The family arrived at a campground in Acadia National Park late in the afternoon. Rain was still falling, as it had all day. We carefully unloaded our tents from the Volkswagen minibus, erected them and set up the tent fly over the camp table. The rain slacked to a light drizzle and we were able to unload the rest of our gear and prepare supper without getting excessively wet.

Here we sat like birds in the wilderness wondering what tomorrow would bring. We had hoped to spend the day exploring Mount Desert Island. That wouldn’t be much fun in this weather. The drizzle stopped but we were soon shrouded in a light fog. From below the sound of foghorns droned in bellowing voices. Our half-grown children were a bit restless and moved about the camp to see what they could see.

“Where’s David?” Mary asked me. 

“I don’t know,” I said, “He’s probably checking out the girls in another campsite.”

“I don’t like for him to be wandering around in this fog. He might fall into the ocean or hurt himself on the rocks,” said Mary in the motherly worrying voice.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “He’ll be OK.” After a reasonable time he did come back with his brother, Stephen.

“It’s really neat down there with the waves crashing in among the big rocks,” said David.

“I’m certainly glad you’re back,” said his mother, “Be sure you let us know before you go anywhere else.”

We had managed to keep our bedding dry while setting up camp in the rain, and so we all slept well and later than usual, despite the frequent bellowing of foghorns. We were all surprised and joyful to see that the fog had dissipated and the sun was shinning through the trees. After a hearty breakfast we consulted the park brochure to get our bearings and started off to explore the island.

Mount Desert Island is a unique place. Rising several hundred feet above the ocean is a solid granite knoll surrounded by rocky earth, which in turn is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean on one side and a deep fjord on another. The whole area was shaped by the weight of the ancient glacier, which left much of the coastal land submerged.

We followed a Park Ranger who pointed out interesting features along an easy trail to the top of Mount Desert. Aside from the monolithic aspect, one of the striking features was the presence of cranberry bogs. It didn’t seem right. Everything was downhill from here, so why miniature wetlands? The answer was in the impervious granite; rain collected in cups and saucers formed in the surface of the rock.

Our attention was soon fixed on the panorama surrounding us. After a day of rain and fog the air was purged of all obstructions to sight. Looking out at the seascape we could see the clear line between two shades of blue that drew a perfect picture of the horizon.

“Notice all the little islands out there. They’re known as the Porcupine Islands,” our ranger informed us, ”This is the first time all year that they have shown up so clearly, so take a good look.” They did indeed enhance the picture we saw; little nearly-black dots in a sea of clear blue water.

We spent the next few days exploring the park. Everybody liked the rocky shore where ocean waves crashed in vigorously, making white sprays of salt water, some higher than one’s head. At one point the shoreline is broken by a crevice in the rock, perhaps ten yards long. It seemed to be an extra long sunken bathtub, open at one end to the sea. Each incoming wave built up a wall of water that rushed in, filling the tub in seconds with a furious boom when a wall of water hit the tub’s end. The tub emptied awaiting the next wave. It is no mystery that this is called Thunder Hole.

Away from the crashing surf, in a small cove hidden away from the main traffic of the park, we found a small white beach and quiet water. It looked so inviting that we all wanted to go for a dip. There were some kids in the water playing around. We all tested the water with our feet. After a dozen steps my feet began to ache. We soon decided that it was a beautiful place, but beware the water.

To me the most interesting things in the park were the tidal pools around the shore. Erosion in the granite along the shoreline has formed bowls of various sizes. Some are swamped by high tide and remain filled with seawater even when the tide goes out. They are replenished with each high tide. Their water never stagnates. Barnacles attached to the walls of the pools comb the water with tiny tentacles, hoping to snare a morsel of food.

“Look,” said Catherine “There are flowers growing in the pool.”

“There’s a whole garden growing in there,” said Susanna.

“Sea anemones,” said their mother, “They are little animals. Watch how they move around, trying to attract a dinner. They look a lot like flowers called anemones. I wonder which got its name first.” In many shades of pink and white, they made a beautiful flower garden.

We had spent four days in the park with perfect weather. The day we were to leave Maine for Ohio we rose early to break camp. A moment before we had packed the minibus, guess what, it started to rain.

We took the New York turnpike on our way home intending to stop and get at least a glimpse of Niagara Falls. We were touring along, making good time when all at once our engine stalled. We pulled off the road and waited. A state trooper stopped to inquire of our trouble, and then made a call on his radio. Before long a flatbed truck stopped ahead of us.

“Wouldn’t go no farther, huh? Where would you like me to haul you,” the truck driver said.

“To somebody who can fix this thing,” I said, “The engine’s got a big problem.” 

“Well, everybody get into the van, and I’ll get you there soon.” The driver ordered.

We loaded up again and watched while the truck bed came toward us and tilted to form a ramp. The driver connected our vehicle to a winch. Soon it was as if we were riding up a steep hill. Then we stopped, but before we could worry about our aspect the truck bed leveled off and left us high above the traffic on the road. Secured to the truck bed, we were hauled down the highway in a unique fashion. The view was marvelous.

“Wow, this cool!” said Stephen, “I can see everything up here.”

The truck dropped us at a small garage near Buffalo.

“Hmm. Looks like your valves are shot. It’s a common problem with these cars. I can grind and reseat the valves, or I can put in a reconditioned engine, which would be a lot quicker,” said the garage man, “I can have you ready to roll early tomorrow.”

“OK, change it,” said I, ”and point us to a place to sleep tonight.”

It was a modest place with a kitchenette. Since it was still early in the day, I rented a car and drove to Niagara Falls. We walked across the bridge to get a good view of the falls. I shall not attempt to describe the falls, for volumes of such can be found in any library.

As promised, our minibus was ready the next morning, and we continued our journey home. We considered our misfortune with the car a bonus. We had been able to see a lot more of the sights around Niagara Falls than we had at first planned.