Our cabin is maybe seven hours north of Stratford, out on a little peninsula that juts down into the heart of the lake itself, accessible by a single dirt road with water on either side for a hundred feet. The peninsula itself is covered in pine and cedar trees and great granite boulders that have been here since the glaciers retreated a million
of years ago.
It took us a good nine hours to get here yesterday, but that's because we stopped in Freeport for a couple of hours at the big L.L. Bean campus that's there. The Bean family hails from Freeport, and our little tour through town yesterday seemed to confirm that the success of their little camping and fishing retailer has allowed the family to pretty much purchase the place wholesale. Fortunately, they seem like benevolent overlords--an argument in favor of modern day American despotism. All the people we saw working in Freeport were stunningly beautiful, fit, and happy. It was kind of amazing, really.
Freeport, though, is still a good two hours south of Green Lake, and indeed, I didn't really start to feel like we'd gotten away from it all until we got to Bangor. They call Bangor a city, and you can find it on a map, but driving through, it looked like a reinforced truck stop with a lot heavy industry geared towards supporting the lumber trade. I'm sure there must be more town there somewhere, but we didn't see it, and indeed, after we passed, I told Sally I was surprised we'd missed all the buildings.
She laughed, asked me if I needed buildings all that badly.
Well. We're here now. If past experience is any indication, it'll take a few days for the stress of the City to fade, but I feel better already, and of course, I took some pictures. They don't do this place justice, but they're all I have.