Rock Hunting

Last month Michael and I went away for a few days. Nearly all of the trips we have taken since we met have been work related for him so we decided that maybe a long weekend not structured around a meeting would feel more like getting away. Our criteria in picking a place was that it had to be cooler than the Midwest and near water. Bar Harbor, Maine won because of its proximity to Acadia National Park. Our first full day there we walked to town and down to the waterfront, went to a bookstore and touristy shops, had lunch, and wandered.

Prior to going, I had contacted Mark’s first boss in the science world – the young upstart professor who recruited him to work in his lab and guided him to a PhD. I knew he and his wife had been going to Maine every summer for decades and it seemed crazy to be in the same town as them and not reach out. It took a bit to be able to get a hold of them but when I did we had a tentative plan to meet for a drink. As regulars in the area, they suggested a place to go that was just outside of Bar Harbor.

“Try to get a table outside,” they said, and there we were on a lovely Saturday night overlooking the water with, Steve, who I last saw six years ago and his wife, Mary, who I had last seen 38 years ago. It turned out to be an easy conversation between three scientists and me – much of it around the current state of affairs with funding being slashed, the morale amongst students and junior faculty, and finding a way through the mess.

When that had been hashed out, they asked what we were going to be doing the following day. With the exception of going to Acadia, we never had a plan for any day of this trip. Being near water and nature was all we needed but they were clearly planners and we waffled. Mary then asked, “What do you like to do for fun? Do you like to hike? Bike?”

What do we like to do for fun?? I had no idea how to answer that except to say that people like me don’t have fun. We worriers can find a hundred reasons why either of those activities could lead to death. I faked it, though, and went with the hiking thing because everybody says they hike because everybody thinks it sounds cool. They had a lot of suggestions and I listened and nodded like a badass with a sturdy pair of Merrells and a CamelBack.

The next day Michael and I had breakfast, went to an antique store, then lunch, and headed back to our inn. A few blocks away was a sand bar that every day during low tide you can walk across to one of the islands off of Bar Harbor. There are warnings to pay attention to the tide because when it rises the sand bar disappears and you could be stuck on the wrong side until the next day and low tide.

We had gone there on our first day and I wanted to return. The sand bar is home to thousands and thousands of rocks of all sizes – most covered with barnacles. I loved them and wanted to bring some home so we headed over there and I began my rock hunt. This time, though, we walked across to the other side and though we were in no danger of being stranded there, my anxiety at the thought of it was off the meter. I had visions of being marooned, of weird birds pecking at my head all night, and mostly not getting back to our inn in time for their fresh baked coffee cake and locally brewed coffee. I shut that down (thanks anxiety meds!) and then hunted, picked up and saved, picked up and tossed, gave a yeah or nay to ones Michael found, and said more than once, “If I lived here I’d come with a front loader and get some of these huge ones for my garden.” We worked our way across the sandbar and filled a small backpack with the keepers.

The next day we crammed our rocks into our carry ons and suitcases and headed to the airport. Remember when Southwest let you check one bag for free? Well, they don’t anymore and my little rock haul cost $70. When we got home I unwrapped them along with the shells I picked up and thought it was a little crazy. But I had the same idea in Ireland, the beach a few years ago in Gulf Shores, the beaches in Florida more than once, and several national parks.

I am a long-time admirer of fun people who seek the next thrilling experience throughout their life. I love seeing their social media posts and photos. More often than not I want to be one of them, but every day I look at my dumb bowl of rocks and shells and remember where all of them came in case anyone asks.

Some adventures are a whisper.