July 15, 2013--Midcoast: Pumpkin Cove

"If you pass Pumpkin Cove Road you've gone to far." We were invited for drinks and a new friend was giving me directions to his house.

"If you do, make a U-turn and drive back in the direction you were traveling, being sure to go slowly because the road to our house, which is marked Private, is easy to miss."

"I think I know where it is. I mean, I know where Pumpkin Cove Road is; and before we get to it I'll be sure to drive slowly."

"Good," he continued. "So when you get to our road, turn left if you haven't gone too far or right if you had to make a U-turn. I hope the left and right directions aren't confusing."

"No," I said. "I'm good at directions and know if I don't pass your road I have to turn left, but if I do, I have to do the reverse--turn right."

"You sure sound like you know your directions," Martin said, "So I don't think you'll have any trouble once you're headed down our road. That is, if you don't miss it. It's a narrow gravel road, so my advice is that you should proceed slowly. You aren't in New York anymore where everything's paved and well lit."

"I'm used to these kinds of roads," I said. "Half the roads in Maine are narrow gravel roads."

"So, let's assume to don't pass our road and wind up at Pumpkin Cove, you'll be turing left."

"I got that already," I said, feeling a bit as if Martin was feeling doubt about my ability to know my left from my right.

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't get lost." He clearly had picked up on my building frustration.

"I appreciate that. I hate to get lost, especially when I don't know where I am."

He laughed at that, "Isn't that the definition of being lost?"

"What?"

"Not knowing where you are?"

"I suppose so."

"OK. So you managed to find our road and turned left or right onto it." I decided to just listen and take notes. "You go about half a mile, no, maybe two-thrids of a mile down our road."

I wrote down--Avoid Pumpkin Cove. Gravel road. Half mile. Maybe 2/3s.

"Then on your right, after you've passed a few roads that lead to other people's houses, you'll see a wheelbarrow lying on its side. On the right side. Of the road I mean. It's painted blue."

"Not William Carlos William's 'red wheelbarrow beside the white chickens'?"

"I like that poem too. About depending on it and how it's 'wet with rain water.' But, no, this one, I'm afraid, is blue."

"I'm a little colorblind and so it may not look blue to me."

Missing my sense of humor, he plowed on, saying, "I'm afraid it's the only one along the road, which is a good thing because it's there as a sort of road sign. We don't want any actual road signs. The people along our road like to keep things pristine and rural. But maybe like many colorblind people you are good with shapes."

"In fact I am."

"Good. So just look for something on your right side after half a mile--actually, more like two-thrids of a mile--that has the shape of a wheelbarrow. As I said, there's only one."

"And what do I do?"

"Turn right. That is unless you pass it and have to make another U-turn. Then you'll be turning left."

"It won't be another U-turn because I intend not to miss your road in the first place and wind up in Pumpkin Cove."

"That's good to hear, but you'd be surprised to learn how many of our first-time visitors get lost even though I give them very specific directions."

"Don't mishear me, you're doing an excellent job with the directions. I'm just being a little playful."

"All right then. So at the blue wheelbarrow you've turned right, hopefully, or, if necessary, you've come about and will be turning left."

I liked the nautical reference about coming about. Their house was, he said, right on the bay. In my notes I wrote--Blue wheelbarrow (look for one of any color). Turn right. Or, come about and turn left.

"Slow down then, not that you can go very fast because the road at that point has narrowed even further. But slow down anyway since you need to go just 50 feet more. Any more than that and you'll be on our neighbor's lawn." He chuckled. "Theirs is a red house. Oh, I forget," he paused, "you're colorblind. OK, it's the first house you come to. The only one. It's red, but you'll know it's a house by its shape." He laughed again. He was enjoying having a little goodnatured fun at my expense. I was totally enjoying all of it and sensed we were going to become good friends.

"Avoiding the lawn, make a sharp left. If you've made it this far." He assured me, "There'll be no need for any more U-turns. There's only one way to go. Actually," he corrected himself, "there are two: the first is up on their lawn, which you want to avoid; the second is to find the last 50 yards of the road that leads to our house. Got it?"

"Got it," I said. and wrote--50 feet. Red house. Avoid lawn. Go left. 50 yards. Arrive. Drinks!

"To me," I added, "if there isn't much light, red can look like black. The good news, though, is that Rona will be with me and she knows her blue and red is one of her favorite colors."

"Sounds perfect," he said. "See you at about 6:00. If you run into trouble or get lost, just give us a call and we'll get you here."

"No need for that," I said with self-confidence.

                                                            *    *    *

For the record--

On my first attempt, I did miss their road and made a U-turn at Pumpkin Cove Road. I remembered, then, to turn right onto their private lane.

And even though Rona has a good eye for color and I know my shapes, we missed the wheelbarrow. ("Should have been red," Rona said, "and wet with rainwater.") We did come about successfully and turned left.

I did not go up on their neighbor's lawn--I was going about two-miles-an-hour at the time--but because the left turn there is very tight and narrow, I did nip it a bit, which set his German shepherd to barking.

"Keep going," Rona said, "I don't like the sound of that dog."

And after another half minute we arrived at their front door. By then it was almost 6:30.

"I'll bet you can use a drink," Martin said, with a broad smile.

"Indeed I do," I said, "A double of whatever you have would be ideal."

He does make a mean martini.

An enduring friendship is certain.