Special to the Libertarian Crusader Diary

by Gary L. Fincher

March 31, 1997 – Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

Jenny with me before leaving Texas in May 1996

Jenny with me before leaving Texas in May 1996




Eleven Days with a Twelve Year Old





The national convention had just wrapped up in Washington, D.C., and Harry Browne stood as the Libertarian Party nominee for president of the United States, the only presidential candidate in ‘96 that would champion individual human rights.  My wife Kay and I had been in that electrified convention hall when Harry’s name had been announced.   We were part of the Maine delegation and, although we didn’t cast our vote to give Browne the nomination, we now stood firmly behind the Libertarian nominee as he set out on his longest of longshot bids to defeat Clinton and Dole and take the White House.   This is what we had come for: a Libertarian nominee is crowned and excites the party faithful as he readies to do battle with the Big Government, statist, anti-liberty nominees of the Republocrat (Republican and Democrat) Party.


But suddenly it’s Sunday afternoon, the last day of the convention.  The hall has quieted, most national party business has been taken care of, and even though Kay and I are still here, in the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Washington, D.C., our focus fades.   Our attention shifts to a singular passenger jet scheduled to touch down some 350 miles away near Hartford, Connecticut, more than two days from now.  It’s July 7, 1996.


Kay and I bid goodbye to Val Gates, the remaining Maine delegate. and make our way out of the hotel and out of Washington in our rental car.  We have things to do.  We have preparations to make.  My daughter Jenny, who’s turning 12 on Tuesday and who has never been outside her home state of Texas since she was an infant is coming to stay with us for 11 days.  Hard to believe, but Daddy’s girl Is coming to New England.


Here’s the situation: Kay and I are political consultants who must travel from state to state working on projects.  A project normally takes from a week to a couple of months, so we can’t really hold a permanent apartment or residence.  The nature of our work demands that we live in short-term housing and rent by the week.  Kay and I are also Libertarian Party activists who try to dovetail our professional pursuits with our political goals whenever possible. In late June, we were working on a political project in Georgia which went right up until the eve of the national convention.  Now, we’re leaving the convention site in Washington, D.C. headed for a gig in Connecticut, a petition drive to get Harry Browne for president on the ballot for Connecticut voters.  


We spend the evening driving through Maryland and Pennsylvania, then stay over at a motel at the New York/New Jersey/Pennsylvania line.  It’s now Monday, July 8, a bright, warm summer day to drive through New York State and into Connecticut.  We know motels in the state of Connecticut are rather expensive, so we look to just across the line into Massachusetts, where rooms are more reasonable.   When we get to Hanford, Connecticut’s capital city, we drive up Interstate 91 and into the Springfield, Massachusetts, area, nestled on the wide Connecticut River.


We find a room in West Springfield, less than 5 miles from the Connecticut line as we make preparations to entertain the Birthday girl.


It’s called Hartford/Springfield’s Bradley International Airport, jointly claimed by the cities of Harttord, Connecticut, and Springfield, Massachusetts.  Truth is, the

cities are only 26 miles apart.  The airport, however, lies in neither city; it’s in Windsor Locks, Connecticut, exactly halfway between the two.  It will be the first place Jenny sees of New England and the northeastern U.S.


Finally, July 9 is here.  It’s Jenny’s 12th birthday and she’s set to touch down at Bradley Airport tonight.  Time goes by slowly, so slowly and I can’t wait to greet my only daughter in my “stomping ground” of New England.  The last couple of hours are dizzying as we scramble to get ready for her – set up the birthday cake and gifts, clean the rental car and motel room, etc. At last, we advance over to the airport to pick her up and take her with us.


First, there’s a mix-up on arrival times.  I remember it to be 9:5O p.m., but somehow in my head I mistakenly adjust for the time zone switch, forgetting that the arrival time is local time.  I think I’m at the airport early when in fact I’m a half hour late.  Our pager goes off just as I get to the airport and I check on it – it’s only airport security notifying me that Jenny has indeed landed and has been waiting for me to pick her up.  As Kay waits outside in the car, I’m inside making my way to where Jenny is.  She sure is a sight for sore eyes as I spot her inside airport security.  Now she’ll be in our car for the next 11 days.


I guess Jenny realizes she’s not in Texas anymore; the cool Connecticut night breeze confirms she’s in a different world as she steps out of the building and to our waiting car. It wouldn’t be this cool in Texas in July.


After presenting Jenny with her birthday gifts, (a camera, some film, a $20 bill and some candy), we leave Bradley enroute to our room up in West Springfield, but first we have to stop off at a McDonald’s in Enfield, Connecticut, where we’ll get Jenny a bits to eat and make some pressing phone calls to James and Petty (who took her to the airport at Dallas/Ft. Worth).  We make the phone calls all right, then head over to McDonald’s to get that bite to eat.


Then, misfortune strikes. As we cross the Massachusetts line on the way to our room, Jenny announces that she left her purse (with the just-presented gifts inside) in the McDonald’s.  Oh, no.


So, we turn around at the next exit and return to the restaurant, only to search for several minutes to no avail.  Everything was gone.  Finally, as we’re about to pull out of the parking lot, a man calls out to us regarding a purse he found in the bushes.  It was Jenny’s.  Unfortunately, though, all, the items were gone.  What an inauspicious way to begin!


At long last, we arrive at our rented motel room in Massachusetts, where we present a birthday cake for Jenny, complete with lighted candles, birthday card and, of course, a wish.


Now Jenny’s been to two northern states:  Connecticut and Massachusetts. Much more travel lies ahead, though, and I can’t wait to share it with her.


It’s now morning, Day One. We all get in the car and take off for Connecticut for a morning of work, a short precursor to 10 days of total leisure.  We’re doing this because a) we need a little more money to help defray the cost of her stay; and b) we want Jenny to learn a little bit about what Kay and I do for a living and what politics in its practical form is all about.


We decide to go to Stop and Shop supermarket down in Manchester, Conn., just east of Hartford.  It’s a quite pleasant morning, with temperatures in the 60s. A perfect day to petition.


At first, Jenny watches Kay and me while we do our thing.  We’re stopping customers entering and exiting the store, asking them to sign our petition.  The petition is to give ballot access to the Libertarian Party’s presidential candidate. The petition sheets are separated by town, the primary political unit in New England.  Manchester is the Connecticut town that we’re in.


We start by stopping the prospective signer and ask him or her it he or she is a registered voter in Connecticut.  If yes, then is he or she registered in the town of Manchester?  If not, what town? The next step is to appeal to their sense of fairness by asking that they approve that the Libertarian Party’s nominee be given the same access to the voters that his opponents enjoy.  We aren’t asking the voter to endorse anyone; we’re simply asking their permission, as a Connecticut voter ourselves, to be able to vote for the candidate of our choice, come election time. Jenny gets the idea and we turn over a clipboard to her so that she may give it a go.  We also tell her that we’ll pay her $1 for every signature she collects, which she can spend on anything she wants.


After a little while of circulating the petition, Jenny’s formed an opinion: people sure are mean.  Many people blow her off, not even acknowledging a sweet little 12-year-old girl.  Even more stop and listen to her pitch, only to coldly reject her request.  Apparently, a fair election is just too radical a concept for some people to accept.  As long as they enjoy the ability to vote, that’s fine; damn anyone else’s ability to vote. Isn’t America just great?!


The morning’s over and, between the three of us, we’ve accumulated 77 signatures.  Jenny got 20 of those herself.  We stop at Subway and treat our recent addition to a Subway sandwich.  Job well done.


After that, we drive to Windsor and meet Rich Loomis, ballot access coordinator for the Connecticut Libertarian Party.  He’s the first Libertarian (besides Kay and me) Jenny gets to meet.  We turn in our signatures and pay Jenny the $20.


Now, we get down to the serious stuff: fun.  We take Jonny to Riverside Park, which happens to be the largest amusement park in New England, on the banks of the Connecticut River in Agawam, Massachusetts.  It’s just after 5:00 and admission is half price.  Jenny gets to ride all kinds of rides and play all kinds of games with us until the park closes late-night.  She has a blast and we’re all tired.  We go back to our motel room, less than 5 miles away.

Massachusetts’ Mohawk Trail (Route 2)

Massachusetts’ Mohawk Trail (Route 2)

It’s now morning and Day Two, July 11.  It’s time we hit the road for some travel and sightseeing.  We leave behind our W. Springfield motel room and head north on I-91. We’re passing through the lush Connecticut River valley of Massachusetts, but Jenny’s conked out in the back seat.  Guess it’s just too early for her.


Soon, we get to our exit and bead west on scenic state route 2, which winds through western Massachusetts through the storied Berkshires and the Mohawk Trail.  The Berkshire Mountains get higher the farther west we get and the Mohawk Trail which is Route 2 is strikingly beautiful – green and wooded and shady, with frequent views of rippling streams all along the way.  Black bear are known to inhabit these wooded hills, but today we’re not so lucky.  We see neither hide nor hair of one.


When we get over to North Adams, Massachusetts, we steeply come down from the mountain on a hairpin turn, pass through town and cross the state line into Vermont.


In 1981, when I made my first-ever trip to New England (hitchhiking at 19), a fellow who gave me a ride (at Hartford, Conn.) stopped in Bennington, Vermont, and introduced me to a regional delight known as the grinder.  A grinder, only available in western and southern New England, is a sandwich, usually filled with some type of meat and sauce, which is then oven-baked in open-face fashion and topped with melted cheese.  Thus it was that in the autumn on 1981, a teenage boy from Texas had his first meatball grinder in New England.  Bennington, Vermont.


Meatball grinder

Meatball grinder




We’ve just come up from North Adams, Mass., and are arriving in Bennington. This is the site of a battle between the Americans and the British in the Revolutionary War, in 1777.  The Green Mountain Boys of Ethan Allen fame.

Bennington sits here in the Green Mountains now on a pretty summer day in July of 1996.


And what else could I do but let Jenny try a grinder from the very same New England town her daddy did some 15 years earlier?   We take it on the road with us to look for a picnic area.  We find one just across the line in the state of New York, just east of the Albany/Troy area (we weren’t in Vermont long).  At a little shady spot on the side of the road, we all have our grinders before getting rolling again.


We’re meandering our way from Springfield, Mass., to the beautiful Adirondack Mountain region of Upstate New York.  We’re already in New York as we drive the short distance up to Lake George Village.  As I noted in a 1993 article I wrote, Lake George could possibly be the most beautiful large lake in the country.  It’s surrounded by green wooded mountains and sits in the very eastern section of the Upstate New York wilderness area known as Adirondack Park. The Adirondack Mountains.  That’s where Lake Placid of Olympic fame lies. Those mountains are personal favorites of mine and I fell in love with Lake George on a trip there in the summer of ‘93.  I wanted Jenny to experience this beautifully scenic lake.


Sure enough, we make it to the shores of Lake George and Jenny can’t wait to

Lake George, in New York

Lake George, in New York

go swimming.  (It would be a fixation of hers for the entire stay.)  So Jenny darts off into the water and I can’t tell if she appreciates the beauty of the surroundings or not.  She sure appreciates the swimming-perfect waters of the lake.  Unlike her native Texas, Lake George’s weather is not excessively hot which, to me, makes for perfect swimming.  There’s no muggy feeling after getting out of the water.  Everything’s crisp and colorful – vivid green blue mountains, clear blue waters, sky blue overhead.


After Jenny swims for a while, she gets out, all waterlogged but happy.  Next is a pony ride in the Adirondacks.  After all the adventure, we take off and take a scenic drive along and overlooking the lake, looking at one stunning vista after another.   After a while, we find a picturesque route through the mountains and yet another picnic, this one on I-87 near Schroon Lake in the Adirondacks.


Soon, we’re driving in way Upstate New York and pass near Lake Champlain (although we don’t have time to stop and see it), the largest lake outside the Great Lakes in the U.S. Before we know it. we’re cruising down the interstate so fast that we’re arriving at the Canadian border.


Our plans are to take Jenny to see some Canadian cities (namely Montréal and Ouébec) for a foreign adventure phase in her trip. But there’s a bonus:  she gets to experience a foreign country where they speak a foreign language (French).  Jenny’s first time in Canada should be quite intriguing then.


Jenny’s Canadian swimming hole

Jenny’s Canadian swimming hole




We make it through the Canadian border inspection station and are cruising on our way to Montréal.  We check into a motel south of the city and hurriedly drive into metropolitan Montréal.  Canada’s largest city, a bilingual, cosmopolitan, dazzling wonder.  Jenny’s never been in a city with over a million people in it, but here we are, driving through the bright lights of the big city.  We drive all over downtown Montréal for a while, letting Jenny get the feel of a large metropolis, then go back to our motel for the night.  Of course, there are French-speaking channels on TV and I’m hoping Jenny is at least partially intrigued.


The motel has a swimming pool and Jenny hits it first thing.  Jenny doesn’t mind swimming on a nice, cool Canadian morning.   As I sit and watch her swim, the Montréal skyline looms in the distance, on the shores of the St. Lawrence River, making for a nice little backdrop.  Jenny doesn’t seem to notice it, though; all she wants to do is swim and swim and swim.


We have to hit the road, though, so I drag her away from the pool and get her in the car.  We have tracks to make.  We drive through the heart of Montréal midmorning, grabbing a little snack, and it’s on our way to Québec, the city, farther up the St. Lawrence.  Québec is almost 200 miles from Montréal, and the trip will take us up Rt. 40, all of it in Canada.   We’ve left the U.S. behind for a while.


Unlike Montréal, where an English-speaking American can communicate freely with the bilinguals, the smaller Québec is a different story.   French is the predominant language and it’s difficult to get anyone to speak English.   Of course, all over the province, signs are printed in French, and road signs are no exception. In addition, distance is termed in Kilometers, not mites.


When we arrive in Québec, we find a quaint, European-style city, with narrow, cobblestone streets lined with sidewalk cafés.   We stop at one of those and Jenny gets to order her meal in French.  How do you say pizza, mademoiselle?


The waiter speaks only broken English but we get our order and eat our pizza.  I run across the street and bring back some poutin, a French-Canadian specialty, for Jenny to try.  It’s French fries (translated from English fries) smothered with gravy and melted cheese.  O.K., so she isn’t impressed. Vive Ia pizza.


Montréal skyline

Montréal skyline





After that, it’s out of Canada and back to THE STATES.  Jenny gets her first glimpse of the Pine Tree state as we (after satisfying the American border inspection counterparts) pick up Route 201 and drive through the piney woods in the remote wilderness area of northern Maine.


It’s late afternoon as we arrive in Jackman, Maine, (population 800) on the Moose River just about 15 miles south of the border.  We spot a motel on the main drag and check in for the night.  No pool, though, as Jenny disappointedly points out.


There is a lake, though, a beautiful and pristine little lake set against the backdrop of the pine tree wooded wilderness that exemplifies the northern Maine wilderness.  It’s right off the edge of town not far from our motel, and Jenny and I go down there to check it out.  Jenny, of course, has to jet in the water.  She splashes into the little lake and begs me to go in with her.  I’m being bitten by the many flies and mosquitoes swarming around, and the water looks, though refreshing and inviting, kind of chilly.  I pass on the invitation.   Looking out over the lake at the clear blue waters and ~green wooded mountains in the distance is soothing, however, so I let her swim as long as I can, under my supervision.


Next, Kay and I suggest to go moose-watching.  It’s now near dusk, the perfect time, we are told by the motel owner, to spot the large mammals near the roadways and on the edge of the woods.  We take drives in three different directions from Jackman, but never see a moose.  This is supposed to be the area where moose is most thickly populated (hence the name “Moose River”), but we’re not so lucky this evening.


We finally give up and go back to our little motel, which more resembles a cozy little cabin in the woods.  Jenny is seeing that Maine can certainly be a pretty place in the summertime. Later on, in the quiet of the Maine woods, Jenny drifts off to sleep.

Our Rental Car in Maine Woods

Our Rental Car in Maine Woods

On Moosehead Lake in Maine

On Moosehead Lake in Maine

Suddenly it’s morning of the fourth day and there’s still more travelling to do.  We have a weekly motel reserved down in Lewiston, Maine, starting tonight.   As we head out, it’s sprinkling rain and keeps up as we drive along the Moose River and over to Moosehead Lake, the largest lake in the state.  Moosehead Lake is real wilderness.  In fact, while it’s accessible by car on part of its western shore, the rest of the lake is accessible only by seaplane.  The lake, as you can probably guess, possesses some kind of wild beauty, being set in such a remote wilderness area.  Adding to the beauty is Mt. Kineo, a steep rock formation rising vertically from the middle of the take.  Moosehead Lake is a vacationer’s paradise, a tourist area to be sure, yet due to its isolated location, it’s by no means crowded, even in the heart of summer like now.  This makes it a perfect place to go.


Mt. Kineo in Moosehead Lake

Mt. Kineo in Moosehead Lake




We don’t have all day, however, since we have to claim our reservation and check into our motel in Lewiston.  But I want Jenny to see the essence of the lake, so we take a shuttle boat out on the lake over to Mt. Kineo.  It’s about  a 15-minute ride, skipping over the deep waters of the lake, to the edge of the impressive Mt. Kineo.  Henry David Thoreau climbed the steep cliffs all the way to the top and wrote about it in his book, The Name Woods.  We get to stop

underneath the cliffs for a while, floating in the waters in the drizzling rain, then skip back across to a waiting Kay.


As we get back in our car and head out of the wilderness to pick up I-95, the rain gets heavier.  By the time we get to Augusta, it’s pouring rain, so hard we can hardly see the road.  But we make it to Lewiston, finally, and check into the motel.  To Jenny’s approval, it has a pool, a really big and nice one.  The room is spacious and has a refrigerator and microwave.  Jenny suggests that we rent some video games and movies, so we entertain ourselves for the rest of the evening while we witness the torrential downpour for the rest of the night.


Now it’s morning of the fifth day, a Sunday, and we have the first of several day trips on tap.  Today, it’s Cape Cod, the resort of resorts on the New England coast.


We all board ourselves into the car and head south.  Jenny sleeps pretty much the entire way until we get to Boston.  When we get to Boston, we wake Jenny so she doesn’t miss this charming and historical city, the largest city and main hub of all of New England.  We navigate our way into downtown and to the harbor area.  Out in the water sits the ship of Boston Tea Party fame, with tourists getting the pleasure of dumping fake boxes of tea into the harbor.  We park the car and walk over to Boston’s Ouincy Market, a large, bustling outdoor market area with a festive-like atmosphere.  Jenny gets a decorative helium balloon and Daddy gets some of that delicious-looking rotisserie chicken to munch on.  We don’t stay very long, as we have more to see and do before the day’s over.


Cape Cod coast

Cape Cod coast

On the way to Cape Cod, we stop on the shore at Plymouth, Massachusetts.  Plymouth Rock is the site of where the pilgrims landed in 1620, and part of the rock is enshrined inside a fenced wall for everyone to gaze at.  Kay waits in the car while Jenny and I walk over to see Plymouth Rock and the replica of the Mayflower (the boat that carried them from Europe) that sits in the bay.  There’s a festival taking place on the street near the rock and Jenny gets me to buy her a little pink and purple sponge toy animal on a wire and Jenny “walks” it back to the car after seeing enough of 162O pilgrim history.








Boston Tea Party ship in Boston Harbor

Boston Tea Party ship in Boston Harbor

Now we drive all the way down Cape Cod, to Provincetown on the tip end, about 120 miles from Boston, in the salty air of the ocean breezes.  When we get there, we drive all over the little Provincetown, and then to the beach, where Jenny


















When the sun sets over the water, we make the long drive back to Maine, and it takes us well into the night before we get back to our Lewiston motel room.


We get to sleep in a little bit later on the morning of the sixth day, and we take our time getting ready.  Jenny swims in the motel pool a little and then we drive out to Sebago Lake, where she does even more swimming.


Sebago Lake, just southwest of the Lewiston/Auburn area, is the second (to Moosehead) largest Lake in the Pine Tree State.  Unlike Moosehead, though, the Sebago Lake region is more populated, with homes built around its shores and quite a few tourists coming out to swim, boat and fish.  Being in Maine, Sebago Lake is pretty, blue and wooded and its waters are warmer than Moosehead’s, making for much better swimming.  Jenny takes her chance to swim in Sebago’s waters, and even meets and plays with some Mainer kids there.


After the short trip to Sebago Lake, we go back to Lewiston and eat popcorn and watch a rented movie.


It’s now morning of the seventh day and we have a fun filled day trip planned.  It’s over to New Hampshire to let Jenny experience what the White Mountains have to offer.  The White Mountains region is a very scenic area that covers most of north central New Hampshire.  In the summer, it’s a mecca for tourists coming from the rest of the northeast, and its hub, North Conway, often has its streets bumper-to-bumper.  There are quite a lot of sights and attractions in the region, and the Finchers are off to see as many of them as we can.


New Hampshire is next door to Maine, with North Conway being right across the line.  From Lewiston, the trip is about an hour’s drive, and soon we find ourselves at the gateway to the White Mountains.


First, we wind our way through the village of North Conway, with awesome Mt. Washington looming to the north.  Mt. Washington is the highest point in the entire northeastern U.S., at 6,288 ft.  The mountain is legendary for its freaky weather, with sometimes a 75-degree swing in temperature between the base and the summit.  In fact, the highest surface wind speed ever recorded in the history of the world, 231 mph, took place on the top of Mt. Washington.  We get a glimpse of it at North Conway, but head vest instead to a quaint covered bridge just outside of town.


We all get out and survey the red covered bridge spanning the Swift River, then move down a bit farther to a picnic site in the forest.  Then we drive down the famous and scenic Kancamagus Highway, which skirts the south end of the White Mountains and along the breathtaking Swift River as it rushes over the many rocks in its shallow bed.


At the end of the Kancamagus Highway is Franconia Notch.  In New Hampshire colloquialism, a “notch” is a pass in between two mountains.  This one is really pretty and is home to a few renowned attractions.


The first one we see is the Old Man of the Mountain, a profile in the granite rock high on top that looks, from just the right angle, like an old man – a really authentic likeness, too.  After we stop and view the Old Man, we make our way to The Flume, a watery showcase of nature, a deep gorge that we’re walking through, with waterfalls and spray mist and lush green vegetation abounding.


Old Man of the Mountain, Franconia Notch, New Hampshire

Old Man of the Mountain, Franconia Notch, New Hampshire

sees the Atlantic Ocean for the very first time.  There’s lots of white sandy dunes and ocean spray mist as Jenny runs all over the place and plays in the sand and marvels at the expanse of the sea and large, roaring waves.



Next, Jenny and I ride the Cannon Mountain ski lift, which in the winter, of course. transports skiers to the top of the peak in order to slide down the snowy slopes.  But it’s July and all it does is provide us with a spectacular high, panoramic view of the White Mountains and even glimpses beyond into Maine and Ouébec.


Already, we’re on the far western side of the White Mountains and need to pass back through them to get back to Maine.  But we take another route, down Rt. 302, which takes us through more alpine scenery and by a picturesque spot at Bretton Woods, with a rippling stream in the foreground, the castle-like resort at Bretton Woods farther back, and the majestic Mt. Washington in the distance.


Finally, we get back to North Conway, where we take a slow, relaxing train ride through the Mt. Washington Valley.


Unfortunately, this is the day we have to have our rental car back to Portland, Maine, and have to pick up our old beat up ‘79 Datsun at Mark Cenci’s place, where we left it over a month ago.


We cruise from North Conway down to Portland, trade cars, then Jenny, Kay and I meet with our friend Mary, who lives in Portland, for supper at Governor’s restaurant in Westbrook, a suburb of Portland.


Day eight has us staying home, kind of tired from all the trips, but Jenny, the swimming not yet out of her system, plays all day at the motel pool.



On day nine, Jenny’s ultimate request is here: all day at a waterpark.  Down in Saco, on the Maine coast, there’s a place called Aquaboggin, a waterpark complete with waterslides, wave pools, everything aquatic a kid could want.  This was to be the highlight of the trip from her perspective, so here we are.  Jenny wears us out and we can’t keep up with her, but she enjoys herself thoroughly.

As for myself, I’m honored to be the host of such a fun and exciting day for her, even though I reap a bad sunburn on my back and stomach from the deal.


Later in the evening, back in Lewiston, we all get to enjoy a delicious seafood buffet, although Jenny made it clear to us she doesn’t like lobster or shrimp, Maine’s most famous roods.


Can you believe it?  Our time together is almost gone.  It’s the tenth day and tomorrow Jenny has to leave us.  It’s been a wonderful ten days, but I still have one more excursion up my sleeve.  We’re going down to Portland to take a cruise on Casco Bay.  Portland is situated on Casco Bay, an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean that is dotted with rocky, forest-clad coastal islands.  One last hurrah before we have to put Jenny back on a plane tomorrow.  We board the ferry and cruise all around the bay, for a couple of hours before sunset, then go back to our room for one last night.


image0301The morning of the eleventh day is finally here, and we have to hurry because we have to travel all the way down to Connecticut, some 250 miles to the south.  We make a quick stop at Portland Head Light at Cape Elizabeth, a fabled lighthouse off the rocky coast first commissioned by President George Washington.  It’s the most photographed lighthouse on the east coast I’m told, so no doubt you’ve probably seen it in pictures.


 Soon, we’re out of Maine, and cruising through Mew Hampshire, Massachusetts, and finally screech into Bradley Airport just in the nick of time.


They’re already boarding the plane and I barely have time to kiss Jenny goodbye.  In a whirlwind, Jenny’s on the plane, bound for Dallas/Ft Worth, gone.


Suddenly, the scene is somber and quiet and it’s down to two again.  Kay and I are a little emptier, yet richer with memories.  It was a special time, but now a sense of bittersweet fills the mood as Kay and I turn back to day-to-day business,


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