Nothing but bad news

The Day When the Planes Came

It's been eight years this month.

Coincidentally, I discovered a copy of this painting made shortly after those events.

So much happened that whole week of September in 2001.

We were up for a coastal vacation in Maine, near Bar Harbor, Mt. Desert Island.

Once again, Wife had found a nice cabin. This time on Frenchman's Bay. We could see Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park across the water.

It was one of those isolated places, right on the water. 50 yards of rock beach when the tide was out. No beach when the tide was in. Perfect.

We spent the first days wandering and hiking Acadia. Flat on the edges and high in the middle.

We'd get some food on the way home and fix supper while watching for the next day's weather.

Wife wanted to take a boat out to see the whales. A hurricane out in the Atlantic was playing havoc with that idea. We'd call to see if they were going out. Not today; high seas.

We thought it could only get worse if the storm's track continued northward.

The next morning's call got a positive answer. We're going out; come on.

We got there early and bought our tickets for a trip out on the Friendship V. We had an hour to kill so we walked around Bar Harbor and headed back toward the landing as time neared.

We were walking toward the mooring when a young woman came up to us and asked if we had heard that planes had slammed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. She was near tears as she said the towers had collapsed. I though she might be insane.

She added that another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. In fact, she was distraught because she and her husband worked at the Pentagon, she said. He was out on the water, fishing, and she couldn't reach him. They needed to get back to duty.

This was ALL insane. Vacation, whale-watching. That's what was going on here. Not disaster, death. Not unthinkable horror.

Amazing though it may be, the Friendship V sailed on its scheduled run about an hour or two later. There was a sense among all those lined up to go that we should. It was rough going out because of the high swells, but the water calmed when we reached the whales. And we were calmed by the sight of them.

We spent the rest of the week going to the national park in the mornings and watching details of the horrorshow on TV in the afternoons. What a strange disconnect one part of the day was from the other.

I'd walk the beach at low tide and see a spot on the rocks where evening bonfires were held and imagined the scene above in the painting titled "Vigil". Waiting and hoping for a loved one to come home.

The planes started flying again on Saturday, in time for us to go to our home. We flew over the Twin Towers site and the Pentagon on our way south. Both still trailed long smudges of black smoke.