live. work. dream.

This was a new site for me at a National Park campground. When we first drove up to the easternmost camp site from where we began our trip, I guessed this was a communal lobster pot where you could boil your fresh catch from Bar Harbor and feast on bugs by the fireside.

My silly dream was crushed when I discovered it to be a sink for dumping camp dishwater with a strainer basket and nearby trashcan for nasty bits. This is a good thing I suppose. After all, like the signs read, “A fed raccoon is a dead raccoon.”

But it sure felt good anyway to finally sit by a campfire again without bugs feasting on me. Especially after enjoying an authentic Down East lobster feast in Northeast Harbor. Just remember, when it comes to overindulgence, it’s not the volume of lobster one consumes, it’s the butter factor. And it is clarified butter that makes a breaks an establishment from the fine dining list.

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