Daddy says no fire in the morning!

First camping trip of the year! Recompense Shores, bien sur. And for those of you who don't think that's "roughing it" enough (ahem, Robin), I don't care. It's a paradise by the ocean, and if that's wrong, I don't wanna be right.

This trip was with Heather and Noelle. A fairly diabolical team.

Yes, that's a wine bottle stuck in the middle of the
sleeping bag. It's precious cargo, and we're nothing if not creative.

We've arrived!

My old tent goes up in about three minutes.

But I had to go and get a new, smaller tent. It's so
infuriating that I had to give myself a time out while erecting it.
This tent is a miserable little bitch.

Better!

Sweet perfection in the West Bay.

We were nestled among strawberry bushes.

Noelle enjoying a little glass of sumpin sumpin as the sun goes down.

We purchased a little bit of fire wood. I know it doesn't look like much.
Don't worry, we purchased more the next night.

Now THAT'S a strawberry!

I see Musings being written from a little beauty like this in the future.

Now, if you've ever camped in the Freeport area, you have probably stopped at the Bow Street Market--a tiny, cramped convenience store offering an assortment of necessities and yuppy goods. Well, our jaws dropped when we saw that it's been turned into a GIANT supermarket. I was delighted and sad at the same time. But the offerings were as weird as ever...

Heather, no, put the tiny container of carmelized walnuts down.

We got your standard camp fare--hot dogs, cheese and crackers, s'mores. Basically, anything that doesn't require preparation or cleanup. We're not here to work, people.

Mmmm, s'mores.

Mmmm, Mrs. Dunster's Crunch Nuggets. Wait, what??
Canadians. Gotta love 'em.

"None shall pass" WTF, caterpillars? They were only on my
tent, and always on the zipper. Jerks.
UPDATE: I have a frackin' rash all over my body from these little bastards.

What I notice now is that tents are larger than ever! Over six feet tall, vestibules for days. To me it doesn't feel right. Go ahead, make a face, all you glampers out there. But at some point in the weekend, a woman walked by and said to her friend, "Look--what a cute little tent." And it was. It was the smallest tent on the campground. *shakes head*


It's a bucolic setting . . .

One of these things is not like the others... Wait--Gladys, can you pan in?

Why yes, that IS a flamingo hanging with his gnomie.

On Saturday, I made a morning fire and got yelled at by a little boy on a bike: "Daddy says no fires in the morning!" Sorry, kid. I don't have a dad and can do whatever I want. Them's the breaks.

Late morning, we drove up to Hallowell, ME, to see our friend Robin in her new element. Hallowell has a cute downtown. The main street is lined with shops and hugs the Kennebec River.

Flood lines over the years--wait, who are those sexy broads
walking by? Gotta catch up with them.

Rawrrrr! I'm with hot bitches. Rawrrr!

What a sweet little town . . . Wait, what's that? Across the street. The shop with the Tibetan heads standing guard and the gargoyles on all corners. And to the left--I don't think that spells "Antiques." More like "Antfones." Let's check it out, shall we?

Need a lamp? A lamp, anyone?

A colored lamp?

Maybe a wall sconce?

Missing Dog! Last seen sniffing around the batshit crazy lamp store.

Are you sure you're all set with lamps?

Shortly after the antfones shop, Robin led us around the back of the main street to meander along the river. Oh what delights awaited us...

The lamp store continues! Can you find the cat? Gladys, please zoom.

"Hey, are you from out of town? Please, for the love of god,
get me away from this fucking lamp store."

This little lady was adorable. She mocked the lamp store cat.

A Tonka Truck arbor--I can't believe I haven't seen this upcycle on Pinterest yet...

We walked a little while longer and checked out shops offering assorted ideas of art.

Such a shame this doesn't match my current decor.

Finally, we parked it on a patio beside the river and pondered life. Ha! Just kidding--we made fun of people and bitched about stuff.

After a little imbibing, and a little eating, we said farewell to Robin and headed back to the campground. And I made a little fire.

I am Scoutmaster. I like to burn things.

Ahem.

I woke early Sunday, as usual. And I could hear something in the distance--a slight baaa sound. With giddy glee and sleepy eyes, I walked down to the farm and encountered this:

Holy shit--the sheep are loose. And they're everywhere.

This one's badass--piercings, bling, and a mohawk.

You know how some people like Star Trek in a weird sort of way? Or Dr. Who? Or guacamole? I'm that way about sheep. Can't get enough. So when I saw these babies wandering freely, I slowly made my way to the middle of the yard, sat down, and waited.

And little by little, they got closer. I was the Sheep Whisperer.

Awesomeness.

Thus concludes our camping trip. The ride home was uneventful, and it always just feels good to get home and wash the funk off. Hopefully, this kicks off a camping-heavy summer. I've got to dominate that damn little tent.

 

PS: A huge shout out to Recompense for opening fabulous new bathroom facilities in the West Bay! 'Cause this girl hates a privy. 

xo

Fortastic fun

Little brother is up from Charlotte. Yee-haw. We had the two loveliest lazy days off. No plans, no agenda. Just way too much food, lots of laughs, and teasing into infinity.


Tuesday was the better weather of the two days, so after a slow morning we figured we should do something. We started off with breakfast at The Big Bean and then headed for Maine for some fort fun.


First stop: Fort McClary

Excellent shell, buddy.

A rocky shore in Maine? That's something you
don't see every day (yes, you do).

This isn't what I meant when I told him to smile for the camera.

Inside the fort is cool octagonal living.

Michael appreciated how important it was to put caution tape
over the small window no one can fit through.

Soooo much nicer than the WALK OF SHAME STAIRWAY.

This was the only reasonable explanation for this contraption.

Captain was a pimp, yo.

Good thing we chose to drink AFTER maneuvering this staircase.

Second stop: Frisbee at Fort Foster

 

Michael chose to dance a jig even while I held the camera. Geek.

Yes, too many pics of my brother. It's just rare
to get him not making a face.

"It's nice . . . ya know, except for all the people."
Good god, we're antisocial.

What, you thought there would be Frisbee action shots? Ha! That's funny.

But all that driving around, playing Frisbee, and hanging by the ocean sure can make a person hungry. Michael had heard about my recent adventures in bacon and was not going to miss out. So to Fury's in downtown Dover, we went.

Why is the bacon taking so long? Sadness.

Ahhh, there we go. The famed Bucket O Bacon that I can't stop talking about on
social media. Fried pickles on the lower platter. And, yes, they're spears, which
I've bitched about in earlier posts. But they were done well. Brother and sister approved.

Wednesday was rainy, so we vegged. And then we vegged some more. We watched movies and surfed the Interwebs, side by side. I made Muddy Buddies. Sometime around 3, we showered and headed to the Riverworks for a late lunch and much drinking.

Now, I got a lot of crap for posting on fb a picture of my fridge the night Michael arrived:

The first thing I want to explain is that it's a Santa suit on my bottle of prosecco. Needed to clear the air on that. The second is that I knew we'd a) be eating out a lot and b) go shopping together. And did we. It was like a college-style binge. We're disgusting and should never live together. I've only been eating vegetables since he left.

I am aware of how lucky I am that we get along as well as we do. We totally piss each other off--he shares too much locker talk, until I squeal, "Noooooo! I can't hear this!" I talk about all the cannibalism stories in the news lately ("How could they tell who he was? The man has. no. face!") until Michael turns green and tells me to shut up. But there's a lot of love and respect in there. He's now on the last leg of his tour, hanging with the folks, and I miss him already.

xo

Today was just your average Monday

CallieCat made friends with a hornet.

And then couldn't understand why I pulverized it with a flip flop.

Work was a blur. Something like this:

from netglos.com

Then off to Portsmouth for dinner and a little light reading.

And finally to the Portsmouth Music Hall Loft. This place is fantastically small.

The guest? This guy: 

Professor Henry Louis Gates Jr.

Funny, smart, sincere, and over the top at the same time. They didn't let him speak nearly long enough.

Price of admission includes a beverage, his newest book, and a meet & greet. He said this book was a work "that Daddy could read." A departure from academic publish-or-perish pressure, this book is 500 pages of pictures and text of the history of African Americans. A book he hoped his father would flip through while watching baseball on TV.

Africans first came to the Americas in 1513--almost 100 years before Jamestown. Say what?! And I bet they didn't eat their shoes or neighbors (ahem).

Of course I fumbled my words when I met him and nervously talked about finding passion and being an inspiration blah blah blah. Oy. But I also asked if I could get in on the dinner they had been discussing (Indian, no less!). Professor Gates and UNH Professor Wilburn laughed--and while they didn't say yes, they didn't say no. I can only imagine what a great conversation they're having right now over pakoras. Boys, I think we've only just begun this dialogue.

And just imagine how cool it will be when I'm on PBS getting all kinds of Frenchie history thrown at me after a DNA check. Sigh...

Mill Girl goes native (in, you know, a mill)

If you've talked to me regularly over the years, you know how much I loved my mill apartment in Somersworth, NH, even if I wasn't exactly thrilled with the town itself. Damn, that was a nice apartment.

And if you've talked to me regularly over the past six months, you know how excited I've been about the mill in downtown Newmarket, NH, coming back to life. I've watched it raise its weary head, stretch its limbs, and become home. I've crushed on it and taken far too many pictures along the way. And after promising repeatedly to blog about it, here she goes. Gertrude, run the tape.

Early on, she was just a drawing.

I totally geek out over floor plans.

I combed over the apartments, excitedly, and settled on a little one with a river view and one adjacent neighbor. Unit 427 was supposed to be a 1-br, but it ended up being a 744 sq ft studio. Having been spatially spoiled for so many years, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to fit my whole life into a studio. But I liked the challenge of living a more minimalistic lifestyle. 

And then the landlord kindly let me visit repeatedly to check in on my girl as she took shape.

I spent a lot of time measuring and wondering
whether I could fit everything.

I admired the view as the seasons changed.

The tall shaft in the center is the freight elevator.
I'm the top three windows to the right of it.

I signed the lease in February.

And I moved in March 2nd.

 

I still have organizing to do. The closets are packed with things I'm unsure of. And it's weird to sit up in the morning and see everything I own in one room. But it's also really nice. The view of the sun coming up over the river while I'm reading in bed in the morning can't be beat. And I'm hopeful about the community feel being established in the building.

Sorry for the Halloween pic in April...

A while back, someone told me I couldn't be a city girl--I was too much of a country girl, wouldn't adapt well, etc. I don't know if I agree with that. What I do know is that it's a new-found freedom to walk to everything. Live music, brunch, chocolate croissants, used books, fish and chips, beer, library, Chinese food, yoga, art space, water--it's all right here, mostly across the street. I adore my adopted hometown. And Mill Girl is spectacularly happy to be back in her natural habitat.