In the last four weeks, we have participated in no shortage of self-induced upheaval, insomuch as we went from having Very Routine Lives to routine-less, travel-heavy existences in far flung spots on the map. This was a month that saw our toes in the frigid Atlantic and laughing at seals while aboard a fishing boat named Dasakamo; a month that watched us move out of Vermont and into a two-story brick house in our home state; a month that had us pouring Austrian beers at a resort biergarten not two days after weeding a dahlia patch on a friend's produce + flowers farm in the middle of nowhere. Nothing has felt routine save the baby in Sam's belly kick, kick, kicking. Which, as it were, occurred for the first time at the beginning of this whirlwind month during a magical trip to Peaks Island, Maine . . .
As vacations are concerned, this one was especially memorable. The five of us stayed with a positively inspiring couple in their oceanfront home on Peaks Island. Not a bad place to conduct our final hurrah. There was a lobster dinner with the day's catch, cooked in ocean water. There were sauna sessions followed by a mad dash into the numbing waters of the Ocean. Morning walks around the island ushered in our days; a late night movie capped them. And a few hours before traveling home, we were treated to an impromptu, breathtaking tour of Casco Bay by way of our host's boat. We rode by pairs of mega-athletes tethered to one another, swimming from island to island (excuse me?) on our way to Chebeague Island, a rural fishing island that was inexplicably home to mouthwatering breakfast sandwiches and pastries. We purchased Robert McCloskey's One Morning In Maine for our baby because, you know. A month later we're missing our friends to be sure, but relishing what was a perfect coda to our time in the Northeast, lived alongside some very special people.