I am writing to you now from a warm “Down East” bed and breakfast (Down East here is the way locals refer to the north east coast Maine coast line). I have a good bottle of wine and a patient wife waiting for me while the coolest daughter in the world settles down to bed. Had fireworks today too which was pretty special since Arthur’s delightful antics shut down the pyrotechnics last night.

When I hear Arthur, I can’t help but think of the loveable drunk that Dudley Moore played a few decades past. That might be part of the reason why I, along with seemingly everyone else in the Acadia National Park world we inhabited not so long ago, underestimated that tropical depression that used to be a hurricane. No one knew exactly when the big fellow was going to show up, but all agreed it would be little more than a rain. Truth be told it was more than a rain and although it never quite terrified us like maybe it should have, it walloped Maine like a welter weight. Less than ten yards from our tent a tree splintered. Another tree plopped down right in the middle of Maine Street at Southwest Harbor and seriously inconvenienced folks (like us) trying to get off the island. At “Maine’s first winery” the power was out and the place ran on candle light and rain water collected to rinse out glasses if needed. On Route 1 we saw power lines ripped from their poles and trees littering lawns. And the thing to consider with all of this is that Arthur never made it to land; this was just the ripples making their way from the eye. What if the dumb drunk had connected? Noel