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After our Fryeburg flea market bust and our Ebenezer’s success we decided to take the long scenic route home and cut through part of the White Mountains.
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It’s always a beautiful ride.
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Rolling hills and valleys and farms.
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And unlike our neck of the woods, very green.
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Even the corn looked happy.
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Through the woods, over the mountain, where the pictures stopped because my phone battery promptly died.
🥴
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We picked up the husband’s motorcycle from the shop last week.
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And a mere $1,100 later….
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He was back on the road.
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And though I was ready to say goodbye to the bikes…
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I knew he was enjoying the feel of the wind in ( what’s left of ) his hair.
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There really is nothing like it.
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And I’m thinking the bikes will probably be with us a bit longer.
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I admit to taking a selfie now and then, usually when we go somewhere wonderful… but mainly because I have a husband who never takes pictures. Ever. It’s a harmless if slightly narcissistic endeavor, and my mother is dead… so if not me, who?
Then there’s the Instagram crowd. The influencers. The vapid youth of today who get paid ridiculous sums for photos that go viral. They’ll go to any lengths to get a breathtaking selfie and call me cold hearted, but I rarely feel bad when I read they fall into the Grand Canyon or off a speeding train.
Which is probably why I cringed when I read this article.
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I have been to Le Gorges du Verdon and it was fabulous. Mainly because there was no one else there.
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The husband, a friend and I drove through the French Alps for a solid 10 hours and saw only one other person. A sheep herder with his flock. It was beyond marvelous.
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That’s me sitting on the wall filing my nails waiting for the husband to climb back up from below.
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The gorge was wild and wonderful. Unspoiled nature ruled.
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As did the goats.
We visited in the early 90’s. The fact that’s it now jam packed with insipid, shallow Instagram tourists breaks my heart. And I bet the goats don’t like it either.
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With menopause, bunions and a bad knee… I’m having enough trouble with 58. Screw 200.
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I’ve flown out of Boston’s Logan airport many times. Three weeks doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.
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I’m sorry, but that just bites.
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Finally… a scientific formula for choosing vacation destinations.
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I call foul.
I am neither loud nor boisterous, and am literally risk aversive. But Rome? I’m good with that. History, pasta and Limoncello sound like my kind of trip.
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I love my state. We have a festival devoted to clams and award those who can shuck them the fastest.
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There’s a famous restaurant in my part of the world called The Taste of Maine.
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It’s been family owned and operated for 44 years and is a staple for fresh seafood on the heavily travelled coastal Route 1. Tourists love the kitschy decor and giant outdoor lobsters.
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We find it a bit overpriced but go once in a while just because it’s fun.
The pandemic hit a lot of seasonal restaurants hard up here and many went under. Right now they’re struggling to find enough wait staff. So when I saw this on FB the other day? A customer tipping the amount of the bill….
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I was floored.
We’ve done that at small diners and sandwich shops. $20 – $30 bill, $20 -$30 tip.
But an $800 tip?
Holy macaroni. That’s beyond awesome.
❤️
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Never let it be said my state is not an interesting place.
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To be honest, I’ve drank beer with worse.
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Clearly a man who appreciated his ale.
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I really want to have a beer with a ghost and will try talking the husband into a sunset trip to Rockport in the near future…
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The little guys are on the move.
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And damn it, they’re adorable.
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One little fellow loves the wagon wheels and uses them like a jungle gym.
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Momma isn’t a doting parent and I’ve actually watched her steal apple slices from junior.
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I know people dislike them and yes, they can be destructive… but thankfully they’ve never wreaked havoc here other than a few holes.
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Maybe they’re being nice and paying us back for the daily treats.
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As much as I hated the coastal stroll to end, we neared the end of our cliff walk loop.
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That’s Wells beach, one of the longest sandy stretches in Maine.
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I grabbed a few more photos….
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And gloried in the final few feet.
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If you’re ever up this way, please visit. It really is spectacular.
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The turn towards town.
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One more hotel and you’re there.
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Where you’ll probably have to walk another half a mile to find your car.
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🤣
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It’s amazing how many different things you see when you turn around and head back the same path.
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Beautiful coastline walking south, beautiful coastline walking north. It never gets old.
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Wish I could say the same for my hairdo which was looking a bit worse for wear after battling the constant wind.
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Sparse lone trees.
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Craggy, rock filled shores.
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Oceanfront backyards.
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One desecration of nature, because humans can’t help being destructive.
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The Atlantic Ocean.
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Strategically placed benches.
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The Cliff Walk has it all.
To be continued….
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I’ve never understood why my calendar thinks the animals it features are sad. Weird and quirky beats cute and cuddly any day of the week in my book.
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Resting in clouds sounds pretty effing fabulous to me.
It’s the only bird that is known to intentionally enter into a cloud,” Weimerskirch says. And not just any cloud — a fluffy, white cumulus cloud. Over the ocean, these clouds tend to form in places where warm air rises from the sea surface. The birds hitch a ride on the updraft, all the way up to the top of the cloud.
A veritable frigate bird roller coaster.
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I’m giving this drawing an A- for likeness to the real thing.
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They’re a little off on the tail and overall color, but all things considered it’s pretty damn close.
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River's world..... 