Sebago Lake, Maine 10/6/1998

Oh what a beautiful morning as I sat on a carpet of pine straw under giant pine trees peering through the smaller spruce that line the shore of Long Lake. I thought I was on Sebago Lake having been turned around a bit, but I do believe it was the one just above. I did arise in time to see a colorless glow above the water that later turned to shades of pale purple as the mist rose from the water. I could see the pattern on the water by the glow of the early morning light as the crows cried from above while perched on the pine limbs with their bounty for the morning.

I awoke a little chilly but perhaps there was a dampness in the air as it was fifty degrees in the camper. The four inch square heater felt good blowing on my feet as it attempted to warm the air and the hot coffee was warming my innerds. I had been thinking how fortunate to have this view while all my friends were putting on their makeup to face another Monday morning. The sun gave color to the sky and the white line below the light blue sky above the misty lake appeared. By the time I had eaten my pancake, I made one large one, the sun allowed the lake to take on the appearance of a windexed mirror with the evergreens from the opposite shore reflected midway across the lake. I am glad I grew up in the days before central heat and air as it is second nature for me to lay my clothes in front of any source of heat on a chilly day as we did in front of the open oven door when I was 6 years old. While I cooked my pancake my second nature also told me to set the syrup on the floor in front of the heater since I didn't bring a microwave.

I had searched for tombstones, lighthouses, ferries, and seafood and it was time to look for changing leaves along the roads less travelled. I felt it was well planned to wait for the weekend crowd to go back to work. I tossed on my coat and walked down along the water's edge and so the sun that was sparkling on the water which looked like fireflies dancing in the night or perhaps sparklers on the fourth of July, would warm my face.

I enjoy small town U.S.A. and therefore I took the backroads and enjoyed the scenery without the tourists. I drove up highway 302 until I turned north on 35 and eventually 5. It may have been out of the way but certainly worth it. Music seems to imitate sounds of nature and what do the artists paint but what I am seeing. I turned on the radio to hear "check the World Wide Web at eureka. com" and at this point the www was the fartherest thing from my mind. I continued to see Brake for Moose signs as I drove along looking at the White Mountains to my left. The ferns were turning brown which indicated to me they had already seen a frost or two.

Instead of plantations or stately homes I was passing camps for kids and smaller camps and cabins of the grown ups. I would also pass roads labeled fire lanes which in this country could be a necessity. Many roads led off through the woods probably to a lake or streamside cabin that I couldn't see. I stopped at the post office in Harrison, Maine and noticed they would be closed on October 12, Monday for Columbus Day. That is good to know because so much in this area also closes after Columbus Day. I have learned that MD-CD is for Memorial Day to Columbus Day. Then it all seems to shut down for winter.

I came to Bethel, 1774, and what a sight greeted my eyes. This indeed is the "Gateway to the Mountains." It is one of the oldest villages in northwest Maine and only has a population of slightly over 2,000. It's name was Sudbury-Canada until 1796. It has been a favorite spot for White Mountain visitors. I passed a sign that notified me of a covered bridge 3.7 miles down the road and I was off. It is one of the most photographed bridges and is past the Sunday River ski area. I paused on the side of the road looking up the mountain and then realized I was seeing my first skiing trails. The bridge ran over a crystal clear river and the trees were reflected among the fallen leaves. Pale orange, yellow, and lime green trees surrounded the area.

I stopped near Newry, 1805, for pictures and began to sing "The hills are alive with music" as indeed the hills were alive with color and the wind made the music. I was on 26 north. I passed a sign that read "Maine Scenic Hwy 14 miles" and wondered how anything could get more scenic. I guess they realize at this point people are heading to New Hampshire and are probably just trying to direct tourists back into Maine. If this wasn't the peak for leaves I couldn't imagine what would be.

This whole trip seemed to have been about change: quiet country roads vs. Boston, beaches and dunes, historical parks, ocean life, Portland, lobster, pb&j, warm sunny weather, mid twenties and frost, sunning on the beach. The sky became cloudy for a short while and you would see what the sun allowed you to see in brilliance, as the clouds would steal away the vibrant colors from the trees. I soon came to Grafton Notch State Park.