In Which Hell Bubbles its Greetings, and the Trees Say Hello.

Hi again! I've got lots of excitement coming up, and I want to make sure I tell all of you about it, so I'm holding myself accountable to you guys: If I don't post twice this week, you have permission to bop me on the nose. That is all. New Zealand turned out to be beautiful in a lot of different ways- and this little adventure proved to be beautiful in the sort-of-scary, definitely-stay-on-the-path sort of way.

Meet Hell's Gate:

The first thing most people notice when they drive into Rotorua is the smell of sulfur. I have some interesting scent-related handicaps, so I could tell that the air was a little different, but I didn't think it smelled too bad. I was, however, very thoroughly educated on just how bad it smelled to all the other humans.

Hell's Gate (it's non-touristy Māori name is Tikitere), was so-named when George Bernard Shaw visited the area in 1934 and declared that, if his colleagues though he was going to hell for his atheism, these would be the gates of said hell.

The science is even cooler, though. We all learned about plate tectonics in middle school, and most islands (especially in the pacific) are volcanic either in their recent past, or in some cases (ahem- this one)- in their present. Tikitere's existence is present-day evidence of ancient volcanic activity, and it is so cool. 10,000 years ago, an eruption caused the water from this ancient lake to drain- forming two other lakes in the area. The absence of water pressure on this now-dried up lake bed caused faults in the ground below, and steam and gases are still slowly escaping 10,000 years later.

Tikitere has a long history of being used by the Māori as a sacred site, and sometimes for medicinal purposes. More presently, it's become a tourist attraction and a spa. You have to pay to get in, but it's worth it to get to see some of these things up close and personal, and to learn about its history. It takes a little over an hour to walk around all the paths (if you take your time and read the informational signage) and it's a great, flat walk but there's no shade so bring your sunblock and reapply frequently or you'll be as toasty-burnt as the bits and pieces of wayward organic matter scattered around the edges of the hot pools.

Apparently, the Māori took a pretty immediate shining to George Bernard Shaw (maybe something to do with his atheism vs. the Christianity and literal come to Jesus talks they were getting from pretty much everyone else at the time?)- so many of the pools and ominously bubbling cracks in the ground were named by him. These names are displayed alongside the Māori names, which makes for a truly unique mesh of Māori and European values and interests. The signage also displays the average temperature of each pool, and what sorts of gasses come out of it. One reaches temperatures of 252 °F, and another has a pH level of 1. One of the pools (don't scroll down yet, but it is down in the pictures) could even cook a pig in two hours.

Apparently, if you feel the need to cook yourself a pig, this is the place to do it:

Amidst low ropes and a very liberal dusting of "Danger, Don't Step Off The Path" ( if you value your feet) signage, the walkways wind through two areas separated by some very welcome shade and green space- and something pretty awesome sits nestled in the trees:

Fine Lords and Ladies of the Internets, I give you: The tallest hot waterfall in the southern hemisphere!

Okay, It's not that tall. or big, or whatever- but it is bathwater temperature as opposed to the usual frigid river temperatures, and that's pretty cool. The Māori tribe who lived here believed that the water in these falls had strengthening and healing powers, so their warriors bathed in the waterfall before going into battle. They weren't far off the truth- The falls are laced with minerals which, while they may not be able to heal a severed limb, have been proven to speed up healing and help with some skin problems. Kind of like the Roman Baths in England.

As we wandered around between the pools in the second, larger area, things started to heat up even more. Larger than the first, and with not one single solitary shady patch in sight, I began to wonder if we would melt like the mud in the bottoms of these pits. You see, the sun was heating us from above and the ground was heating us from below, and between those two things the usually temperate New Zealand summer became...well... Hell's Gate.

Such steam!

One of the most interesting parts of the whole walk was seeing this area, where a small, freshwater stream met the sulfuric hot pool in steady little puffs of steam. The cool freshwater has allowed for grassy growth, perhaps the only green within the otherwise desolate circle of land.

After our near-melting experience, and learning that our ticket price included getting to soak our feet in some of the mineral water from one of the more hospitable pools, we once again took to the road to continue the apparent volcanic theme of this trip- Meet Lake Tarawera:

Lake Tarawera didn't always look like this. In the early 1800s, this area was home to the Pink and White Terraces- hot bathing pools  formed with silica deposits from volcanic activity in the area. Eventually, Mount Tarawera erupted (you see that flat-looking mountain a little to the right of the middle? Yeah. That's Mount Tarawera, and it wasn't always flat...) and the Pink and White Terraces were buried in the fallout. The scarred landscape turned from pink and white to green, and now it's a beautiful, quiet place for some freshwater swimming (The first time I'd experienced that in New Zealand, actually).

On the way back from our volcanic sightseeing, we stopped off to say hello to some very old, very tall trees.

Whakarewarewa Forest is just outside Rotorua, and it's a staggeringly large forest full of staggeringly tall trees. The redwoods aren't the only species around, but they're plentiful nonetheless. We didn't spend too much time in the forest- it's a place I really enjoyed and would like to see more of, but it had been a long, hot day- and I think everyone involved was ready for naptime. Not before I hugged some trees, though...

What an adventure! I love the ones that have a little bit of history involved, and volcanoes are a pretty huge part of New Zealand's history- It wasn't the last we saw of them, either.

Alright, like I said. I'm posting twice this week. To avoid nose-bopping, you see. I assume you're curious about what sorts of crafty, projecty things I got up to while I was between adventures, so I'll tell you all about that, and then we'll be off on a three-part (probably? I might need four...) series of mountain climbing escapades! That's right- I climbed multiple mountains. There's even photographic evidence that this thing happened.

Where there's a will, there's a Waterfall. (Part 3)

Welcome to the third and final chapter of Containment Issues! As promised- although I don't know why you'd be specifically interested in such a thing- there are no beaches to be seen in this post. There is, however, a variety of other cool stuff to make up for it, so I don't feel too terrible about the beach deprivation. We took a break in the middle of the day- when the sun was at its most intense, to take a short drive away from the beach for a bit of a hike. It was welcome respite from the sun, as well as an opportunity for some great pictures!

Sheep of course wanted in on the action, and insisted on taking some photos before we got too far. He's decided to opt out of the usual selfie instead for a game of hide-and-sheep. I do love a good game of hide-and-sheep, though, so I was willing to partake.

Sheep learned that much of this area was a forest of giant Kauri trees- as soon as the Europeans settled in New Zealand, they discovered that big trees make awfully nice big boats, so most of these ancient Kauris are gone, and what few are left are endangered. Regrowth attempts are being made, but these fellas are slow growers. They can do in 50 years what a white pine tree does in 10. There are plenty of remnants of the huge timber business that marks the beginning of European residence in New Zealand- Piha sits near an old mill, and the wilderness is littered with pieces of Kauri like this one that were too large to be moved.

As we walked further into the forest, I soon suspected that I had secretly been teleported to the Amazon and was currently wandering around somewhere in South America. Beam me back to New Zealand, Scotty!

It was a beautiful day outside- low humidity and an ocean breeze, and a temperature in the mid-eighties made for perfect exploring weather. (I'm back in the States now, I get to use Fahrenheit again!). Basically, it was a pretty common December afternoon. As this was my first time on a walk in the woods ("the bush" if you're keen on picking up any isms) I was paying close attention to the differences in plant life. This, for example, is a Spleenwort:

Early Europeans, in their infinite wisdom, were of the opinion that if a person consumed the above-mentioned Spleenwort, they would be- you guessed it! Cured of any spleen-related afflictions. Now, they'd be hard pressed to tell you exactly what those afflictions were, because nobody really knew what a spleen was at that point, but I guess they thought it was worth a try. Eating strange spotty plants in the forest never killed anyone, anyway...right?

As it turns out, the only thing Spleenwort does is taste gross. No effects on spleens, positive or otherwise.

Here's a more common sight- a palm I saw frequently around New Zealand for the rest of my time there:

This is the Nikau Palm: the only palm species native to New Zealand. Besides my initial awe at palm trees in general, this one has a more specifically cool aspect: While most trees have growth rings for every year, Nikau palms have growth bands- every year, a new set of palm fronds grows and falls off, leaving a new 2 or 3 inches of trunk growth. You can see this starting to happen at the top of my photo. The process, therefore, of dating a forest which contains Nikau Palms becomes much easier and less harmful to the trees-since all you have to do is count the bands on a few Nikau palms. No trees were killed while determining the age of this forest.

At this point, it is possible that I was complaining slightly (only slightly!) about the amount of hill-climbing that had been occurring, but- and let me tell you, this became a recurring theme on this trip- the view ahead more than made up for it.

And then, impossibly, the view got even better:

Meet the Kitekite falls (which is pronounced kitty-kitty. In my opinion this makes the whole experience much better, but that's just me.) This was my very first ever southern hemisphere waterfall! It's actually three waterfalls in a tier, with swimming holes at the top, one tier down, and at the bottom. And no, it does not swirl in the opposite direction.

The first view is actually just a lookout and is still a fair distance away- after 15 or so more minutes of hilly walking, we reached the base of the falls. (Note: if you are reading this as a potential traveller to New Zealand, first- yay! Do the thing! and second- I recommend good walking shoes that won't skid. You'll be fine until you get to the falls but the rocks there are slick when wet, and part of the path goes underwater. Expect to get your feet soggy unless you take your shoes off.)

Let me just... okay. I know about waterfalls. I learned about tides and starfish in school and it was still weird to see them in real life, but I had seen waterfalls before. Big ones, too. Niagra falls. But really, there are so many waterfalls in New Zealand, and every single one of them is beautiful, big, and fabulous and they all tell such stories! I will never get tired of waterfalls, especially New Zealand waterfalls. I ended up seeing so many waterfalls here, in fact, that the rest of them are going to get their very own blog post- that's how many there were. Each one is so very different and unique from all the others.

Sheep, not to be left out of the picture taking fun, also decided to take a waterfall selfie- his first of many. He was the luckiest anyways, he got to be carried up. I had to walk.

I stuck my toes in the water, but we didn't go swimming. After a few more pictures, and some general staring-with-my-jaw-figuratively-on-the-ground, we headed back. Chronologically, the Meeting Of The Starfish happened next- but you already know about that.

I know, after the Beautiful Thing that was meeting all the Piha sea life, this seems short by comparison, but this was such a different feeling, wedged neatly in between the black sand and the starfish. See, we don't have beaches in St. Louis. At all. Like I said, I could count my beach-related experiences on three fingers before New Zealand. But we do have forests- I've spent a lot of time surrounded by trees, I've seen waterfalls, watched little steams flow lazily under my feet. This was my first experience with New Zealand as the same, but different- my first taste of the New Zealand bush, and all its native plants and animals. It was as if I was coming back to something I knew very well, but that something had shifted one step left in my absence. A parallel universe, almost. I was in a familiar forest, but I was surrounded by unfamiliar plants, and the sounds of unfamiliar birds. Here, it was like I was looking around at something I thought I knew for the first time. There are so many forests all over the world, and they're all the same but different. Some have palms, some have pines- some have young Kauri regrowth just starting to peek up amongst the canopy, trying to grow an empire that was lost to loggers decades ago.

I would like to visit more forests, and every time I do I'll be in search of this same feeling- the feeling that everything I thought I knew about a thing just took one step sideways, and that I've learned to expand my horizons just a little bit more.

A Highly Concentrated Dose of Adventure: and the Front Page News

We're freshly back from a weekend trip up the Coromandel Peninsula, and let me tell you- it was an adventure in more ways than one. The weather was cloudy with a bit of rain, but what's a bit of water in the face of adventure?

The road is long and impressively winding. Where the highways I'm used to cut forcibly through the landscape in unforgiving straight lines, this one winds gracefully up, down, and between the mountains. They're the kind of roads you see in Bond movies, with a vertical cliff face to your right and a straight drop miles down to your left. And bonus points for the frequent scenic outcroppings complete with parking areas.

At one point, there was a narrow, overgrown pathway that led to a view that Sheep couldn't get enough of. He even thought he heard some Kiwi birds...

Upon arrival in Whitianga, we did a bit of exploring and went out in the bay for a bit of swimming and kayaking. It was still rainy, so the escapade was cut short by my worry at the level of waterproofing of my camera bag, but it was fun while it lasted. The next morning we spent a bit of time wandering around in town, where one of the local shopkeepers recognized me from the day before by my hair. It's a good thing I'm not a spy, really- hard to keep a low profile with a highlighter on your head...

Next, Hot Water Beach!

Hot Water Beach has a hot spring under it, and you can go during low tide and dig holes in the sand. The holes fill with spring water from under the ground, and you get a nice hot tub effect while hanging out on the beach. It's a great idea in theory, but there are some issues. First is people- it's a very touristy spot, and I was lucky to be able to take a few pictures before too many came to stake their claims.

The second issue is that you're supposed to start digging your hole while the tide is still moderately high for Maximum Hot-Spring Enjoyment Factor... which is difficult. You start digging your hole, and a wave comes in and washes the whole thing flat again. you try to build a barricade, the wave washes it away. You try to use a human as a barricade, the water gets around him and washes sand into his shorts. It's sort of destined to fail from the beginning. Didn't stop us from trying, though!

The boys tried a couple of approaches while I stood by with the camera. Eventually, they started trying more obscure digging methods...

The cool thing about it is that you can see the hot water bubbling up through the sand if you're looking- too hot, actually, to stick your foot in. I heard surprised yelping in several different languages in the few hours we were there- like I said, it's a very touristy place. Eventually, it became impossible to dig without fear of beaning an innocent bystander with a spade full of sand, so we left in search of less crowded adventures.

We decided to go explore Cathedral Cove next- it's a spot I wanted to visit and also a pretty cool hike.

The hike takes about 30 minutes, and there's all manner of interesting things to see along the way.

The interesting thing about the New Zealand countryside is that there is so much of it, and yet it's all so different.

At one point, as you walk over the top of one hill (It's about the halfway point)- the view to the left is a perfect description of the rolling hills, rocky outcroppings, and lush greenery that seems to mark New Zealand's summers:

Standing in the same place and looking to the right, however, reminds you that there is in fact an ocean surrounding this place, and you'd do well to pay attention or risk falling off the edges of the earth.

After the 30 minute hike to Cathedral Cove, which may have been slightly longer on account of all the breath-catching that had to be done because 'lung capacity' is not on my list of strengths... we emerged:

Cathedral Cove is exactly as beautiful as they say: times about a million. Because of the weather and the time of day, there were only about 12 other people there with us, so I took advantage of the photography. The wave sounds that can be heard echoing through the cavern are haunting and beautiful, and the water is so clear that you'd swear you were the only other human on the planet.

I'm having this problem with the scaling of everything- there are no words, and no photos that can accurately describe the intense largeness of the cavern- or the feeling of smallness you get from standing inside it.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is what the start of the return hike looks like:

On the way back, we met this dapper fellow and his lady friend- at first they were afraid, but I crouched down to take photos while Jon made some whistling sounds, and our new feathered friend came over and posed on a rock so I could take his picture.

By the time we got back to the house it was dark, which turned out to be just fine considering the sunset. Although it was cloudy and rainy for most of the weekend, the skies cleared up enough for a night-shot of the view from our front porch. Off to the left is Shakespeare cliff, which was on the list of things we would have done had the weather improved.

The next day, we went on a new adventure to see what apparently has been voted "New Zealand's Most Beautiful Beach"- It's another one that you have to do a bit of hiking to get to.

After getting distracted looking at seashells for a good half hour, we went inland where I was surprised to discover an area that looked like it was the hand-built set from a Jurassic park movie. Everything was still, and you could hear but not see the ocean through the undergrowth. It was beautiful, and creepy all at once.

It was, actually, a beautiful beach. Another stroke of luck with only 10 or so other people around, and this little lean-to constructed out of palm fronds and tree bark:

Far enough up the beach, there are even sand dunes that look out over the water. Birds nest on the dunes, which is cool as long as you abide by the natural order of 'you stay on your side of the rope, I stay on my side of the rope' -Otherwise, eyeballs get pecked out.

Here we are: the sun sets over New Chums beach...

And walking back, we could see the beach from between the trees:

You'll forgive me for saving the biggest adventure for last.

After all the adventure we crammed into the 'annual camping trip' this weekend, I figured we were about finished with it all when we packed the kayak and everything else up and headed for home. Sheep was more than happy to stand guard while we put everything else into the car and took off- after a quick pit stop for fish n' chips, of course.

Unfortunately, about an hour and a half into our return trip (and stops every 15 minutes or so to let people pass us and make sure that the kayak was in fact secure- it was) we drove around a corner and a gust of wind hit us so hard that it shook the car. There was a loud clap and a bang, and I watched as the nose of the kayak swung around over my window. We pulled off the road, and Jon started working on assessing the damage. I, meanwhile, was trapped in the car by a twisted piece of the roof rack which had levered itself against my door. About a minute after we pulled over, a police officer found us and pulled off. She saw the twisted pieces of metal that remained of the rack, and Jon told her that it had snapped in the wind, and we were trying to fix it. She helped to twist the kayak back to its proper position, which partially freed the piece of metal against my door, and then apologized because she was on her way to an accident further up the road, and left.

After Jon pried me out of the car, we set to disassembling the wreckage and reattaching the kayak facing, once again, front to back. It took about two hours, one tarp, a duvet, a bungee cord, and 20 feet of rope to get it tied back on, and by the time it was tied, the car battery was dead from the hazards and headlights. When we attempted to flag down an officer for help, he refused, laughing, and drove away.

I was a little miffed that nobody else stopped to help us (considering the eight other police cars that drove by), but I counted it as a win because the only major damage was to the roof rack. I figured that was the end of it, until this popped up on the NZ National News two days later:

According to the original article, police pulled over an Irishman who told them he though that was how kayaks were supposed to be transported- and was 'unrepentant'. Basically, the story went viral, and even more viral when they found out that the driver was actually about as close to being Irish as a bottle-nose dolphin. The police ended up having to actually apologize to the entire Irish nation -Foreign relations and all. If you'd told me a few months ago that I'd be on an extended vacation in New Zealand, I would have laughed in your face. Imagine what would have happened had you told me I'd be four day's worth of top story on the nightly news after only a week abroad! It might say a thing or two about the comparative importance of news stories here and in the US, to be sure.

A story starts in Maine

Post graduation and Grand European Adventure, I took a job at a summer camp in the lovely state of Maine in an effort to delay the inevitable onset of Adulthood. For the record, this turned out to be an excellent plan. Besides, travelling by yourself on an airplane for the first time is kind of like adulthood...a little bit. It's like a test run. I met a woman at the airport on the way out who asked me what I was knitting, and through conversation it turned out that she was a pretty successful children's book author. I told her I wanted to be an illustrator (This is not an untruth, it's just that I also want to be a screen printer, dressmaker, editor, small business owner, knitwear pattern designer, photographer, and a graphic artist. The whole point of The Void is to give me more time to choose). She gave me her card, which is excellent and very exciting! I was off to a great start- knitting in public places is one of the best ways to meet people. Especially knitting in public places with unusually colored hair.  

This is as close as I have ever been to New York City: My flight had a connection in LaGuardia, and we flew almost right over the city.

Sheep had a grand time looking out the window, because he has never seen New York either. I think. I mean, he could have taken a trip while I was sleeping or something. Regardless, I get the feeling he was feeling pretty excited about the whole thing.

When we got off the first plane (and you must understand that by 'we' what I actually mean is 'Sheep and I')- we were greeted by a much smaller one for the next leg of the trip. Much Smaller.

Some already-present counselors picked a group of us up the airport, and we all headed back to camp. Upon arrival, I spent equal amounts of time being a reclusive weirdo, and attempting to present myself as a social and well-adjusted member of society (Lies! but it turns out nobody else really is either...) During the reclusive phases, I spent a lot of time wandering around camp (read: getting lost) taking photos of this new temporary home of mine.

Obviously, I can't post photos I took of the campers. I don't even have them anymore- but don't fear! I have plenty of photographic evidence that this summer happened. So much, in fact, that I've had to split it up into two blog posts. You'll notice that in all these photos I have pink hair, and in all the photos of the subsequent post, I have rainbow hair. That happened.

After a week of orientation, which mostly consisted of trying to decide whether as a photographer I was considered a counselor or admin (neither?), we were let out for one day off with our new friends. I went with a group of ten or so others to climb a mountain!

Okay, not a very big mountain and not all the way up- but it still counts.

Let's just have an aside really quick so we can talk about this thing. I went to climb a mountain. Me. She who was in an out of physical therapy and doctors appointments for five or six years, and only recently what one might consider functional, and even then sometimes only with the help of braces and splints. She who gets winded climbing stairs, and flat-out refused ladders for years. She whose knees sound like grinding gravel, and who frequently loses feeling in her arms if she lifts them above her head.

I decided to climb a mountain. I decided to go to a boy's sports camp and chase soccer balls so that I could photograph the action, and walked miles a day around and around so that I could catch all the kiddos at all the events. I do not know what possessed this little indoor Kat to leave her computer, but she did. And she climbed a mountain.

It's a metaphor.

/aside.

Here's the thing about Maine. You've probably heard that they have excellent lobster (true) and seafood (also true)- that there are a lot of mountains and lakes and beautiful landscapes (very true. you'll see). You've probably also heard that Stephen King grew up there and wrote most of his horror stories based on that experience.

So there's a certain dichotomy going on here, and if you know me then you know that dichotomy is a thing I love. We'd be driving along these country roads in the middle of who knows where, and it would all be beautiful when suddenly we'd come upon something that seemed startlingly like it was fresh out of Cabin in the Woods (related note: excellent movie. Do not watch before bed.) I don't have photos of those things because I was for the most part busy being weirded out by 'why is that gas station covered in hubcaps?' and 'who would put a boat in their front yard if it looked like that'

But we were talking about a mountain.

So, Tumbledown is a mountain that used to be a volcano that has a crater in the top, and that crater is filled with rainwater- and there's an entire ecosystem contained in that rainwater-filled crater lake. So we hiked up a mountain to go swimming! There's a thing you don't get to do every day. I have absolutely zero photos from the way up the mountain because I was trying not to die (d'you remember the bit about being winded climbing stairs?) but I did take photos at the top!

Sheep also quite enjoyed the view, although he did not go swimming in the lake.

So- I survived the upward journey, and I went swimming in a lake at the top of a mountain, and also had lunch and let some fish nibble at my toes- and after a few hours and loads of pictures, we headed back down.

Down was not actually better than up, but I did remember to take pictures.

English Peter (not to be confused with Irish Peter) led Sophie astray on the way down and they ended up lost for a period of time, but they turned up at the bottom, so crisis averted. It also turns out that walking downhill isn't great for questionable knees (much worse than up, surprisingly) so I didn't really do much in the way of movement for a while after that, but it was still totally worth it.

I climbed the heck outta that mountain.

It was late when we got back to camp, but we all ended up on couches in a basement watching Sherlock Holmes (The Robert Downey Jr. one)- and it was a great last day before the kids arrived. Orientation week at summer camp is a lot like actually being a camper, and it was a little disconcerting when the kids finally did show up...

Here's a picture of a rock:

So, mountain climbing aside, camp started and things got hectic. I was taking a couple hundred photos a day, and uploading them to the website at night so the kids parents could see how much fun they were having. After I weeded out all the ones with the weird faces. Let's talk about the faces people make when they place sports. It's weird. you'll have to take my word for it, as all those photos are safe on a hard drive in camp's winter offices right now. Somewhere in between all the hectic days though, I had a spectacularly excellent 22nd birthday.

I decided to attempt to do all the things from Taylor Swift's song '22', the first of which is 'Dress up like hipsters'. I had to improvise with a pair of not-my-high-waisted-shorts, and at one point I had a plaid shirt. T Swift also has cat ears in the music video which I felt was appropriate, so I spent some time in the Arts and Crafts shed and made myself a pair.

Annie and Lindsey serenaded me with the song, and I definitely cried a little and am not ashamed. There was also cake:

and Sophie and Jon left me a pile of pink balloons with entertaining things drawn on them, so I took selfies with them:

Overall, having accomplished nearly all of the things on the to-do list provided by Taylor Swift, this birthday was a wonderful one. There was some debate about whether 'breakfast at midnight' should occur on the midnight preceding or succeeding the birthday itself, but I ended up falling asleep before I could decide, two nights in a row... I did miss the 'birthday girl gets to choose what she wants to eat for dinner' tradition at home, but it was worth it. Especially when I went to take pictures of the littlest campers, and none of them were there until Karen yelled 'Hi Kat!' and they all came out from behind trees and cabins and started yell-singing happy birthday at me. Have you ever had 60 eight to ten year olds sing happy birthday to you all at once? I bet not. It was one of the best moments of the entire summer.

We're given a few days off throughout the summer (4) and my first one was spent in Portland, which is about an hour away from camp. Portland is wonderful, and from my day-long impression, a very hipster place. Young and full of life and just a tiny bit weird- in the good way. We spent a good bit of time just wandering and observing what we came across- for example the chain link walls of this small bridge are covered in padlocks.

My impression of Portland was that I would like to live there. It worries me that I get pretty much exactly that impression from all of the places that I visit. Maybe I'd like to spend some time in a brick apartment building like this, and people-watch passers by from the fire escape.

We also did a lot of window shopping, because windows is about as far as you get on a summer camp budget- but there were some beautiful things that I may even be able to make in the future- like this hanging stained glass piece made with the bases of crystal and carnival glass wine glasses. Who cares if I don't actually know anything about stained glass...

A small graffiti bird on a huge construction wall brightened up a street corner:

Do you remember how I mentioned that Maine is known for its lobster? The state is mostly coastline, and summer is lobster season- so what better time to try it than on a day out on the town in Portland?

We stopped at a place that was built on a dock overlooking the harbor. There was live music, an awesome atmosphere, and of course- the fresh-caught daily lobster selection for dinner! Although this wasn't the first time I'd had lobster, it was definitely the first time I'd had A lobster. They literally come with instructions. I have mixed feelings about food that you need instructions to eat, but the glorious taste of lobster dipped in butter kind of negates any argument I was going to make about that. And I am absolutely wearing the lobster bib.

So, basically- Portland is wonderful, lobster is awesome, and I would absolutely live there given the chance. It was a refreshing break to be able to walk around and just pick a direction whenever we wanted to. And there were no kiddos yelling "Hey Kat! Get an action shot!"- If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me this summer...

Back at camp, things continued as normal. Someone left a can of temporary spray-in hair dye in my mailbox, so I went blue for a day which threw some people off considerably ("No!! I liked the pink!"). I sort of figured that the gift giver would come forward and claim responsibility for the awesomeness that ensued, but they never did- so thank you, random friend, for being such a wonderful enabler!

The next day off was spent on a beach.

Before we get further into this, you should know that beaches and I have a history, and it basically boils down to this: I am not fond of sunlight, sand, or saltwater, and beaches are all of these things.

We picked a good day for beachgoing though, because the sun remained hidden most of the day but the rain waited until we'd left. So that takes care of the sunlight problem. As for the sand, there was a bit there in the beginning where I was cursing whatever part of me agreed to this plan... ("there's sand in my shoes! there's sand between my toes, it's going to get in my hair and everywhere. Whose plan was this? Why did I agree to come here?! I've been tricked! The cake is a lie!")- and I spent twenty minutes or so on a bench with my feet tucked up under me and a towel over my head.

I adjusted, though. I think if this summer proved anything, it proved that I am capable of adjustment, and that I Tried New Things And Didn't Even Die.

There's me, before I decided that I was going to actually get more than my feet wet. It was a little chilly but the kind that you get used to after you're in. Eventually I stopped taking ridiculous selfies and went swimming. I went in all the way up to my neck, but I didn't get my head wet. I didn't know what the saltwater would do to my hair...

First time swimming in the Atlantic ocean in.... a lot of years! and it was just so much fun!

There- we're halfway through the Maine adventure, and you'll notice that something very colorful happens in the next post. So far, the summer was turning out to be so much more than I ever could have expected it to be, and things were on an upward swing. I climbed a mountain, swam in the ocean, and took So. Many. Pictures. And- as someone said at some point- the best is yet to come!