At last, rain

My location? McDonalds in Greenwood. Tal's location? The Imaging Center next door. Since midway through our canoe trip on the Allagash he's not been feeling well, moving between two worrisome extremes: something not quite right to deathly ill. That he went to the doctor is all the information I have to have; we need to take this seriously. Needless to say, I am not at the clergy retreat today ...

It is pouring. I drove home from Pawleys yesterday under darkening skies, and after Santee, sporatic rain. By dark it was raining hard enough that the DirecTV signal was lost for a time. (Horrors) After going 30 days with no rain at all and now with two inches over night and continued heavy showers this morning, I am seeing smiles on almost every hungry (and wet) face that passes through the door -- a phenenomenon that will be short-lived, I realize, should the rain persist more than today.

As for me, I have twitching hands. Where's my paddle? It did this almost every day on the Allagash.

Back to the interstate

The schedule between our paddling adventure in Maine and our departure enroute to Utah's national parks and monuments is tight. Not only do we have a mere ten-day turnaround, but I am committed to a York Place board meeting beginning this afternoon through tomorrow afternoon, requiring an overnight in York; appointments with several directees, mid-week; three nights with my mom at Pawleys Island and the fall retreat at Gravatt for diocesan clergy next Monday through Wednesday.

I am determined not to get all jumpy over it, but clearly we were overly optomistic about what we could accomplish in such a short time. (That "we" needs to be translated, doesn't it? The word "I" would be much more accurate.)

This morning Tal left early with a friend bound for a semi-annual, three-day golf outing at Santee. I've enjoyed several hours of desk and house work, and am ready to set out for York with a stop at All God's Creatures to drop Belle and Whitby off at "camp" for the night.

Complicated, but doable.

Lingering goodbyes

Today has been a long day and we are tired. Since about 10:30 this morning, with a rest stop, another for fuel and a quick lunch of a pizza slice and a 1.5 hour snarl on I-78 behind a hideous accident requiring a HazMat team, numerous fire trucks, two wreckers for the remains of a tractor and its trailer, we have been on the road. About 10.5 hours and 600+ miles. Some people might say that getting there is half the fun. I'm not too sure. Both travel by air and by car is pretty tiring. For most part, though, we have done well, making only two slight wrong turns and getting to and through New York City with surprising ease.

I don't think we have ever willingly had such a late start in the face of an unusually long day. All it took was an invitation from Alana and Colin to Tal ...

We were up at about 6:00, just after dawn. The showers and hot water were sublime. (We arrived back at Chewonki last night late enough that we had to choose between showers and supper, and food won.) Breakfast was served in the dining room, where we gathered as a group for the last time.

Chewonki, as I think I have written before, has a semester program for high school juniors, about 40 students, who have a morning meeting immediately following breakfast in a large lounge on one side of the dining room. During the meeting a report of current, overnight events is presented by a student, reminders of field trip details are announced, and the like. I was sitting there pretty much in awe of the whole process and especially of that assembly of extraordinary young people and the adults guiding them. Colin took the opportunity to introduce our Elderhostel/Road Scholar group before the meeting ended, explaining what we had done over the course of nine days. To be honest, I felt some reciprocal awe ...

That was when Tal amazed me by not being in a hurry to set out for home immediately after breakfast. He took up Colin and Alana's invitation for a walk to The Point. It's a glorious location with about a 300-degree water view. While I cannot explain how deeply satisfying this experience has been, maybe our late start explains it better than words could.

After our return to main campus and when we could linger no longer at the picnic table under the apple tree where we had met for met each other over lunch together on September 5th, it was time to go, a moment that felt like ripping off a bandage. Despite the flare on the lens, I think this photograph pretty much says it all.


I am grateful for eleven days of association with these folks. Now comes the luscious process of mining the treasures of the experience in earnest.

Irish melody

As I sit writing in our tent at the end of this lovely, rainy day, I can hear the crackle of the campfire as it dies down and the sweet strains of Irish-sounding melodies.* Colin is sitting at the water's edge below our camp playing his fiddle, a soothing end to another day on the Allagash River.

We paddled a rather short distance today from Allagash Falls to a campsite at East Twin Brook, located at a bend in the river -- perhaps eight miles. Three factors made today's course particularly memorable:

More rain: Yes, we've had another overcast day. Even Alana and Colin have been surprised by the constant rain. Generally, September in Maine is clear, though cool at night.

The waterway itself: After Allagash Falls the river narrows a bit, winding luxuriously, with silver maples lining long sections of the bank. I can only imagine what it will look like in two weeks, since -- clearly -- fall is here. The river's course is not all tranquility, though. There are rips and slight rapids to negiotiate. Today's section of the Allagash is referred to as "bony." Paddlers have to pick their way through the challenging sections.

The afternoon in camp: Today's paddle ended in a steady rain. By the time we unloaded the boats, Alana and Colin had the tarps over the table and fireplace erected, had built a fire and put lunch out, though, the rain had stopped and stayed stopped until now -- just moments ago (about 20 minutes after Colin finished playing the day to an end). For nearly three hours the camp was still, with quiet conversation, napping, catching up journals, sitting by the fire the primary activity. It was a lovely last encamped afternoon.

It's time to put the writing materials away and turn off the flashlight. I can still hear soft fiddle music even though the instrument's safely back in its dry case and Colin has gone to bed. Enough for the day. That distant music and the strengthening rain will bring on satisfying sleep, I hope.

Two of the three pieces Colin played have names I can remember. One is "Going Up the Allagash," written by Colin himself and the other "Ashokan Farewell" by Jay Ungar. It was written in 1982 and used as the theme for the PBS miniseries "The Civil War." Very delicate and sweet. The link will provide both information on its origins and a very nice rendition to listen to.

To Chewonki ... and beyond

Tal and I have looked forward to canoeing the Allagash for several months now -- for the legendary white pines, for the challenage of serious physical activity, for getting to know a new group of people -- well, for lots of reasons. And, I like to travel, pretty much for travelling's sake, truth be known. With Hester's death I added another hope after we wiped our tears and waved goodbye to Bill: that the primitive nature of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway and the Maine North Woods will provide space for quiet and memory and for grief and gratitude.

We left Saturday Cove after breakfast this morning for the one and a half hour drive to Wiscasset and to find Chewonki, sponsor and coordinator of our trip. We did the "duffle shuffle" (getting our things out of our own luggage and into dry packs), met and had lunch with our two guides -- Alana and Colin, both from Maine, and three of the five others in our Road Scholar group -- Alice from Williamsburg VA and Kathleen and Dave from near Ashland VA, loaded up and at 2:00 set out in a 12-passenger van with canoes following along behind. (Pictured here is Tal double-checking the canoe straps.)

At a Dysarts truck stop in Bangor we rendezvoused with our final two group members, a father and son -- Ron and Eric, Ron from Maine and Eric from Idaho. Although at a little after 4:00 we were officially together and on our way, it wasn't until we left I-95 at Medway/East Millinocket and headed into Maine's interior that the remoteness of what we were about to do began to sink in for me.

It was dusk before we pulled into Chewonki's Big Eddy Campground on the Golden Road (which runs from Millinocket to the Canadian border and is the most active logging road in New England) and the West Branch of the Penobscot River, just outside Baxter State Park. It was there that we learned to pitch out tents and had our first meal cooked over a fire -- both activities accomplished in the dark. Now I understand why headlamps, rather than flashlights, were so highly recommended on our equipment lists ...

Keeping vigil

I am taking my turn at sitting up with Hester, the 2:00 - 6:00AM shift. She is still breathing. Such a labored struggle. While she lives what will probably be her last night, what remains of hurricane Earl has arrived, torrential rain and gusting wind having begun at about 3:00.

This is so hard. Part of me wants to flee. But, a stronger (and better) part wants to keep vigil with this ebbing life. I am struck by the rains outside this snug house, the elemental force of it all, coming in forceful waves, followed by lulls, each phase dramatic in its turn. I am also aware of how similar the elemental forces are which exist in this room, life and death caught up in, twisted in on themselves, in horrible battle. I know full well which will be the victor. The question is when. And, when the time does come and the labored breathing stops, we'll all agree that, while death took a life, it's Hester who ultimately won, dying at home in her beloved Saturday Cove, the soft lights bathing the room in something akin to a holy glow.

Dawn is breaking. The rain and the breathing continue. The scent of brewing coffee is a deep comfort.