This day in 1983, I spent camping at Acadia National Park with a college friend and my dog, Drummer, a blond Cocker Spaniel. My grandmother slipped us $25 to go out to supper, and we did, then wandered down the main street of Bar Harbor, stopping to get ice cream cones. While I was enjoying my cone, I noticed two young men walking towards me. There was a Navy ship in the harbor for the holiday, and I could tell by the swagger that these guys were sailors. They stopped when they reached me, and the taller of the two said, "Nice dog. Ever wash him?" I was righteously offended; I kept my dog's coat in lovely shape. However, after introductions were made, we soon started chatting, and I threw caution to the wind and invited them to ride with us to the top of Cadillac Mountain to watch the sunset. They agreed without hesitation, and when we reached my little two-door Subaru, I looked them both over and said to the chatty one, "You, sit in front."
He did, and my dog climbed into his lap. My friend and his squeezed into the back seat and we were off. About halfway up the mountain, Chris began to sniffle and sneeze. "You wouldn't happen to be allergic to dogs, would you?" I asked. "I am," he replied. I figured that was the end of any flirtations between us, because my dog had top billing in my life. He didn't complain, however, and soon we were perched on granite expanses, sipping a wee bottle of wine and watching a magnificent sunset over the ocean. We shared a delicious kiss or two, and didn't run out of things to talk about. On the way down the mountain, he asked, "Will you marry me?" I said, "Not tonight."
And that is the story of how I met the love of my life. This is my first Independence Day without him in 43 years, and I ache with loss. Tonight the table will be surrounded by family and friends. I'll cook burgers and hot dogs. There will be green salad, potato salad, and s'mores cooked over the fire pit. His big personality, compelling laugh, loud music, and enormous presence will be missed. But I will be aware that the daughter and son-in-love and precious grandchildren are all here because of him. That this house we made a home and this place we cherished is something we manifested together. All because he stopped to talk to a girl sharing an ice cream with her Cocker on a street in Bar Harbor, a long, sweet time ago.
