cincibuck
You kids stay off my lawn!
Day 4:
Yesterday’s rags to riches story certainly changed moods around here. It’s nice to be back in the ranks of the Happy Campers.
After the initial shock in the splendor of the place we began to establish territories. I settled for a desk in the corner of the great room. I unpacked my computer, anxious to begin the saga of our trip here and the Dapkins’ cabin fiasco.
On Saturday morning Kathy and I took off on a mission: secure lobster for dinner. Everyone felt a need to celebrate and what better way than with a great meal? We rolled along, up and down small hills, around curves, catching glimpses of charming homes and an occasional seascape of blue water and bobbing boats. “Bristol Lobsterman’s Co – Op à 3 Mi” caught our eye and we headed in that direction, but we were so engrossed in our sight seeing that we drove right by it the first time, ending at the water’s edge and wondering where we’d gone wrong. We almost missed it a second time, so enamored were we of a monstrous yellow house, now a B and B, that sat on the opposite side of the road from the “Lobsterman’s Co – Op ß” sign.
The coop wasn’t wasting any money on décor or a fancy building. Their wharf sat at the bottom of a steep hill, a small warehouse on either side. Lobster cage buoys were hung on the sides of the buildings and stacks of metal cages sat on the wharf waiting to be filled with bait and dropped into the sea. Halfway up the hill was the market, kitchen and serving space. The ‘restaurant’ was more like a picnic shelter. Perhaps a dozen wooden picnic tables rested beneath the roof, topped with plastic table clothes, ketchup bottles, salt and pepper shakers and laminated menus. You ordered at one window, received a number and paid at a second, “pick up,” window. We went over to the tubs and stared in. Lloyd was easy to spot, a real big ‘un, he sat on top of the other twenty or more lobsters sharing the space with him. “I want that one,“ I said and allowed the help to reach in and fetch the order. After the events of the previous three days I wasn’t so trusting of the gods as to put my fingers anywhere near potential snapping claws. A curly-haired kid reached in and grabbed Lloyd by the body and placed him on the scale.
“He’s four and half pounds,” he announced.
“Fantastic. Now, do you have another one close to that?”
The kid took off for another tub in the back of the place and soon returned with Floyd, a two-pounds-and-change number. “I’m afraid this is the biggest we’ve got right now. There’ll be more coming in this evening, but that’s it for right now.”
I looked the two over. Lloyd, probably fearing that he would soon be sporting scarlet, did not look pleased at my picking him. I, on the other hand, was eagerly anticipating his presence in my very own pot, which I had transported all the way from Cincinnati just for this occasion.
We left the coop, soon found Reilly’s Grocery Store and secured the rest of our meal: tomato’s and fresh basil, corn on the cob and wine, and headed back to our pleasure dome.
Lloyd and Floyd looked great in their scarlet “home jerseys” and tasted fantastic. We needed only their tails to feed the four of us, saving the rest for another meal. I wore my Ohio State Alumni T-shirt to dinner to honor the occasion.
Yesterday’s rags to riches story certainly changed moods around here. It’s nice to be back in the ranks of the Happy Campers.
After the initial shock in the splendor of the place we began to establish territories. I settled for a desk in the corner of the great room. I unpacked my computer, anxious to begin the saga of our trip here and the Dapkins’ cabin fiasco.
On Saturday morning Kathy and I took off on a mission: secure lobster for dinner. Everyone felt a need to celebrate and what better way than with a great meal? We rolled along, up and down small hills, around curves, catching glimpses of charming homes and an occasional seascape of blue water and bobbing boats. “Bristol Lobsterman’s Co – Op à 3 Mi” caught our eye and we headed in that direction, but we were so engrossed in our sight seeing that we drove right by it the first time, ending at the water’s edge and wondering where we’d gone wrong. We almost missed it a second time, so enamored were we of a monstrous yellow house, now a B and B, that sat on the opposite side of the road from the “Lobsterman’s Co – Op ß” sign.
The coop wasn’t wasting any money on décor or a fancy building. Their wharf sat at the bottom of a steep hill, a small warehouse on either side. Lobster cage buoys were hung on the sides of the buildings and stacks of metal cages sat on the wharf waiting to be filled with bait and dropped into the sea. Halfway up the hill was the market, kitchen and serving space. The ‘restaurant’ was more like a picnic shelter. Perhaps a dozen wooden picnic tables rested beneath the roof, topped with plastic table clothes, ketchup bottles, salt and pepper shakers and laminated menus. You ordered at one window, received a number and paid at a second, “pick up,” window. We went over to the tubs and stared in. Lloyd was easy to spot, a real big ‘un, he sat on top of the other twenty or more lobsters sharing the space with him. “I want that one,“ I said and allowed the help to reach in and fetch the order. After the events of the previous three days I wasn’t so trusting of the gods as to put my fingers anywhere near potential snapping claws. A curly-haired kid reached in and grabbed Lloyd by the body and placed him on the scale.
“He’s four and half pounds,” he announced.
“Fantastic. Now, do you have another one close to that?”
The kid took off for another tub in the back of the place and soon returned with Floyd, a two-pounds-and-change number. “I’m afraid this is the biggest we’ve got right now. There’ll be more coming in this evening, but that’s it for right now.”
I looked the two over. Lloyd, probably fearing that he would soon be sporting scarlet, did not look pleased at my picking him. I, on the other hand, was eagerly anticipating his presence in my very own pot, which I had transported all the way from Cincinnati just for this occasion.
We left the coop, soon found Reilly’s Grocery Store and secured the rest of our meal: tomato’s and fresh basil, corn on the cob and wine, and headed back to our pleasure dome.
Lloyd and Floyd looked great in their scarlet “home jerseys” and tasted fantastic. We needed only their tails to feed the four of us, saving the rest for another meal. I wore my Ohio State Alumni T-shirt to dinner to honor the occasion.
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