start with a cortisone shot and try physical therapy. I chose door number two.
After an ultra sound guided cortisone shot I was a seriously happy camper. On day one I had 40% less pain. By day three I could take stairs normally and felt 70% less pain upon standing. Why had I waited two years!! It was a miracle.
But then…
.
.
Then I had to enter the torture chamber.
The week after my shot, I met the man I would pay to hurt me. And that’s exactly what he did. After an initial consultation he put me on the table and gave me the most painful deep tissue massage imaginable. He informed me my hamstring had contracted over the past two years and it had to be pressed and stretched back into service. I limped out of the building with my hammy screaming, barely able to drive home. It’s a good thing they only scheduled me for once a week because it took that long for the pain to subside.
Week #2 he prodded and pressed and took me into the huge gym attached to the building. Physical therapy my ass, I felt like I’d been thrown into NFL training camp. A plethora of squats, band work and what seemed like 300 knee bends later he made me pull and push 90 pounds of some weird weighted contraption down and back the entire length of the gym. When I was done I must have looked pathetic because he let me sit down with a pressurized ice cuff.
.
.
(If those things didn’t cost $3,500 I swear I’d have one at home.) And again, I limped out of the building, sore for a solid week.
.
.
Did I mention the therapy room has an entire wall of windows so everyone in the waiting room can watch your torture sessions? Fun idea.
Not.
Session number three began with him asking how much better I was feeling and me answering not much. He did some manipulations, said my patella was aggravated and proceeded to smooth out the inflammation with some stinky gel and what looked like a miniature squeegee. Whatever, it didn’t hurt and I didn’t have to go back to the gym so that’s a win in my book.
River's world..... 