Dear friends and readers, as many of you know by now, for all my love of baking and sewing, I have some very un-feminine hobbies. Martial arts, boxing, blue-streak cursing. I also work in a very non-feminine environment. Probably about 20+% of the world's engineers are women, and that number definitely felt smaller when I was in a plant.
What I'm trying to say is, I've been around a lot of men in my time. All kinds. Loud, meek, burly, refined.
But on this sojourn to the far North of this here United States, I can comfortably say that I have met and briefly resided with the world's manliest man alive. So manly, even Teddy Roosevelt must tip his hat. So endowed with masculinity, Andrew "Old Hickory" Jackson would shed a single tear. Readers, this is A:
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| So manly, I was too scared to get a good picture. |
A is my BIL's nephew's father. He hails from South America, was possibly a Kingpin at some point in his life, and during his stay with my BIL's family, he was working with the locals, essentially as a lumberjack. I'm fairly certain that he didn't use an axe or chainsaw. He just growled at the trees, and they fell over. And for five whole days, I shared residence with this jolly giant.
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| Baby for scale |
Jests aside, he was a really nice guy who offered to share meals with us and spoke about 20 words of the same language.
In stark contrast, I am probably the least rugged human being on the planet. Why do I say this? Because I spent about 30% of my second day in Acadia National Park, scuttling down on my backside in order to scale this peak:
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| Sleeping baby for less relevant scale |
That is a view from the summit of Parkman Mountain, which at its apex, stands about 941 ft. In the afternoon on our third day of the trip, C invited DG and I to go on a fairly moderate hike with her, the hubby, and two of their friends. One of the big reasons that DG and I settled on going to Maine was because DG loves to hike, and I wanted to give it a try.
Confession: I am really bad with heights.
Granted, I took it in stride (har har) for the most part, but I was definitely the slowest hiker of the party. Ah, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And for the views, it was well worth it:
Not to mention, the blueberries:
I confess that I wasn't aware of the whole Maine blueberry craze until I actually got to Maine. Nothing like making up for lost time, though. Wild blueberries grew everywhere on the trail, and not just blueberries either. Huge patches of huckleberries grew along the mountainside, as well, and all were incredibly sweet.
Several hours and the tiniest hint of sunburn later, my first hiking experience came to a close. Did I enjoy it? Parts of it. Would I do it again? Ehhhhhhhhh... the jury is still out. But, am I glad that I at least tried? Absolutely.
And of course, what better way to end the day with another first? That is, both my and DG's first time eating a whole lobster:
I've had lobster tail before, and lobster chunks in stews and such, but I've never really enjoyed the taste all that much. Crab was always more my thing. Until that night, that is. Wow. I have never tasted such sweet lobster meat in all my life. Despite some pricked hands and the huge mess of shell and juice that ensued, it was well worth it.
Tomorrow: Our sea-kayaking expedition.
Until the next.
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