Notes from Maine - 2021/10/03

Everyone is gone. It’s just me at the dogs hanging out at the camp. Some places, they would call this a cabin. Around here, we refer to it as a camp. It’s my father’s little place on the lake where you might change into your swimsuit before jumping in. Until last year, it was barely more than a half-finished shack. There’s a show on DiY network called “Maine Cabin Masters,” and they came and upgraded it for us last year. It’s wonderful now. We have running water and a bathroom. 

I guess nobody told the producers of the show that we call them camps around here. Either that, or the name didn’t flow well enough for TV. They can call it whatever they want. Now that it’s fixed up, it’s almost like a proper house. It doesn’t have any insulation in the ceilings (or ceilings, for that matter), but it’s a perfectly good “three season” house. 

Once a year, I come here with my friends and we “camp.” We usually come up in September, but things had to be shuffled around this year. It’s nice to have a little change in scenery, if only for a weekend. 

This year, it seems silly to call it camping at all. We had a little kitchen, the wood stove going, and even a shower if anyone needed it (they didn’t). Everyone brought enough food for ten people. I’m leaving with about as much as I arrived with.

So far, the most interesting part of the adventure was the swim we took last night. Emilio and I jumped into the icy water in the pitch black. The water is deep, and I felt like I sank all the way to the bottom. I pulled and kicked, trying to fight my way upwards, but it took forever to break the surface. 

It was COLD. 

I tried to act casual and tread water for a minute to see if could acclimate. Instead, I swam for the ladder as fast as I could and practically levitated out of there. The 40º air (about 5º C) felt balmy after that water. The whole experience happened in less than a minute. Still, it has a way of resetting perspective. Just to pull myself out of my comfort zone for a moment gives me a tiny bit of clarity. Each year that’s what this trip does for me. 

When I had my appendectomy a decade ago, the anesthesia had a profound effect on me. I’m one of those people who has difficulty recovering from it. They said that I should be back to normal in a few hours, but it took more than a day. My first memory from waking up was a frustrated person sternly telling me that it was my responsibility to breathe on my own now. 

“You have to keep breathing, okay?” she said. “Hey! I’m serious. It’s time to breathe.”

I was in no mood for it. I just wanted to slip back into the darkness.

The really interesting part for me was when they administered the anesthesia. The person told me to count backwards or something, but I ignored that command. I was busy watching my identity disintegrate. I had this really clear visual of everything that I was currently worried about. There was work stuff, dogs, horses, family, house, vehicles, health—everything that was currently on my mind was stacked around me, like cinderblock walls. As my consciousness was swept away, I saw the walls begin to give way. The mortar between these bricks of concern (which is me, I guess?) had dissolved and they were free to start swirling. 

As they circled and then lifted away, I realized that there was nothing containing me anymore. All my concerns had been banished. That’s when I began to slip into the darkness.

I really resented that person who told me I had to breathe. Even though my brain was only slightly engaged, I knew that if I obeyed that the walls would stack up around me again and I would have to leave the darkness behind. I loved that darkness. It was so peaceful.

Anyway, the ”camping” trip isn’t quite as profound as that. It doesn’t dissolve the walls around me, but maybe just allows me to peek overtop by jumping in a really cold lake for a moment.

Tonight, when I’m back at home in my normal bed, I’ll feel perfectly at ease. 

Maybe next year we’ll come up when it’s a little warmer. I’d like to explore the darkness in the lake again when I feel like I can spend a little more time down there.