moominmolly: (Default)
Hi again, livejournal!

Yesterday I learned that The Secret Blueberry Patch is actually an entire SECRET BLUEBERRY PATH, even visible on Google Maps (path, not berries). Wasn't there some fancy wild Maine blueberry pie recipe by someone famous that must be made with actual wild blueberries or it will be all wrong? What is that recipe? I see a lot of blueberries in my future.
moominmolly: (Default)
This weekend was good -- the new stove heats the cabin up well, even on cold nights. It probably got down to around 10 degrees outside, but once the coal stove kicked in, it was nice and toasty indoors. For a while there, though, I was the only non-grumpy one. Cold houses just bother me less.

The other excitement was that since I forgot the keys, we actually had to break in. Thankfully, this is easy to do, and David is willing to climb through windows.

I'd forgotten that the place nextdoor (yes, there is a place nextdoor) had just been winterized this year; the new owners dug a well, built a second story, insulated the place, and moved in. So, there are neighbors. They're quite cool, but this does put a few basic restraints on behavior (i.e. no naked fire dancing). Anyway, they were nice enough to come over and visit to make sure we weren't breaking in.

It was nice -- we stayed up late playing cards and tippling a bit and then I slept like the dead. I love going out there; nowhere do I sleep as soundly and fully as I do at camp. Saw the stars, smelled the air, read Uncle Henry's and ate at Moody's and remembered why I really do love Maine.

I had a strange moment when I realized I'm not a Mainer anymore. Now, I've been pulled over for speeding a lot. A lot. I took a weird little pride in the fact that I'd never actually been ticketed for speeding, just pulled over; somehow, I always managed to squeeeek out with just a stern fatherly warning. But as soon as I saw the cop (speeding along merrily in front of me, clocking me through the rear window from 1/4 mile away), I knew I was busted. Why? The Massachusetts plates. There was another car right behind me, matching my speed, but it had Maine plates; when the cop slowed down to get behind us, he saw the two cars, pulled between us, and flipped on his lights just for little old me. I'm a revenue source! I am the dreaded Masshole in a shiny car! Maybe if I'd still had my Maine license he would have been soft, but no, I got rid of that about a month ago. Busted.

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