Maine caters - in every way - to the deep love for the outdoors that lives within each one of them.
Kev said to me just this morning: "I was made to be outside."
He lives and breathes it. It brings him joy. It clears his mind. And it gives him peace.
Every single outdoor sport he loves, and he is quickly instilling that love into each of our children.
I count myself as one of those Lovers of the outdoors, as well.... whenever my fingers and toes aren't freezing. When they are, I'd like to move to Florida and kiss the cold good-bye. I'm a hypocritical Mainer. I mostly love it. And then there are a few weeks when I mostly don't. But, my family is cute and I love them, so I'm usually up for one of their crazy adventure ideas no matter the weather outside...and no matter their crazy scheme...
|Ironically, whatever minnows don't die by the fishing....the remainder become "pets."|
Other times, we've hiked up Mount Battie in the middle of winter, pitched a a little tent and tucked inside out of the wind to drink hot chocolate and have snacks, and then loaded ourselves onto a couple of sleds for the downhill ride of our lives back to the car.
|Camp Coffee. On ice.|
This is my children's childhood.
This was MY childhood.
I grew up flying down rivers in homemade canoes with trashbags for raincoats, and five gallon pickle buckets as my chair. We tented in gravel pits, and overnighted in camps built by my Grampy with holes in the floor where one night a skunk roamed around while we laid in our beds in silence hoping it wouldn't spray. In the wintertime, my dad and his brothers went on snowmobile adventures for miles while the cousins hung on for dear lives to handmade dogsleds that were pulled behind. We explored for days the wilds of the Allagash and were caught in a thunder and lightning storm while in the middle of a lake. We paddled hard to shore, broke into a camp(!), and stayed inside til it passed. Then we left a note with our address, apologizing for the break-in, (We actually found the key while squashed together in the outhouse, which was the first place we ran). Weeks after we got home, we received a letter back telling us how happy they were that their placed saved us, and if ever we were back in the area to stop by for a visit!
|Notice London's very own pink ice fishing trap. Thank you, Heritage Tackle.|
Crazy, blissy memories stored forever in my heart.
And I am CERTAIN, my own sweet Mama would maybe have preferred a beach house vacation, or a hotel once in awhile where she didn't have to freezer pack meals for days on end in the Wild. But she did it. She happily went along for the ride...packing extra clothes for cold nights, and fun food for the tales around the fire. Our Family Vacation Adventures always came with the best snacks. She told the best campfire stories, and she joined in with the crazy. Dad and his brothers - with mom joining in - would take us on "spook walks" through the woods at night. They would build bonfires higher than the camp itself. They'd take us for swims in the river, and warm up the truck for us in the middle of the night when we woke up floating in our tents during rainstorms.
|"I want to hold it. I want to touch it."|
(Then I want to stick my fish hands deep into the communal chip bag.....)
And Kev has that same built in DNA of adventure.
He is the planner of the Crazy...and whenever I'm tempted to simply stay home, because it honestly would be so much easier...especially with babies and toddlers....I remember my Mama.
And so I pack the fun snacks.
I hold on for the ride.
And if my kids can say they had half the childhood that I experienced...then we will have succeeded.