I don't write here much anymore. Actually, I don't write much anywhere unless you count Facebook posts. Which are usually merely comments or short missives to describe a posted photo. Hard to call yourself a writer when you don't write. So here goes:
You may or may not know, because I didn't publish it, that my wife of 54 years left me 2 years ago tomorrow to live with her boyfriend. While in Florida, they cohabitate just a block away from our once shared Florida home. A daily reminder if you know what I mean.
The night before her departure she asked me if there was anything that I would like to do with my remaining years that I haven't done; unfinished bucket list and all that. I replied, after a few minutes' reflection on my endeavors, travels, and accomplishments spanning 76 years, no, not really. I was naive as to the reasoning for this question, but in less than 24 hours I understood the motive behind her query. "Move on with your life!"
Feeling abandoned, embarrassed, angry and confused, it took me more than a few days to come to grips with my new situation, but sooner than I would have guessed, I began to mine my memory banks for things to do that I'd surrendered, for one reason or another.
Some years ago, we'd started making plans for a trip to Maine together with our neighbors, Kelly and Jeff. Then, out of the blue, for reasons I can only speculate on, Diane, my wife, put the kibosh to that endeavor.
Thus, I decided to travel to Maine in June of the upcoming summer, by myself, and see what I'd missed. I consulted with a Florida neighbor, hailing from Maine and my best friend, Leigh, from New York, who'd graduated medical school in Maine, for a list of must-see attractions on my trip to Maine. With that list in hand, and the advice of my neighbor, Diane, not my wife Diane, who suggested I make a homebase in Bar Harbor, Maine and take day trips from there to see places on my list, and eventually travel south to Portland and do the same from there.
Saturday, June 11th, 2022, I set out by car, crossed the border into Canada via the Ogdensburg international bridge with the intent to traverse, easterly, along highway 401 across Ontario and Quebec (highway 1) into Maine and across to Bar Harbor. It's the shortest route from my home as I explained to the immigration officer at the Canadian border. Reading highway signs in french, once in Quebec, was a challenge. I relied on my Garmin GPS to guide me and unfortunately, she was determined to exit Canada and go through Vermont. That's a tale for another post.
I ended up spending the night in Bethel, Maine which, serendipitously, afforded me the chance to visit some unplanned destinations on my way to Bar Harbor, on the 12th of June: The Bethel Sugar Shack, the Salt & Pepper and sugar too restaurant for breakfast, (suggested by my friend Leigh when I called him to tell him I was in Bethel.) BTW the Salt & Pepper is not in Bethel and the winding rural road trip there is another story, and ending up at 1042 at the LL Bean store in Freeport, Maine. At 1510, I checked into my motel, Port Inn, in Bar Harbor.
After checking in, unpacking and getting settled I perused some brochures, provided by the motel, and made some reservations for a couple of excursions before setting out, on foot, to reconnoiter the picturesque village of Bar Harbor: 1. Nature Cruises aboard the Acadian, 2. OLI'S TROLLEY, and 3. a day cruise aboard the four masted schooner, Margaret Todd.
On Wednesday, June 15th, I walked a couple miles to Agamont Park at the foot of Main Street overlooking Frenchman's Bay to take in the breathtaking views of the park, the harbor, in particular the Schooner Margaret Todd at dock and just meditate on my serendipitous good fortune.
Knowing me and my penchant for photography, you may be wondering by now, why there are no pictures of my travels in this post. Believe you me I have dozens of pictures, all on my phone, and I haven't figured out, yet, how to transfer them to my laptop.
Sitting on one of the many park benches, taking in the early morning, just shortly after sunrise, vista, a middle-aged looking women approached me and asked if she could share my bench. "Of course," I replied, after which she sat down beside me and without further talk, sat staring out over the Bay as was I. After 5 minutes or so, she said. "Isn't this a beautiful morning?" to which I offered, "It doesn't get any better than this." Within, no more than a minute, 2 at the most, she turned toward me, with tears slipping down her cheeks, saying "do you mind if I share something with you?" I nodded in the affirmative and she continued, to the best of my recollection, "My father recently passed away after years of suffering from Alzheimer's, I visited him daily and would wheel him out to the lawn outside the nursing home, where he spent his last days, to bask in the sunshine. On one of those days shortly before he passed, he remarked, unusual for him to speak at all, ""it doesn't get any better than this."" Chokingly, with tears now streaming down her face, she said, "Thank you for giving me back my daddy for just a moment!" And then she got up and strolled slowly out of the park.
If, after reading this far, you'll indulge me to back up a day to June 14th, 2022. And the actual reason for this post on serendipity; the gift of finding valuable or agreeable things not looked for.
It's a bright, sunny, low 70s morning as I climb aboard the Oli's Trolley to embark on a 4-hour narrated tour with 30-minute stops for walks and photos. The scheduled stops are Cadillac Mountain, Sier de Monts Spring, Thunder Hole, and Jordan Pond. The trolley is full, primarily with couples. There is one empty seat behind the first seat behind the driver/narrator, occupied by an unaccompanied woman.
I will not clutter up this post with an account of all and everything we saw and did except to say that our driver/narrator was exceptionally well informed and an extremely entertaining storyteller, because I want to skip to Jordan Pond and the by chance circumstance stroll with the unaccompanied woman in the seat in front of me.
Although I did not learn the unaccompanied woman's name until later, I'll introduce you to her now so that I can refer to her by her name and not the unaccompanied woman, Freda Iverson.
Google photo
Freda and I found ourselves at the above pictured shore of Jordan Pond looking across at the two centered hills/mountains called north bubble and south bubble or simply, the Bubbles. BTW, this was the first time on the tour that Freda and I found ourselves alone together after two hours of sightseeing.
To the left of this photo is a hiking trail, probably Bubbles Nubble Loop, to which Freda suggested we explore. It was an easy trail to hike, at least for as long as we were on it. We learned later that the hike around the pond is 1 to 2 hours. The conversation flowed easily between us, we having many things in common, particularly hiking and exploring the out of doors. After 15 minutes or so of hiking and remembering that the tour stop is only 30 minutes long, Freda wondered out loud if I thought we could make it all the way around the pond. I said, "for sure we could make it, but we'd probably miss the Trolley." We decided to turn around and scurried back to the parking area where the trolley was parked with a few minutes to spare. To be honest, when we arrived, our fellow tourists were already beginning to board. We, Freda and I, had no further interaction for the remainder of the tour.
After debarking the trolley back at the station, I proceeded to Stewman's downtown lobster pound restaurant to indulge in my first ever lobster meal. I mention this only to serve as a reference point later.
Google photo
Later that day, I wandered down to the harbor to investigate where I would have to go the next morning to board the schooner, Margaret Todd.
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/schooner-margaret-todd-david-choate.html
As I'm strolling down the street, about 1/2 mile from the wharf, I hear someone call my name. I turn to my right to see Freda crossing the street approaching her hotel which I coincidently just happened to be passing. What are the chances? Dare I say it yet again? "Serendipity."
She was returning from doing some shopping and inquired what I was up to, and I told her I was scouting out the area to determine where I was to board for my cruise, the next day. She mentioned that she too would be taking the Lighthouse, Wildlife & Acadia National Park Cruise the next day. I informed her that I had taken that cruise on the 13th but mine had left from a port a couple miles outside of Bar Harbor. She said her tour would embark from a dock in the downtown area.
That's it. 5-minute conversation at the most. and off we go our separate ways.
June 15th. 0700. I'm on my way to the pier where the Margaret Todd schooner awaits. I'm early. As I'm approaching Stewman's Lobster Pound, I pass the ramp, adjacent, that leads down to the dock where a Wildlife cruise is boarding. Glancing down the ramp, as I pass, I espy a familiar figure amongst a sizable cadre of people making their way down to board their cruise. I call out, "Freda?" Lo and behold the familiar figure turns around and it is indeed Freda. Not only does she turn around, smiling from ear to ear, she scurries up to where I'm standing, at the top of the ramp to engage. While we're chatting, a crew member approaches from the lower end of the ramp to ask Freda if she intends to board. she replies yes and turning to me, suggests we have lunch together after our respective cruises. Determining that both of our cruises finish at noon we agree to meet on the Stewman's deck, and we'll decide then where to eat. She scampers down the ramp so as not to keep them waiting and I make my way to my destination.
Debarking after my morning cruise on the Margeret Todd, I stroll up to Stewman's downtown lobster pound to find Freda sitting on the deck checking her phone. When asked, she replied that she had only been waiting about 5 minutes. She mentions a lunch destination she's discovered on Cottage Street but is unsure how to get there. I think I know the place, thinking I must have walked by it many times on my walks to breakfast. We walk to where I suspect she's referring to and when she sees the sign, A Slice of Eden, she recognizes this as the place she has in mind. After ordering our wraps, (she offers to pay the tab,) we go to the seating area to wait for our order to be called.
The conversation soon turns to marital status. She relays that she is widowed. I explain that I'm married but my wife has recently left me to live with another man. Freda is an expert listener. She sympathizes with my situation since her daughter has recently divorced. Our conversation flows easily without any pregnant pauses. In fact, we lose track of time until one of the shop's employees informs us it's closing time; they close at 2 pm.
Later that evening, I decide to wander back down to the wharf to try and capture The Margaret Todd, under full sail, returning from her Sunset cruise. While there, I receive a Facebook message from Freda (we exchanged Facebook friend requests after our lunch at the sandwich shop) asking what I'm doing and tells me that she did the walk over to Bar Island during the low tide and thanked me for making her aware of this possibility. She goes onto say, "I'll be leaving early in the morning to return to my friend's place in Boston, so we won't see each other again to say goodbye." Then; "same time next year?" I say, "sure. Have a safe trip back to Boston and California."
Over the next 10 months the only correspondence between us is birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas greetings via Facebook.
In late April, Freda sends me a Facebook message; Are you planning to go to Maine this year? (holy moly, I think, she was serious.) I reply, if you're going to be there, I'll be there. At this point we exchange phone numbers and email addresses. After discussing things to do in Maine, Freda offers to make reservations to 1. get tickets to enter Cadillac Mountain to view the sunrise and 2. to reserve seats on the Margaret Todd sunset cruise. By now I'm using all my devices, laptop, iPad, and phone to communicate with her. Eventually, Freda says our plans are dashed because none of the things she'd tried to schedule were open until the end of May.
She goes on to ask, "what were your plans for the spring if not going to Maine?" I said, "I'm going to Mystic Connecticut to see the sights and do research on ship building for my novel."
Freda says, "I can meet you in Mystic."
And that, my friends, is how serendipity, the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way, in Maine began.
P.S. We met in Mystic, Gaberville, California, and Morristown, NY.
to be continued:
