Week 1 - Nature

Mike and I love to canoe, although I didn’t always jump at the idea. There was a time when I was very scared at the thought of being out in the middle of nowhere, in a little tipsy boat. The last thing I wanted to do was flip a canoe, lose my glasses, have the boat bash me in the head, my legs cramp up and end up just swimming with the fishies…didn’t want that at all.

He and I started with a few small boat trips; around Branch Pond and under the bridge into Branch Lake, weaved through the rocks into Patten Pond, and danced with dragonflies out on Blunts. I got the feel for the quakes motor boats left behind, the winds from storms rolling in and the pull from the feisty bass on the other end of the fishing lines; like learning to drive a car, I needed to experience all the conditions.

You can learn a lot from the little pond in your front yard; snakes, monstrous man-eating frogs and sludge fancy little ponds - oh yes, and canoes flip easy in smaller spaces. Bigger ponds taught me too; you can get very lost and eels… un-dead eels belong in the water - not in the canoe! So, which is better the little ponds or the big ones…I had so much to learn.

Dad took me fishing in the little pond in our yard when I was a young girl, I would catch trout. He and I would stand on the banks by the cattails and I would cast out the line of my little Snoopy fishing pole; feel the tug and reel it in and with a little fling over my back shoulder the fish would land softly on the grass. The catches ‘Idle’, our cat, didn’t snatch off the hook for himself, I would gut, clean and fry up for dad and I - we handled the snakes and frogs with ease.

Mum and myself, would pop Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” cassette into her car stereo and head out into the big ‘ponds’; chasing our ‘Neon Rainbows’ from Hancock to Brunswick, across the borders into New Hampshire and back again - just ramming the roads. Sometimes she would let me drive while she covered her eyes from the back seat and prayed, other times we would purposely get lost, find a motel and stay over night in a new land. Just her and I; we never picked up hitchhikers, nor brought along anyone else - big eels belonged in the water.

Mike wants to do the Penobscot Canoe race and he’s been trying to wheedle me into doing it with for the last three or so years. I’ve seen the pictures and I’ve got to admit it looks great but I’m just not ready. The white water waves crashing over us, the huge rocks to maneuver around…I don’t know - I’m timid and afraid. I’ve been working on over coming my fears, slowly and one at a time. Fears can turn even the clear blue waters into dark nasty nightmares; but in order for a clock to keep ticking it must continually change the placement of its’ hands - let loose of the rock holding you under and find a way to the surface.

I slipped on the sludge once in our little pond, right down into the muck and reeds I went; the water was over my head, mud between my toes and darkness choking my airways - daddy pulled me up. He taught ‘Lady’, my dog, to save me from drowning after that using my old winter coat and a big doll to represent me floating in the water. Luckily she never had to try out her skill in the water but she did save me from a few wrong fishies with a couple of growls and nips.

She never nipped me but she did howl with the banshees the day that I had been outside playing… Mumma hollered for me to come in for supper; I barged into the house and followed my nose to the dining room; mum took one look at me and screamed in horror. Shocked and confused I ran to the bathroom and locked the door, she pounded on the door while I stood frozen in the mirror - a monster was staring back at me. We spent the rest of the day in the doctors office. She held and rocked her little monster for hours while we waited to hear why I was red, swollen and covered head to toe in hives. Every Christmas since I get Benadryl in my stocking.

Mike wants the canoe race so badly he can taste it; my fears are what’s holding us back. We took the canoe out into Craig’s Pond in Orland a few weeks ago. It’s a rare opportunity when Mike and I get to spend some time together alone, without kids, without work, without anyone or any obligations - just the two of us. Neither of us had been to this place before, we had the canoe but no poles; Mike was fishing but not for anything below the surface, trolling along the edge, admiring the ledges and caves. The pond had other visitors that day so, reluctantly paddling from the edge, we found a quaint spot in the middle. We tested the waters without going in, we rocked the boat and tipped our luck from side to side; losing our shorts along the way - we discovered a canoe does not tip so easily in a big pond but now fellow boaters have to tales to tell.

Mum told me that her and Dad would boat out to a big rock in the middle of Union river and fish from the spot. She keeps a picture of her parents on the buffet in her dining room, they are sitting side by side fishing from a rock they had boated over to… Boats do tip, people do drown, sometimes the fish just don’t bite but there are things that stand the test of time, fears can be overcome, and, sink or swim, I know I will do the Penobscot canoe race one of these Springs…I just know it.