Life in Maine

I went for a walk this afternoon, trying to find the mysterious hillock from which one can supposedly make cellular phone calls. Eric had given me instructions on how to arrive. I nearly followed them, but apparently didn't go quite far enough to reach the magical cellular bubble.

Perhaps tomorrow.

Anyway, I had walked up the road that led to this cellular shangrila when I heard a car pass below. This is rare here, especially in the area where I was walking at the time, and so I looked back to see who was passing. A large pickup truck with a light atop (this is quite common) passed on the road below. I continued walking.

I soon heard the truck coming behind me. I turned to let it pass, stepping off of the roadway, and waved hello. The truck slowed, and then stopped fully.

A grizzled face beneath a baseball cap peered out at me. His friend in the passenger seat looked too. Between them sat a rather large rifle equipped with a rather large sight.

"Hey, you just out here walkin' for exericise?" he asked me.
"Yeah, just walking around. Trying to find cellular service. I heard there was some around here."

The men stared at eachother dumbfounded.

"Well, I don't know," drawled the passenger, "I have got service with my bag phone around here, but I don't know about any regular old cell phone."

I stared at the gun, praying these men were not going to shoot me.

The asked what I was doing in the area. I explained that I worked at West Branch Pond Camps.

"Where you from?" they asked.

"Jersey," I replied.

"Well, you sure have my sympathy," the driver of the vehicle replied.

We spoke for a few more minutes, and I tried to use my surprising New Jersey statistics (about 40% forest, and 15 or 20% farmland) to woo the men into changing their idea of the state, but I had little success. They offered me a ride, and I declined the offer.