Spring Glen to Deer Isle

In Brooklyn on Sunday it's 90 degrees and concrete. In Spring Glen it's 80 degrees, green, pool, trees. So go home early? What, you're ouddayamind?

You pay with traffic. The slowdown at Bear Mountain, and crossing the GWB and then the Triboro, and the accident on the BQE, and then you dodge the miles of zoned-out Hasids jaywalking while tripping on Holybook. 

And it's sad because you know you won't see D and S and I and D for another too-long while.

On the other hand, one twenty minute Arecibo Town Car to JFK, one one-hour Jet Blue Embraer to Portland, one two-hour Concord Coach lines Portland-to-Bangor, one car pick-up by Captain Crow and a one hour drive with a stop for a lobster roll - and here we are.

It's blueberry season and lobster season at the same time. Pickers with blue buckets in every field, hand-drawn roadside directions for Fresh Lobster followed by a wavy black arrow.

Ocean calm and glassy this morning. Looking for the bald eagle who flew over our wine glasses last night. He lives with his family in one of those pine trees around the corner and he came overhead at 6:30 last night so we'll hope to see him tonight too.

There aren't any other houses like this house. You stay here, on this island at Chez CrowFinch, or you take second best.

And another thing: it is not possible to make Old Friends. You can make New Friends, but as wonderful as they are, you and your New Friends are larvae. It takes years for you all to grow into Old Friends. So hang on tight.