The Schoodic Penninsula

The picture below has nothing to do with this post.  It is here for the web address needed to insert the picture into another post - but that's a whole other deal so forget about it!  Pretty isn't it?  Actually it does have a bearing on this post - it is an "extension" for our Sprint Air card.  The air card is plugged into the USB extension cable and is atop the mast inside a plastic storage bag. The extra 10' elevation did the trick.  We are parked at the bottom of a slope down to Frenchman's bay - the RV park rises from water's edge up perhaps 50' to Hwy 3.  Before concocting this "aerial", trying to do anything on the Internet was near impossible.  Now we have reasonable Internet service... and away I go!

We returned to The Schoodic Peninsula for another picnic.  I described the peninsula in a previous post so I won't go there here.  I love the English language - love to slaughter it as I do and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do about it!  On the far shore is what looks like a white house - not The White House, just a white house. 

Well actually, now that I see the picture in the post, I can hardly see the stupid house at all.  I don't know how many times I have apologized for my very poor visuals.  Come to think of it..now that we have decent band with  to work with, maybe I can increase the quality on the camera.

If you're been to Maine, seen many coastal pictures, or have heard those that have, you'll know that much of the coast line is cliffy (I also like to make word up.. works for me!).  Here on the Schoodic Peninsula there's a six mile loop road much of which is lower elevation. 

Becky caught me sticking my toes in the water.. down there by that tallest boulder of granite.  Just after snapping that picture, a wave, funneled onto shore drenched me.  Felt pretty damn good - it was a sweltering 85 degrees that day.

We've been in Maine for 3 months already and are beginning to make plans to depart around the middle of October.  Going to the South and West to meet up with some friends of ours that are RV'ing their way down to Dallas from Montana.  From there we plan to RVathan to the left coast and up through Oregon and Washington.  I am sure we will discuss headed up the Alaskan Highway next Spring / Summer.   In any case... later!

Thinking of Uncle Henry - Again and Still

You'd have to go back through my posts to get a full flavor of Uncle Henry.  I won't try to summarize why he was always "the character" in the family.  This little, and rarely true gag was inspired by "Hank".  It occured in 1982 more or less....

Becky and I had been going together for a few years.  We were both living in California at the time and Becky had never met my folks, nor any of my family - all back in Massachusetts.  We decided that year to fly to the East Coast, rent a car, and drive the coast from Rhode Island, up to Southern Maine, then inland and South a bit to my home town, Pittsfield, MA.

It was a great trip, Becky met my folks, my Brothers and my Sister, a couple Cousins, Aunts... generally, a good sampling of the Sacchettis'.  While in Pittsfield on a drive to one of my Aunt's home we were stopped at a redlight. 

"See that gas station and the phone booth on the corner over there?  Back about 30 years ago, late at night, my Uncle "Peanuts" was making a call from that booth when a long black cadillac limosene intentionally ran him, and the booth over.  The lady that lives in that house saw the whole thing.  Peanuts ran a newspaper and cigar store on North Street downtown and everyone, including the police, knew it was nothing more than a front for a Mafia Bookie operation.  Peanuts treated the police right - and they didn't bother him... he was just "small peanuts" to them."

Becky's mouth was wide open and judging by her repeated "Ohh my God" comments, she had swallowed it hook, line, and well, you know.  And that was all there was to it.  Years, decades passed and nothing more was said of it.  Nothing more until another visit back home for a Sacchetti family picnic.  With more than 100 of us gathered, there were all sorts of stories flying around the pavilion and Becky decided to join in - she told the story I had told her years and years ago.  I had completely forgotten having made it up.  Well... when she found out that it was a fabrication she called me names I am too much a gentleman to repeat in print.

I guess it was a year of so ago, we were sitting at home and she brought it up - "remember when you told me your Uncle........".   We laughed like fools.  Truth be known, Peanuts was a real character, not an Uncle, but just as good - a good friend of the family.  And Peanuts (the only name I know for him) did own a newspaper and cigar store up on North Street.  So that's the only truth of it - the rest is blamed on that  Uncle Henry Gene in me!

Having said that, further recollections do seem to bear the bookie part of the story out.  I definately do remember my Grandma giving me a brown paper bag to deliver to Uncle Peanuts at his store, and a whole dollar when I got back - I did this quite often!

Only believe half of what comes out of my mouth (fingers).  That's easy, the hard part is knowing which half to believe!  Some or all of this little story is true - I've been making stuff up for so long now, not even I can tell you what is gospel.

Those Pesty Tourists

Becky and I have been here, Down East Maine Coastal area, for 2-1/2 months already.  Early on we found "Otter Point" on Mt Desert Island, aka Acadia National Park and have been back four times already - this is our official #1 most favorite picnic spot.

During the months of May and June we had  the coastline completely to ourselves.  We could look forever in either direction and see nothing but the sky, the trees, rocky cliffs, the surf, lobster boats and Frenchman's Bay.

But now, as you can plainly see in the picture above, "THE TOURISTS" have invaded the coastline.  Well, I guess it's not a plain to see as all that!  If you look in the far rocks you'll see a small bush on the very top, then an short downward incline.  Right at the bottom of that incline, you'll see a very small outcropping on the flat area.  That my friends is not an outcropping - it is a TOURIST invading our coastline!  No more than 300 feet away, plopped right down there as if she owned the place.  She is only one of a group of four invaders, the other three had the decency to remain out of sight.  OK OK so I am putting you on.  Point is, here on the Maine coast, even at the peak of "the season", it's really easy to find solitude.

Easy to stake out a length of shoreline if you don't include the local residents who are always ready to share your picnic with you.  You'll note the fog bank in the background.  This day it advanced in to cover the far hill and then retreat again out to sea.  Back and forth, probably three times in the time it took to eat a sandwich.

Maine.. try it, you'll like it!

Black Dikes

The tip of the Schoodic Peninsula is actually DOWN EAST from Bar Harbor, but the only way to get to it on land is by driving NORTH and EAST and then SOUTH.  Giving, or getting directions around here is enough to drive a sane man crazy and the Schoodic Peninsula is a good example of it. 

This is a typical scene on the Schoodic Peninsula which is blessed with at least five harbors - Winter Harbor, Birch Harbor, Prospect Harbor and although it doesn't have harbor in its name, Corea (pronounced like where the war was - the one that came between WWII and Viet Nam).  But that was only four (you win a prize of you picked up on that).  Actually, the picture of the water front building is what's left of Wonsquirt Harbor.  Pictured below is Birch Harbor.  You won't find many quaint tourist shops or attractions on the peninsula, just hard working folks.  Judging by the number of lobster boats in the harbors, lobster traps on the docks, and in front of folks homes, my guess is the Maine (if not only) industry is "lobstering".   The lack of tourist trappings only serves to make these towns all the more quaint - if quaint were a liquid, it would be oozing from every crack in the road.

The Schoodic Bay Acadia National Park is down (no kidding) on the southern most tip, and the scenic drive is absolutely breathtaking.  Most of the 10(?) mile loop along the coast is one way traffic and what a great idea that is.  I am more than sure if it were two way traffic, there would be countless "head on" accidents

Now then, if I were Red Foxx (for those of you that remember who he was), the title I gave to this post might have an entirely different meaning!  Black Dikes are actually

formations of lava rock. 

Through subsurface pressures, magma flowed into the cracks in the granite.  The pressure and temperature pushed the granite cracks wider and the molten magma made its way to the surface, cooled, solidified, and formed these streaks of black lava rock, some more than a mile wide.

I guess I have said it ad nausium.. but I have to say it again.   The Maine coastline is absolutely heart stoppingly beautiful, rugged, and largely (and thankfully) unspoiled by human intrusions.  The state posts small signs every so often, signs to the effect "leave no trace" and "do not remove any rocks or pebbles".  Becky and I love this state (hummm... bet I've said that once or twice as well) and our impression of it has to be a very popular one judging by its pristine, uncluttered geology.  "pristine, unaltered" I was redundant there I know, simply a case of moving fingers before engaging brain but it does serve to dredge up a old memory - of one of my favorite brothers.

David was only about seven (a guess) when he became very well known in our home town.  His teacher had given the class an assignment of some sort, one involving government, politics or the like.  Brother David decided he wanted to include a picture of the president (then Dwight D Eisenhower) - so he wrote the White House a letter which went something like this...

Dear Mr. President

 

My name is David Sacchetti and I am doing a class project.  Please send me an autographed picture, signed by you, with your name on it.

A few weeks later an autographed picture of Eisenhower appeared.  The story appeared in our local newspaper and like I said - at the tender age of seven, he became my famous brother.