Well, luvs, here it is – Maine was wonderful, beautiful, enjoyable, and a most welcome reprieve that was over too soon. Also, the bagpipes broke my toe on our first night there. So all those imagined hikes up mountains, long walks on the beach, morning runs, and strolls around town – they are still imaginary. This right here is where I spent my entire vacation:
Actually, that’s not true at all. That lovely spot on the porch swing was where I spent morning before everybody else got up. It’s only because I had to spend so much of my time sitting, and the porch was my favorite place to sit, that I remember it that way. Our northern friends are all hosts extraordinaire, and they lined up house parties, music sessions, adventures, and meals in a way that puts professional travel agents to shame.
They also carted me and my bum leg around without so much as a peep, even when I took an entire hour to select souvenirs for myself in Port Fiber. I thought I was rather quick about it, but apparently I’m the only one who thought that. The rest of my merry band were at the brewery down the street, so they didn’t mind the waiting too much; although a tiny part of me minded missing the brewery. (Except we brought some bottles of that home with us too – so really, I have not one iota to be disappointed about.)
Port Fiber is a fiber store beyond words. I was expecting dyed fiber, braids and batts, maybe some spindles and spinning wheels, and perhaps a small selection of yarn. I was not expecting a mountain of locally sourced rare wool breeds. These were piled in a huge pyramid of baskets in the center of the store, and my brain pretty much turned off the second I saw the display. I am horribly indecisive, and – because I know this – I had already carefully planned my purchases, sight unseen (two vivid braids of yak/ silk blend, and whatever other one braid in the shop most reminded me of the colors of Maine).
My plan flew out the window the second I limped through the door. I’m fairly certain I only picked up every package of the local wool twice. I didn’t bring home any dyed braids or batts, left the Finn wool and the angora blends, returned all the Habu yarn to its pegs, and bought not a single spindle. What I did find was amazingly soft Merino wool from a local farm, and gorgeous kid mohair locks, in white and gold. Then I spotted a pair of half-size hand cards on a side table. I’d only been considering purchasing a pair for something like the last three years, and here they were; AND they were handmade in the next town over. Who am I to turn down the Universe when it speaks like that? I threw in a couple little batts of a delicious camel down/ silk/ merino blend, and I was done. See? An hour. The only sadness there was that I didn’t get to meet the owner because she was at fiber camp for the week. Clearly, I’ll just have to go back!
Before I incapacitated myself, we did get one spectacular day of ferry rides and walking around Peak’s Island. Later in the week, we managed the beach for a couple hours one afternoon. I also took half a day and drove several hours up the coast, enjoying the scenery and making notes about where to explore next time. That fresh ocean air! It’s with me still. (Not an exaggeration – my knitting smells like the sea.) The week was so full of wonderful music, excellent meals, and entertaining company. If only it were all closer.
About the driving. Just for the record, it takes 12 hours to drive to Maine from the Mid-Atlantic. And since my travel companion doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go over the George Washington Bridge after having just crossed the Tappenzee… let’s just say my passenger time in the car was minimal. For all that, it was worth it. Maine is a special place, and I look forward to going back. Besides, I sort of want that Finn…
