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Thunder Holing

Monday morning we were slow getting out the door. But we finally made it into Acadia N.P. around 11:00. Cloudy skies and fog made for poor visibility off the coast, but the rain held off and the air stayed warmish, so we made a go. First stop, as always, Thunder Hole, a groovy little outcropping of rocks that gets its name because about an hour before high tide, the waves crash into it so hard you can hear the boom from about 500 yards away (not because of it's flatulence after a spicy meal, as my husband would want you to believe). Oh, and it splashes pretty nicely, which was a hit when we were kids. (I found a video post on YouTube that shows what it should look like, if you watch toward the end. Don't be scared, though, or think I'm a horrible parent for taking my kid down there. We were there at low tide on a fairly clear day, so the rocks off to the left of the stairs were all uncovered. And there were no big boomer waves.)

Thunder Hole has been neatly cordoned off with banisters and stairs, but there are still plenty of opportunities for climbing around on the rocks nearby. Tourists abound, most of whom are not really rock climbers at all, but who want to say they climbed rocks...which pretty much describes us, too. We harnessed Sweet Boy up with this silly contraption we bought at WalMart, more for my peace of mind than for any actual safety. It did help a few times to give a little tug on the leash just to remind him to take his time or not to move away from us.

So we scampered around for a little while, took some fun photos, and Sweet Boy told everyone who passed that he was "climbing on rocks! see me?" When I was a child, you could find all sorts of little sea creatures in the tidal pools on these rocks, but now they're just murky, full of algae and tiny little mussels. Global warming? Who knows. Sweet Boy still delighted in getting his hands in there and squishing things around. While I yelled "Don't get your shoes wet! The black rocks are slippery! Someone grab him! Where's the hand squirty?" The magic just isn't as magical when you're a mommy, but I hope I didn't kill the fun for Sweet Boy.

Big Daddy won some love points when we got to the top of the trail and he suggested that he take Sweet Boy (and Voo) back to the car so I could have some alone time. They would go to the port-a-potty, have a snack, and drive slowly to the next point, while I continued hiking on the trail by myself. Oh, the kisses you earned with that one, babe!

I had about 15 minutes of lone hiking, and it was lovely. Here are some of the photos I took while foraging for wild blueberries. I have beautiful memories of blueberry picking as a child, then again with my sister on top of Cadillac Mountain about eight years ago. When we were kids my mom would take us off the trail with little baggies, and we would spend a little while just picking and eating, eating and picking, soaking in the sunshine and breathing in the salt air. (Which is why the book Blueberries for Sal is such a favorite, although I never came across any bears in my blueberry picking.)

The blueberries you buy in ShopRite are fine, sweet and delicious and everything, but the tiny little wild ones you pick off the ground here in Maine are small and sweet-tart and wonderful. They probably taste even better because you're really not supposed to pick anything in the Park, so there's that forbidden fruit thing going on. I snagged a handful of berries, then stood for a minute on the edge of a cliff, and I felt very much alive and relaxed and happy and energized all at the same time. That's what Acadia does.


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