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Memorial Day 2026
By Lucy Derbyshire
This year, Memorial Day will be different for me. Gay Lunt, who was born in Portland, Maine on May 4, 1947, and died March 23, 2026, is the reason.
My parents, John and Agusta Stoll, met Gay back in 1980. He joined some political group my father had. Gay’s mother, Evelyn, from Arkansas, had married Gay’s father, Ralph Jr., a professor at Bowdoin College. Ralph Jr. met Evelyn’s brother in World War II and visited Arkansas. He fell in love with Evelyn. Gay was named for a man on the radio. Evelyn was listening to him as she gave birth to Gay in Portland.
Memorial Day is for “honoring and mourning for the people who have served in the armed forces.” My father, a conscientious objector who was raised Amish, and my mother, a Quaker, never had any relatives who fought in wars. Gay’s father, Ralph Jr.’s mother, Lucy Lunt, disapproved. She was an RN who started a nursing home on East Street in Freeport, Maine. Gay said his Grandma Lucy fed homeless people during the Depression.
Gay, from Peoria’s Southside, enlisted as soon as he could. He served in Vietnam. He participated in Chicago’s race riots, too, in 1968-1969 after serving in Vietnam. He told me in the past few years that he had many struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder, which can include flashbacks from witnessing terrifying events.
I remember our family all went to the cemetery in Peoria and put flowers on Grandpa Stoll’s grave. And we went to Gridley, Illinois, and put flowers on Grandma Stoll’s grave. As a child, it was boring, boring, boring.
This year I will actually be remembering a faithful soldier and a retired police officer. Thank you Gay Lunt.
Thoughts from the Road
By Jennifer McBrierty
We drove 1,800 miles to and from Florida in January. On long drives, I find myself watching the traffic like it’s a parade of strangers. Some drivers make the ride an enjoyable one, keeping a safe distance from others, driving within the posted speed limits, using their turn signals when changing lanes, and generally obeying the rules of the road. I don’t know them, but I’m more relaxed when they’re nearby.
Then there are the drivers that raise my blood pressure. The ones who bob and weave in and out of multiple lanes of heavy traffic at high speeds, like a downhill skier slaloming between gates trying to win a gold medal. They vanish ahead of me in a blur. Why are they in such a hurry? And then there are the trucks, every size and shape. Contractor pickups loaded down with ladders, large glass windows, and all sorts of other equipment I can’t identify. How securely tied down are all those items, I wonder. Could that ladder somehow break free and come careening directly through my windshield? I prefer not to find out, so I switch lanes as quickly as possible. Oversized loads, ushered by guide vehicles with flashing yellow lights, warning other drivers of the dangers they pose. Flatbed trucks stacked with lumber, logs that look like they could be replacement telephone poles, concrete cylinders and other building infrastructure materials that I know nothing about. Car carriers tilt and rattle, packed like puzzle pieces that bounce at every dip in the road. There are 18-wheelers too numerous to count, some hauling one cargo container and others that pull double containers that sway in the wind. I know they are an essential part of keeping our economy going and ensuring all those Amazon packages are delivered in one day. They scare and reassure me at once.
We stop often, preferring rest areas that offer easy on-and-off access. It’s there where something magical happens. In an instant, the highway sheds its anonymity and people reappear. A minivan door swings open and a family of five spills out, kids vibrating with the kind of excitement that smells like sunscreen and theme parks. An older couple works together to clip a leash on their adorable little dog, and I glimpse the everyday intimacy of long, slow conversations and familiar routines. Snowbirds, I suppose, who will soon be meeting up with friends for bocce and 4 p.m. happy hours. Three college-aged friends climb from a rented U-Haul, laughing as they head for the vending machine. Maybe one of them is starting a first job and has enlisted helping hands in return for pizza and beer. A man in his mid-fifties hops down from his 18-wheeler cab while talking on his phone. He looks tired from lonely hours and long days behind the wheel, missing his family and eating too much fast food.
We do a few stretches to loosen up, our muscles tight from sameness. People make their way back to their vehicles, doors close and engines start. When we pull away, the rest stop dissolves behind us. Faces blur, lives evaporate. The highway swallows us all back up again into an ocean of anonymous metal, rubber and glass. It’s my husband’s turn to drive, leaving me in the passenger seat counting the miles until the next rest stop.
First Robin Sighting of 2026
By Deb Noone
Robin
I mutter the name under my breath
as if the Robin can hear me…
understand me
as I stand on my glassed-in winter porch
This isn’t just any Robin
This is my sister,
Checking in as she does every year
Robin heralds in the spring season,
despite the prediction for snow
I look to my left and another robin perches on a power line
Is this a friend of my sister’s?
I hope she is happy in heaven
Because this earth and my heart carry the sadness
The day she died
as I stood in the airplane aisle
just landed in Washington, D.C.
I felt the pain
I begged her to hold on until I arrived
I wanted to push and shove those who stood to debark
as I did
Finally, the line moved
I raced into the airport
and down the long walkway
Raced to hail a cab
Told the cabbie to hurry to the hospital
Finally, I ran into the lobby
The greeter gave me directions and told me to have a nice day
I wanted to wail – how can I have a nice day when my sister is dying?
Her room was right off the elevator hallway
I ran in
She was surrounded by family and friends
but no longer breathing
I wanted to rail at her for leaving me without a goodbye
And then I remembered …
The day my grandfather died, just before we arrived
My sister saying … no one wants to die while their loved ones watch
But I knew
Life might be gone
But the soul remains
… and she knew I was there
To send her off
And so, I say to the first Robin of spring
Thanks for checking in
I miss you!
Lessons in Belfast
By Russ Kinney
Are you a slacker? No. Are you unreliable? No. Are you a thief? No. Are you a whiner? No. Can you start tomorrow? Yes. Got a problem with that? No. That was the interview.
At 15, I was hired by Billy, owner of the highest volume seafood restaurant & dance club in mid coast Maine.
In his restaurant everyone started as a pot washer, then to the dish machine, then to a culinary or front of house position. When I was a pot washer, Billy discovered there was some grease in my wash water and he exploded!! “This three-bay sink is unsafe!! These conditions can kill kids and grandparents!! Drain the sink, sanitize it, and wash everything again!!” A Commitment to Safety.
The culinary expectations were very high. If any aspect of our dishes were not perfect Billy would state, “I would expect this in a slop house?” A Commitment to Standards.
Every few weeks Billy would stand in the middle of the kitchen during the busiest time and flip through the job applications. “Every one of these people say they can do your job better than you! How many do I have to call today?” I will be strong.
At 16, Billy told me I was ready to learn how to get a person to the ground and out the door in a bar fight. As a teen, the adult bar staff could count on me. Self-confidence.
That year I broke my leg skiing and called him as soon as I could from the hospital. “Billy, I broke my leg skiing and will not be in.” “Thanks for the call, Chris.” The next day Billy called me three minutes after the start of my shift. “You are late!!” “Billy my leg is broken!”
“That was yesterday, what is wrong with you today?” “Billy, the leg is still broken!” “Are you in traction?” No. “Are you whacked out on drugs?” No “Are in the hospital?” No “Then you are late for work!!” You can count on me.
Billy reminded us often to save a portion of our income weekly. Billy offered to cosign for me at the bank to buy a used car. “You will never miss a payment!” Financial Responsibility
At 17, I would drive the boat while lobstering as Billy always wanted to be at the stern to manage the traps. I was driving the boat off Islesboro when thick fog rolled in. “Billy, can you take the wheel?” “Why?” “Because there are ledges in this area and I do not want to drive onto the rocks!” “Then do not drive onto the rocks!” No GPS in that era. Billy came to the front, “What do the instruments say and where are you on the map?” I showed him and he said, “Drive the boat!” Courage
At 18, I was at a party on the shore. Word got to Billy that I was at this party and teens were lying around outside the house passed out. Billy sent two of his BIG friends to get me. I was inside and had a girl on my lap. They lifted her straight up and off my lap and then carried me to the car. They took me to the restaurant. Billy greeted me. “What if your Mom drove by and saw you on lawn passed out?” “I was inside!” “Shut up!” Responsible for your behavior.
I and many others who worked there knew we had an advantage in life because we were Billie Trained.
Twenty years ago, I told him that his leadership helped me throughout my career. He cried to know he had an impact.
Last summer we visited Billy and his wife. He seemed to be in good health, but he did not know who I was. It was sad, but he was having fun. So glad I made the trip.
LESSONS LEARNED
Winter Skies
By Deb Noone
A vivid robin’s egg blue
Not a cloud in the sky
Wind howls tunneling between homes
as stray, winter-browned leaves
toss and turn in a jerky dance
across snow-covered lawns
Then the wind calms
and tree’s bare limbs settle
until the next gust attacks
The streets are clear of snow and ice
as if never touched by winter
But more to come, says the weather man
The shovel stands at attention
by the back door
boots, too
I suppose we must expect this=
February only a week into existence
I love the clean look of wind-swept snow piles
but hate the thought of adding to them
If only the snow gods would look down
and command
Stay away from the roads, driveways
and walkways
But spread the beauty
where no one needs to travel
Spring
By Vince McDermott
Spring is here Water everywhere
(Ah choo!) (Squish squish)
Flowers are blooming Mud Season
(Wheeze) (Glop)
Pollen is flying Walking difficult
(Snuzzle) (Glop glop)
Snow is melting Isn’t spring great?
(Squish) (Ahhhh chooo!)
Native American Flute
By Laura Lee Perkins
The sound of the Native American flute reverberates deeply within the human soul. The power of making sound visible comes from the act of transforming a piece of wood back into life with our own breath. For years, I have felt a deep, internal responsibility to bring the haunting sound of the Native American flute to those who are moved to explore life through this ancestral instrument. Playing the Native American flute is an opening into deeper expression of self because the soul connection is undeniable. Marrying the soul is each personality’s goal, but the soul and the personality often take decades to meld. The Native American flute can be the vehicle that makes the union possible
My first … and last bikes
By Ellen Glenn Childs
When spring came in 1951, when I was 9 years old, I started hoping for a bicycle. After all, my best friend Susie had a bike. Hers was a hand-me-down from a cousin who had outgrown it, but it was a top of the line hunter green, youth-sized Schwinn with a built in horn and racing stripes! It was a beauty! I wasn’t permitted to beg for things … not for Christmas, not for birthdays, and certainly not for bicycles, but my parents must have decided that it was time for me to have one, because my father told me that as soon as I could prove that I knew how to ride a bicycle, I would get one. So for several weeks, Susie would let me borrow her bike to see if I knew how to ride one. Miraculously, one early evening – I remember exactly where it happened and that it actually happened at dinner time – I found the balance spot and tottered a few bike lengths without falling off! That was enough!
The next day, my dad and I drove into Titusville to the Western Auto Store, and picked out a full sized, beautiful shiny blue bike. I couldn’t reach the pedals while sitting on the seat, so until I grew another inch or two, my dad removed the seat, replacing it with a small round piece of wood so I wouldn’t impale myself on the bare upright pipe. I could stand up to ride without the seat getting in my way. Unfortunately the $15 cost of the bike didn’t include any frills, so we didn’t buy the chain guard. This meant that every quarter mile or so, my pant leg would get caught in the chain, or if I had remembered to roll up my pants, one side of my leg with be adorned with grease from the chain. If the pant leg was stuck, I would have to hop along, dragging the bike with me until I could find someone to unstick the cloth from the chain. After a few weeks, my mom got tired of trying to get oil stains off of me and my pant legs, so we went back to Western Auto and sprung for the 75 cent chain guard.
That bike was my transportation taking me to school, helping me with a complicated cow herding procedure, going on long bike hikes with my friends, and just getting around.
After I learned to drive, I don’t think I ever rode it again. However, when I was living in a 55-plus RV resort in my late 70s, I bought a second-hand, adult-sized tricycle and rode it all over the park until Hurricane Milton struck. While I was closing up the remains of my home, I noticed a neighbor enviously eyeing my trike, so I gave it to him. May he ride it in good health!
Cat Tales
By Lucy Derbyshire
SWEETIE
My cat’s missing?! I searched all around my house on Green Street, Monroe Street, Hancock Street, Madison and Perry. Where was my Sweetie?? I looked yesterday morning and afternoon for two hours and again today.
After several more days of looking, I went to the animal pound way down at the end of Perry. No Sweetie, my white cat. Where was my white cat? So I prayed. I prayed and looked for her for two whole weeks.
Every day I got home from work nursing at 5p and asked my family if they had seen her at all. My elderly parents, my husband, Rodney, and my brother, John said, “No.” But one day when I got home, my mother said “Your cat is back.”
I looked under the front porch, Sweetie’s favorite hiding place. And guess who was there, none other but Sweetie. I got her to come out for a bite of food. God had my prayers.
TUFFY
Three kittens were born yesterday. Tuffy was the oldest of the three of them. It was in September and after a few weeks of watching them, I saw they had bad problems with fleas crawling all over them. So I bathed them in flea shampoo towel dried them and let them play in the warm September weather. Two of the died. Only Tuffy lived. I was afraid Tuffy would die too. I took him to the animal doctor named Dr. Pula.
Dr. Pula told me something I never knew. “Don’t ever dry a young kitty only a few weeks old with towels after giving them a flea bath or they will die of pneumonia. He put flea foam on Tuffy and dried him with paper towels until he was completely dry. Tuffy only lived because he Dr. Pula saved him from a bad case of fleas the correct way.
Rusty
It was a big hassle every summer night getting Rusty my rust colored cat to come in on time. His mother and older sister came in easily without any problem. When I was ready to get them at the right time, sunset, I would go pick them up and bring them in or they would run into the house on their own.
They cooperated with me. However not Rusty. He was not ready? He ran around our two story wooden home and I ran around the house trying to catch him. Our house was built when Abraham Lincoln was living in IL. It was one of the oldest houses in Peoria, IL. Finally, after I had chased him until I was exhausted Rusty would let me pick him up. However, a few times I was too exhausted to run any more. Then I had to pray for him to stop refusing to come in. God answered my prayers and he would let me pick him up and bring him inside.
Cat Prayer
I used to volunteer at the animal pound in Brunswick between 2010 and 2015. I brought home a sick mother cat, but her baby had to come with her because it was too young to be adopted out. The mother had to have antibiotics given to it in food. It was easy taking care of the mother cat because she was tame. But the kitten was not very tame. It ran all around my home and pretty much did whatever it wanted to do.
After I was done giving mama her antibiotics I was supposed to return the two of them back to the animal pound in cardboard carriers. It was easy to pick up the mother cat and place her into her carrier.
For 30 minutes I ran all over the place, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and living room trying to catch baby cat. I was not able to cat it. It was too wild and was afraid of me. I prayed.
You won’t believe this. I didn’t myself. That little kitty calmly strolled into the open door of the carrier. And I gave both of the cats back to the animal pound.
Tuffy’s Healing
Mother cat did not have any cat milk to feed Tuffy. I waited three days and she was not feeding her kittens. I took her to the animal doctor. He told me she had no milk for her new babies. I and my family would have to feed them every four hours. I set my alarm clock to ring every four hours, 4a, 8a, 12n, 4p, 8p, and 12a.
We fed them something called “Tiger Milk.” I fed them at night 12a and 4a. My husband, Rodney, fed them 8a and 12n. My sister, Esther, fed them at 4p and 8p. We used a doll bottle at first for several weeks. We used medicine droppers for several weeks but it got old trying to be patient with the tiny little things sucking so slowly.
The first day, I set up the feeding schedule I had to call off from work. My supervisor, Robin, let me call off so I could feed them all day that day before I got the schedule set up. And she was the one I ended up giving Tuffy away to. She told me after she had him for a while that she encouraged his behavior. He was so friendly with her family. He would climb right up and sit on their shoulders he loved them so much.
There was another mother cat at my home. She had 4 of her own kittens. I tried putting Tuffy with her four kittens because Tuffy’s two younger siblings had died of pneumonia.
Tuffy would only lie with the other four and not suck. He was used to being fed a different way. So it was several days after letting him lie with the other kittens and watching them suck their mother to get their milk.
At 2p, my elderly parents were watching Benny Hinn, a famous healing evangelist, show on TV. I laid Tuffy in the usual place with the other cat mother and like usual he laid there doing nothing. I prayed as Benny Hinn prayed for the sick in his audience. I wondered, can God heal a kitten too?
God did heal Tuffy. I couldn’t belive but I saw it. Tuffy started sucking his milk and when he got done the kitten who he had shoved aside got to get back into place for his meal. Can you believe that????
PAY ATTENTION
By Laura Lee Perkins
Sometimes we miss clues in our life – even the most obvious ones, particularly those based on repeating numbers or patterns. Numerologists have studied the significance of 0-9 (zero through nine) for many centuries. Still, most folks miss the importance of these 10 simple digits.
When I met my husband Ken in 1998 and moved to his small town of 1,400, I went to the post office to get a P.O. box number. “All we have is #37,” postmistress Penny replied to my inquiry. “That will be fine,” I said.
Next, I needed a cell phone. I had no preference regarding the new phone number and was given 3277 as the last four numbers. There’s 3 and 7 again.
I needed to get a Maine license plate on my Arizona car. The clerk passed me the new plate, I paid and left. As I bent over to mount it on my car, I looked at the number: 2377. Now I was starting to pay attention to the numbers 3 and 7. Three = Trinity and seven = the magic number of the Greeks and Romans; I had loved Latin in high school. I started noticing when 3 and 7 would appear on the odometer as I drove around my new hometown. Research revealed that 7 is connected to the foundation of God’s word and there are 735 references to this number in the Bible. (There are 3 and 7 again!) Examples include: 7 annual Holy Days, Jesus performed 7 miracles on a Holy Sabbath and the world was created in 7 days.
As Ken and I traveled, each motel visit we’d receive keys to rooms with 37 in the room number; this happened 10 times out of 12. Now I was really paying attention! Over the next 20 years, these “coincidences” increased. I decided to focus on this in more detail after attending a couple of numerology talks. When I asked the numerologists about these two numbers, I was informed that 3+7 = 10 and when reduced, 1+0 = 1. (Numerologists always reduce numbers down to a single digit.) I was told that 1 refers to ONE God.
I started really thinking about other significant numbers in my life. My childhood address was 3466 and 3+4+6+6 = 19 and 1+9 = 10 and 1+0 = 1. Hmmm. The first two grants I applied for each brought me $10,000 (=1) for research, writing and, recording for our White Owl Native American flutes, books and CD business.
My birth date is 10-26-46 = 82 and 8+2 also = 10, which again reduces to 1. Our Arizona address, 17200 W Bell Road (1+7+2), adds up to 10 as does our lot #2359 (2+3+5+9). All through these 23 years, I explored my relationship to our Creator in great depth. Although I am not Catholic, my dear Canadian friend Padre Leon says it’s “my search for holiness.” That rings true for me. I have a 94-year-old dear male friend in Maine who recently lost his wife. Although I’ve known him for years, I had to look up the address when I wrote to express my condolences and yes, it was 37. My mother’s phone number was 633-1222 which also adds up to 10. She and I were very close.
Ken and I went to hear Joel Osteen speak at the Talking Stick Arena in Phoenix on 03-15-19 (a date which adds up to 10). As we returned to our car in the parking lot, I noticed we were parked in space #37. Fifteen-thousand people attended that evening and the attendant parked us in #37!
Many people would call these happenings “coincidences” but I don’t. I truly believe that I am being reminded to pay closer attention to everything that shows up in my life which includes the numbers 3 and 7. When I continue to pay attention, something meaningful unfolds. If I ignore these numerical nudges, then I’ve missed an opportunity to experience something truly magical.
Maine’s Magical Rocky Shoreline
By Deb Noone
The harsh call of sea gulls
skimming the shoreline
draws attention
Tide’s out
What do they see
They dive and squawk a discordant chorus
Crashing waves
Adding their own contribution
to the rhythm of coastline life
Me …
Perched high on a balcony
Overlooking both the rage and rhythm
A mound of rock appears near the shoreline
Soon buried by the next incoming wave
A low-flying jet skims the air space above
a gentle hummmmm sounding over the waves
Did the plane just take off in Portland
Will it land in Brunswick
Or wander up the coastline toward another northern destination
I always wonder, as my gaze follows the contrail
Below from my roost on higher ground
my ocean – the Atlantic – maintains its rhythm
crashing, then silence,
crashing, then silence,
crashing, then silence
as the tide rolls in
temporary ponds form in the rocky crevices
waves are absorbed by the kelp
So different from memories
never-ending sandy beaches along the shoreline
Flashbacks to childhood vacations in Delaware
Tumbling under as waves crashed over
Coming back up to gasp in air
and one humiliating teenage memory…
washed ashore to land in front of the lifeguard chair, rising on the sand
my cute pink-and-white-checked bikini top, washing up behind me
to land at the foot of the tall chair
A humiliation no young teen should endure
a recollection forever imbedded in the recesses of that memory chest
hiding at the back of my brain … I shiver
Yes, the rhythm of the tide and the squawking and occasional memories
sing a magical song
unlike the discordant thrum and whine and honks of Route One traffic
only blocks from home
I scan the distance
The glare of the sun almost blocking out the fishing boats
Dipping and gliding
Holding their own against the mighty sea
And white triangles dot the horizon,
as sailboats glide in tune with the wind and currents
I lean against the rail, the deck high above the scene
and dream of having this view forever –
as the view sparks my creativity
Before the next chorus of crashing sea
Silence
Another seagull squawk
A car passes the house,
the engine roaring against the peace of nature
The deep thrum of a fishing boat
or is the boat for pleasure … again draws my attention to the vast sea
I return to the deck to gaze upon the steep hill below
White butterflies flit among the sea of green
one to light upon a yellow-flowered goldenrod
another circles the purple clover and white lacy Queen Anne’s Lace
the two now circling, battling each other for the nectar
until a third joins them to infringe on what seems to be an endless landscape filled
with flowers and greenery.
The rhythm of nature, of life, of beauty and pain
Beyond … sun angled to show sparks off the ocean surface
like mini-fireworks or nature’s glitter tossed from the sun
I sip my tea
and sigh
This is the rhythm of nature, of life, of beauty and pain,
if only for one day…
this scene will remain with me
New Home, A New Pet
By Betty Bavor
My daughter’s home has a new pet! They have been without pets since the passing of their cats and last chicken several months ago. After attending a recent robotics competition, I was invited to come for dinner and meet Randy, an invitation instantly accepted. By the way, the “Bucks Wrath” Robot #6329 from Bucksport being mentored by my great grandson won 1st place that day. I was now on my way for the second grand feature of the day.
Entering the kitchen, I saw an aquarium-size box on the counter with a mound of moss, soil, and water – I was introduced to Randy, an Eastern Gray Tree Frog, Hyla versicolor, meaning it can change color by mood and environment for camouflage. It is native of the Eastern U.S. and Southern Canada. While they secrete a skin toxin as a defense to predators, they are harmless to humans and have a stable population reported by “Encyclopedia of Life.” They can be fun pets with easy care!
This frog somehow found its way to their basement. Maybe it was hibernating on the firewood piled from outdoors and was adventurous. It was spotted on a step of the stairs to the kitchen and luckily did not get stepped on. It was too cold and snowy to put it outdoors, so a bit of research and it has become a pet in a new home.
Eastern Gray Tree Frogs are friendly, recognize people caring for them, and will thrive in a 20-gallon aquarium with high 60% humidity in a 68-78°F temperature. They need occasional warm-water misting plus a dish of water for night soaks and some branches to climb and foliage, as they like canopies to shelter. They eat live insects, crickets, and mealworms. A mealworm was served as I watched and was swallowed whole in seconds. Randy looked at us, maybe thinking, “Is there more?” They tend to overeat, proven by their bulging abdomen. Females tend to be larger than males. They are found in forests, swamps, farmlands, and backyards – and live 7-9 years. Being nocturnal, males emit loud musical calls after dark for 4+ hours, establishing breeding territory and eating. Breeding season is May to September.
My memory was sparked remembering aquariums our young children filled with amphibians, lizards, and sea life we all gathered here and there. We even splurged and once purchased a horny toad at a pet store! The kids took responsibility and learned about and how to care for these pets. It is heartwarming to relive past happy family experiences, and amazingly, they still happen. Precious family experiences need to be appreciated, shared and celebrated. We all have family and changes. Family together is a gift. Have cheerful hearts – joy, love and peace.
Whitewater Rafting
By Lucy Derbyshire
Whitewater is what you see when going down the river in turbulent rapids. It is air trapped in the water that makes the water opaque. The riverbed causes the water to crash on rocks, fluctuations in the soil, or other obstructions, creating the frothy white-appearing waves.
The sport of rafting is popular for all ages of people. The oldest woman is 96, Hazel Amos, who lives in Surrey, England. And the two youngest rafters are Azalea and Wylie Burnham, ages 10 and 8, who raft in the Tahoe-Reno area on a beginner’s river.
If you have never done it, try it. I hope to try it at 78, and a gal in my writing group says she is going to do it. We were discussing it several weeks ago. So I decided to find out more about it.
One beginner says about 80% of the way she never saw any whitewater. She and her husband went to Clear Creek in Colorado after her mother-in-law googled that as being a good ride for beginners. My sister tried it once and her hand hit a rock when she had it outside the raft. A co-worker nurse of mine in Houston loved doing it and that was when I really was thinking of trying it.
The lady who went to Clear Creek said you need to wear quick-drying clothes plus carry clothes for “just-in-case.” She said she needed a hot day and plenty of suntan lotion and water. She made the mistake of wearing tennis shoes and socks on her first trip and they got soaking wet. Wetsuit booties are good. Barefoot works. Water shoes dry fast. Be sure to pack dry shoes and socks for when you are done.
Whitewater rafting is similar to other adventurous sports as far as how many people die. It is about 29 in a million that try it. If you fall out, swim back as quickly as you can. Foot injuries are the most common problem. To buy your own raft, plan to pay $599 to $4,995. One for sale was 12 feet long and 5 feet 3 inches wide.
April to June is the “early season” for experienced rafters. They get the excitement of really good rides. June to August is the “summer season” for beginners and older experienced rafters. “Late summer season” is September to October and really good for beginner rafters in Tahoe-Reno because the scenery between whitewater is terrific.
Three Rivers Whitewater Rafting has been in business for 25+ years with a 4.9-star rating. It is located in West Forks, Maine. And Kennebec Whitewater Rafting has been in business for over 40 years and has 4.7 stars. It is located in Bingham, Maine. It costs anywhere from $212 to $336 for the package of lodging and
The Endeavor
By Laura Lee Perkins
The cold salt spray stung my face, keeping me awake. This 60-degree ocean is no place to be without a wetsuit on. How did this happen?
Heading back home alone after a day on the water, I enjoyed listening to the luffing of the sails. Close to rounding the rocky point, I decided to drop the mainsail and enter the harbor using just the smaller jib.
As I untied the mainsail ropes, a gust of wind came up out of nowhere. Clinging to the loosened ropes, I slid to the deck as the sloop suddenly veered toward the rocky outcrop of granite, towering 50 feet above the ocean. Worried, I struggled to my feet just as the mainsail collapsed onto the deck, burying me.
The Endeavor was usually so easy to handle at the end of the day when calmness settled in over the bay. Yes, I had to round Rocky Point, but using just the jib should glide us in. I was wrong, I surmised, while freeing myself from this heavy cocoon.
Suddenly, the hull of my 28-foot wooden sailboat began scraping the ocean floor. Bad sound. Now what? As the craft ground to a halt, a thundering crack announced the hull was ripping open. Racing down the galley steps, I saw water gushing through a huge tear in front of the rudder. Nothing can plug that hole.
The Endeavor began to list toward the granite cliff as I raced back up the stairs. She rolled about 30 degrees as I slid toward the stern on the mahogany deck. Grabbing for anything to stabilize myself, I saw the life raft rope dangling near my left arm. With every bit of strength in me, I grabbed the rope and untied it. Just as the ship twisted and groaned, the rising tide shoved it deeper onto the rocks as I slipped into the ocean.
Hang on to that rope. Don’t let go. Hand over hand I moved along the rope, making it to the life raft. I climbed inside just as a wave drove the raft toward the wreckage. No time for a wetsuit and I don’t have my phone. Get the raft away from the rocks.
I found the oars strapped inside and gripped them tightly as I lowered them into the water. After the next wave broke, I was able to paddle out beyond the breaking waves. The sun had set. I saw no lights and no other boats.
It’s so cold. Will anyone come looking for me when I don’t return? The harbormaster might notify the U.S. Coast Guard that The Endeavor is missing. It’s almost high tide. When the tide turns, I’ll drift further out to sea.
Tiring, my hope of rescue began to wane. Fog settled in. The Endeavor vanished from sight. Silence ruled. The sea swells subsided. Suddenly, I remembered a compass had come with the raft. I found the pocket; inside was a small brass compass. Opening the cover, the face illuminated! Now I paddled west, toward land, through pea-soup fog. My arms ached. The salt spray was freezing cold. Water began to come into the raft, slapping against my soaking wet shoes. My cold hands throbbed in pain. Just when I didn’t know how much longer I could go on, I saw a light through the fog. Is it a mirage? Then I saw a second light and finally a third, moving up high, above the water. Am I hallucinating?
I heard what sounded like men’s voices, yelling. I tried to answer, but the salt spray made my efforts sound like raspy whispers. I banged the two oars together, loudly, over and over.
The search party, perched on the cliff above the wrecked Endeavor, picked up the sound. “Is that you, Brendan? The Coast Guard is on the way.”
Those search lights on their hats saved my life. Although The Endeavor couldn’t be rescued, I was.
Pondering Thoughts About Improved Technology and the Future
By Alene Staley
As you may have heard, I recently replaced my cell phone, which then necessitated the purchase of a new case for the phone. I remember how flip phones did not need cases or screen protectors. And I’m sure in early cell phone days phones were allowed to be ‘au naturel’ without cases at all. I tried to find a case for my new phone. I bought one that I thought would work, but I was wrong. It seems that the dimensions of each phone are slightly different from all other phones.
I ordered a phone case online and it arrived. Of course, in this modern age it came with no instructions except for a link to a website. My problem was I could not figure out how to open the case to take out the small styrofoam insert. I followed the website link. Nothing on the website gave me a clue. I used the chat feature to ask the question. After about five minutes, I was notified that they would answer my question in 12 hours. I put my thinking cap on, contemplated the case for a while, and finally figured it out for myself. I am happy to say I had no trouble attaching the case to my new phone. The next day I received an answer from the website, which contained only a link to the original website. This experience caused me to wonder how much progress is actually being made as we engage more and more with technology.
Do you remember when phones were wired to the wall and were owned by the telephone company that was a monopoly? The telephone company conveniently located pay phones so that people away from home could make calls. If you wanted to send a message to someone, you sent a letter or a postcard and the recipient would be happy to receive it and would be likely to respond. If you called someone who did not answer, you simply waited to call back at another time. If you called a business or an office, you spoke to a person who would be polite.
Have we really experienced an improvement or not? I think that is worth pondering. And particularly today when artificial intelligence is a reality, it truly is something we must examine. Some of the technology changes have been necessitated by growing populations and have made modern life possible. These changes have brought improvement for humanity but often at a significant cost and with suffering and damage to the environment. I think the development of artificial intelligence is inevitable. I hope good will prevail and that negative consequences will be managed to limit harm and suffering and with kindness and respect.
