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One summer morning, I looked at the calendar.
It was August.
A familiar, sinking feeling overtook my stomach. I knew that the snowplows would soon be here.
The season was almost over, and I hadn't even begun to start enjoying it. It was high time for another adventure, one last hurrah to end the summer with a bang. But where? Like many of you, Year 2010 had not exactly been a lucrative one, so I forewent Tuscany and opted instead for a local, inexpensive outing.
When I venture away from my Topsham home to the wilds of the Maine open waters, I tend to visit my favorite beach of all, Popham Beach. But this time, I wanted to see something I had never seen before. Passing my familiar exit, I headed across the Bath Bridge to the Georgetown exit on the other side, making sure to ignore the very magnetic Dairy Queen looming on the corner. I wasn't sure what I was looking for exactly. I almost never am.
After turning down one road after another, enjoying the pretty houses and gardens, I finally came across a wooden yellow sign, nailed to a tree.
"Big Sam's," it announced, in big, red letters.
My curiosity was picqued. I followed the strange, red-lettered signs until finally I was taken to a private road - one that looked none too friendly, complete with a scolding "No Trespassing" sign. The dirt road didn't look too welcoming either.
But warnings like these never did turn my inner Lewis & Clark around.
Oh no.
They only make me want to find out what's down the road even more.
So down the bumpy, dusty road I went, to find out what lay at the end of the trail. The road twisted and turned, went up and down. It went on far longer than I was comfortable. But still, I was undaunted.
When I reached the very unique "lobstermobile," a spray-painted red car complete with metal claws, I was already very happy I came.
There lay a picture-perfect Maine hideaway, one that looked like it was out of a postcard. Tucked away from the world, this harbor was literally timeless. I soon forgot what time it was, even what day it was - and became lost in the sights that lay before me - quiet, shady inlets dotted with huge granite rocks, green, fragrant pines and charming fishing boats.
As I approached the counter, I was almost afraid to look at the menu, figuring that lounging at such a lovely location would surely come with a hefty price tag.
But I was wrong.
To my surprise, I found that I could have a lobster dinner for around fifteen bucks, or a Maine shrimp dinner for about nine. There were a variety of side dishes to choose from, and I had a hard time picking one.
As I ate my sumptuous Maine shrimp, enjoying the sound of waves lapping the docks, I felt someone watching me.
Franklin, the pet Franklin gull, was gazing at me intently from his usual spot on the flag post, hoping for a bite.
But I wasn't giving him any.
