Acadia
The sunrise over Chebeague was worth dragging myself out of bed, in the dark, 6am on Friday morning. On the ferry to the mainland the pinks and blues and glassy gray water rippled and brightened and flashed as we cut through the morning.
It was cold.
We piled into the car, turned up the heat and the radio, grabbed coffee (double) and donuts (molasses and coconut) and headed north.
The oranges and yellows tinged with brown, then evergreens, then leafless skeletal branches lined the 95. Up and down the radio dial trying to find NPR or Christian-less music. The fields of cows and dark clouds on the horizon blur by as we talk about adventures in San Francisco or what we would buy if we win the lottery or simply stare out the windows at the passing beauty of late October.
Still in our coats, we are ready to pull over at any time to snap pictures or buy pumpkins or get more coffee or take a pit stop because of all that coffee.
Up the hill, yellow flashing above the windshield in brittle shaking leaves, we climb and the trees give way to shrubs, to rocks, to ridiculous views of the ocean and mountains and islands and a blanket of autumn trees below.
Its even colder up here, even in the sun.
But we smile and laugh and pause for pictures then wrap our scarves back over those smiles and clap our hands for warmth.
Finally down the hill.
Through brick building-ed towns and over bridges, devouring the darkening landscape and a few freshly ground hamburgers dripping with ketchup and goodness, scrambling through stores for sugar and tortillas and back onto the ferry.
My eyes are tired and my mind flashes images against my closed eyelids and I am happy as I fall into bed.
Acadia.
Its worth the hype.
It was cold.
We piled into the car, turned up the heat and the radio, grabbed coffee (double) and donuts (molasses and coconut) and headed north.
The oranges and yellows tinged with brown, then evergreens, then leafless skeletal branches lined the 95. Up and down the radio dial trying to find NPR or Christian-less music. The fields of cows and dark clouds on the horizon blur by as we talk about adventures in San Francisco or what we would buy if we win the lottery or simply stare out the windows at the passing beauty of late October.
Still in our coats, we are ready to pull over at any time to snap pictures or buy pumpkins or get more coffee or take a pit stop because of all that coffee.
Up the hill, yellow flashing above the windshield in brittle shaking leaves, we climb and the trees give way to shrubs, to rocks, to ridiculous views of the ocean and mountains and islands and a blanket of autumn trees below.
Its even colder up here, even in the sun.
But we smile and laugh and pause for pictures then wrap our scarves back over those smiles and clap our hands for warmth.
Finally down the hill.
Through brick building-ed towns and over bridges, devouring the darkening landscape and a few freshly ground hamburgers dripping with ketchup and goodness, scrambling through stores for sugar and tortillas and back onto the ferry.
My eyes are tired and my mind flashes images against my closed eyelids and I am happy as I fall into bed.
Acadia.
Its worth the hype.
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