Author: L.J. LaBree

When you visit the grand ol’ state of Maine (also known affectionately as Vacationland), one activity you must try is four-wheeling.

There isn’t anything quite like it: The wind whipping your sweatshirt as you zip down the narrow dirt trail, dust flying behind you like a cloak billowing, and watching in quick-glanced awe at the sun-dappled nature surrounding you, wishing desperately how you wish you had brought your big camera.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to partake in all of this with my family.

Now, I will be the first to tell you – I am not the most experienced in riding solo, especially when it’s on a 400 lb machine that’s fully capable of throwing you off into a nearby ditch for hitting a shallow bump in the road wrong.

For the record, that hasn’t happened… yet. (God willing…)

Still, I do enjoy having the ability to drive said machine through the wilds of Maine. Funny as it is, when I’m on the four-wheeler, my worry settles into the “back seat”, as it were. Once I feel that mechanical beast growl to life, a calm sweeps through me, adding life to the small fire deep within my soul.

If I were asked to describe the feeling in one word, I would have to choose… elation. It’s the feeling of something deeeeeep inside, almost snuffed out by the gloom and despairs of the current world turmoils, and as you drive through canopies of dense woodland, seeing small patches of sun filter through as if you were literarily driving through a fantasy novel, you feel that small something rise and grow, ballooning into something brighter, stronger, happier. And the farther you are driving, the more this thing grows, until there’s very little gloom and despair left inside you to drag you down.

Of course, I managed to find one mud puddle, and yes, I did ramp up my speed just to create a giant brown wave to crash upon me and splatter everything possible. A wheeling ride through the woods just wouldn’t be complete without any mud!

Would this be a good trip for everyone? Probably not. I can imagine a few people who wouldn’t dare step within 10 feet of a forest of any size, let alone an entire wilderness. And I definitely cannot imagine someone wanting to get dusty and muddy on a ride.

But, if there is some part of you that is willing to try the experience, I highly encourage you to do so.

That being said, if it’s your first time being on the ATV trails, I suggest being a ride-along on a two-person machine with someone who is more experienced.

Plus, you’ll get to take more pictures.

Just be sure to bring lots of bug dope!

One of the many traits my family sees as positive in cats are their skills as “hunters”.

By “hunting”, we mean they fall somewhere on a spectrum between playing with toy mice on one end, and catching a bat while it’s flying around in my parents’ bedroom at the other.

It’s no secret that we’ve had a few impressive hunters residing with us in this house.

Otis was one example. Our little mountain lion (he was a tabby, but his coloring and facial features reminded us of his giant cousins who live in the wild), was one of the truly impressive hunters we’ve owned; he caught 7 mice within the span of two seasons, and would often come charging to your rescue if you thought you saw one in the middle of your princess-purple-carpeted floor (for the record, it was a lucky rabbit’s foot).

Of course, Sabrina gave him a run for his money – that flying bat at one end of the spectrum? Yeah, she set that record.

Long story short, a bat somehow got into my parents’ room, she chased it, mom then heard flapping, turned on the light, and watched in excited horror as our tiny Sabrina launched herself into the air and caught the poor thing between her claws. Mom managed to catch it before the little tiger did any real damage and let it go outside.

This summer, we’ve found our newest addition, Sadie, has certainly earned a place on the bat end of the spectrum. However, she does lose points for playing with the poor creature for too long, resulting in my parents trapping the mouse under a broom and smashing it multiple times with a fist.

R.I.P. little dude.

One cat I did NOT expect to move up on the spectrum was Spooky.

We’ve had her for quite a few years now – we found her under our bird feeder a week before Halloween my Senior year in high school – and we’ve watched her interact with both toy and live mice. If she doesn’t have to get up, she won’t.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case around 3:30 this morning.

I had finally fallen asleep around 1-ish, when I woke to hear one of the cats consistently calling for one of the humans. The closeness of the call told me it was Spooky, since she often sleeps in my room. Thinking she had puked, and that I didn’t want to wake up for that yet, I called back to her and patted my bed. I could feel the mattress give slightly as she hopped up, but she was still mewing. This is something she normally does when she’s bored and wants attention, so I decided to stay quiet and let her settle on her own.

Next thing I knew, I felt something small plop on my chest, then roll over to my side. Confusion arose hard and quick. I grabbed my phone and hit the power button to wake it up. My eyes managed to focus enough for me to see one beady black eye, soft grey fur, and a long limp tail.

Of course I screamed, lurched myself out of my bed, and held the dead carcass by the tip of the tail as I raced down the stairs, unbolted the doors, and threw the body out into the garden.

Was I shocked my normally lazy cat had presented me with her kill? Yes, yes I was. This was definitely not something you would ever expect from her.

Once I calmed down and washed my hands (vigorously), I immediately praised Spooky for catching and killing the mouse.

But I also had to tell her that presenting the kill at three in the morning was not one of her best ideas.

Late Tuesday night, my world crumbled a little more.

I woke up Wednesday to see a message from one of my cousins: my Great-Aunt Mona had passed in her sleep.

It wasn’t a long message; there weren’t any flowery soliloquies, no enrapturing monologues. It was short and simple – something my family has a tendency to lean toward: short, precise, and straight to the point.

Unless we’re telling a story. Then we really get into the details and flowery cross-stitched words.

My aunt was a spit-fire, to be sure!

She was a woman who loved telling stories, whether it be about her travels or helping her sister-in-law wrangle her little ball of erratic endless energy that was my father.

In fact, one of her favorite stories to tell was when she had my then four-year-old dad all cleaned up, dressed in a crisp white shirt and blue trousers, and having to tell that little boy not to go jumping in puddles. Of course, being the little mischievous child that he was, my dad had no desire to listen. Instead, he glared at my aunt through his (according to her memory) severely scratched up coke-bottle glasses and huffed, “I’ll tell my mumma on you.”

Without even skipping a beat, my aunt responded, “uh-huh. Sure you will, Teddy.”

Well, my father must have been one hell of an annoying child, because it wasn’t long after where my aunt had to kick him out of the house so she could clean.

That was a big mistake.

Aunt Mona happened to look up through the window a few minutes later, and held in a silent prayer.

My father was scrunched down as cloooose to the ground as he could, balancing on his tippy-toes, peering into a giant, muddy, rain puddle.

It wasn’t long after that when my father trudged into the house, completely soaked.

I will miss my aunt terribly. I will miss her stories about my family, and I will miss sitting at her feet, listening to everyone’s mismatched words and feeling her motherly energies so similar to my own Nana.

She was 93 years old when she passed, so I know she lived a good long life. But that doesn’t take the sting away from the loss.

Still, I’d like to think of her as sitting alongside her sisters and my Nana, eating all the lobster she can and gossiping about heaven only knows what.

Though she may be physically gone from this world, I believe my family has gained another angel.

I’ll miss you, Aunt Mona.