Let's Get Away from it All

Let's take a boat to Bermuda
Let's take a plane to Saint Paul.
Let's take a kayak to Quincy or Nyack,
Let's get away from it all.

They say there's no place
quite like home
A charming thought it's true
But until the world we roam
how can we be sure

Let's take a trip in a trailer
No need to come back at all.
Let's take a powder to Boston for chowder,
Let's get away from it all.

We'll travel 'round from town to town,
We'll visit ev'ry state.
I'll repeat, "I love you sweet!"
In all the forty-eight.

Let's go again to Niag'ra
This time we'll look at the Fall.
Let's leave our hut, dear,
Get out of our rut, dear,
Let's get away from it all.

Recently, my bf and I returned from his family's annual vacation in northern Maine. We stayed at the Inn pictured above, which has become a familiar luxurious haven for us now. We almost didn't go because of the economy but when my bf heard that there was a Fiber Festival in nearby Southwest Harbor that weekend, he said, "Well! We must go now!" I tried to explain to him that I had just had Brimfield Fair, and then our local Sheep & Wool Fair (where I had indulged in stash enhancement beyond reason), and now my LYS was having a great sale, and my favorite online yarn, Blue Moon Fiber Arts was having a Rare Gems sale, but.... he had it in his mind that I would be so unhappy if I missed the Fiber Faire in northern Maine. So - away we went!



The view from our room was quite lovely, even though the weather was subdued and the sky pulled a diaphanous fine linen curtain over all its activities. I love the ocean in all weathers and even love rainy days on the ocean, though we didn't have any rain this trip.



After breakfast at the Inn, we trekked away along the coast to Southwest Harbor, a beautiful town full of big white houses built in 1800 and nestled around the end of North America's only fjord.

The Acadia Fiber Faire is small, with no animals - 3 tables outside of the local middle school (one of them a "swap table") and perhaps 20 vendors and fiber artists inside the auditorium.



The quality of the fiber arts in Maine is superlative, in my experience. My first stop was to watch a woman spinning with a drop spindle - effortlessly - the colourful bright fibers she had dyed. A couple of skeins jumped into my hands:



At the local library booth, I bought two vintage knitting books. The research librarian had a copy of a Shetland lace history selling for $300! She said it was very rare, perhaps someone's PhD dissertation. I settled for my 1940s finds, for $12 combined and was happy.

There was one particular booth that captured my interest completely. The woman there had her spinning wheel with her, and sold both her fibers and the knitted goods she made from them. She said, of her things, that she had knit them, and spun the wool, and dyed the fiber, and sheered the sheep and goats that she had fed with her hands, and helped to birth. It was remarkable and very moving. The beauty of her knitted things took my breath away.



Those two little colourwork baby hats in the front are pure cashmere - every tiny stitch. So beautiful and soft!

And these gloves she designed, as well as spinning the very fine yarn:



Her prices were high, but very fair for the quality and skill of the items.

In the afternoon, we walked around town,



which slopes steeply to the sea,



and, because it's been a holiday destination for at least 200 years, has all the comforts for travelers, even a fairly ancient dog fountain in the village green:



I brought my BMFA STR yarns with me of course (they get fussy if they're left home when I'm traveling and always accuse me of 'having all the fun' )andI did some relaxing crochet out on our room's little 2-chair deck:



The next day, we drove along the coastline, and stopped at all the usual places, like Thunder Hole - a natural crevasse in the solid rock, where the waves rush in with a thundering ROAR:



The walkway that you can see was blocked off. The fierce storms this winter past had broken through the railings and it was very dangerous to stand too near. Last year a young person who insisted in climbing over the rail to stand out on the rocks, was washed over suddenly by a huge, powerful wave.

We took the walking path less traveled, along the cliffs...



and I found wildflowers, Star Flower; they like the coniferous forest floor:



And when we came out onto the cliffs, here was our view to the right



and our view to the left



The beautiful pink rocks were wet and slippery; dangerous, perhaps, for climbing. But one of our party laughs at danger! Ha ha ha ha Ha! (to his credit, he is a very experienced climber) And here he is, tempting Fate and the gods by scrambling around in the granite, on the edge of the sea:



Our afternoon ended at the lovely Jordan Pond House, for tea



and Popovers:



Well, it was a most wonderful vacation. And we did, indeed, get away from it all, if only for a short time!