The Christian Thing To Do

The Loon Lane cottage colony is a lot like those on hundreds of camp roads throughout the state of Maine. It is in the central part of the state, on Hourglass Pond, a beautiful lake with waters deep enough and cold enough to favor trout and salmon.

Loon Lane is a dirt road running about a mile downhill from a town road through a mixture of hemlock, maple and white birch trees. Near the water it turns left at the common beach and runs behind ten waterfront camps to dead end at a cul-de-sac after Mark and Ginny Kelly's place.

The use of the term, camp, can be misleading. To many people, a "camp" is a temporary sort of building built on posts set on concrete pads, designed mostly for fair weather use. When some hunters or fishermen talk of camp experiences, their tales are spiced with anecdotes involving hand pumping water, ice cold privy seats and mail order catalogues.

In the matter of Loon Lane Colony, however, nothing could be further from the truth. I'm reminded of the singing cowboy in the show, "Oklahoma," who returned home fully impressed with how "up to date" things were in Kansas City. He sang how you "could walk to the privy in the rain and never wet your feet." Well, he would certainly be impressed with Loon Lane homes.

I admit that the homes here reflect a wide range of tastes, but there isn't a one of them that maintains an outside privy. In fact, I think it would be safe to say that none of the owners would dream of using a mail order catalogue for anything but ordering merchandise unless it was an absolutely, desperate emergency. Even then, it could never be an L. L. Bean catalogue. That would be a sacrilege.

Our story begins on a recent New Year's Eve. It is early evening and snow is softly falling through windless air, adding to the foot deep blanket already in the woods. From the first snowfall in late November to now, over twenty inches had fallen, but several mild days above freezing had reduced that considerably. Tonight would see that change. A goodly amount was predicted.

Of the half dozen households living in the colony during the winter, only five were home tonight. The Pikes, one of four retired couples, were still in New Jersey, visiting their son's family for the holidays.

The two young working families with children were planning quiet celebrations at home by the fire. Finding sitters is difficult enough on New Year's Eve, but the snowstorm settled it. This year they would quietly watch the Times Square ball come down on TV just like all the old folks.

The old folks remaining would welcome in the new year at the Barkers' place this year. Nathan and Sandy Stone arrived first. Sandy carried the bottle of wine and Nathan, following instructions to the letter, carried the rice casserole dish in the brown shopping bag, very carefully.

"Hi, how is the walking?," Helen Barker asked, her hands outstretched for the casserole dish.

Nathan gladly surrendered it to her. "No problem, there's only an inch or so of snow so far, and the road was well sanded."

"Oh, it's so beautiful," Sandy said. "It squeaks under foot, and it's so quiet I swear you can hear the snow flakes landing. "

She sat down on the mud room stool and began removing her boots even before she took off her coat.

"You don' t need to take off your boots, you know," Helen said.

"That's OK, no problem," Nathan said, as he hooked one boot on the toe of the other, "We both put on new socks with no holes in them."

"Nathan," Sandy scolded.

"It's true, isn't it? Aren't we both wearing our new Hanukkah socks?"

"You know you don't have holes in any of your socks."

"Smile, Sandy. You're on candid camera."

Nathan turned and put his coat and imitation fur hat on a wall hook. He took out a pocket comb and ran it through his hair, straight and black, with a patch of gray in front of each ear, and no more gray streaks than would be appropriate for an accountant in his late fifties only three years into his early retirement.

Sandy had finished hanging up her coat and was checking herself in the mirror. She wore black slacks and a stylish gray sweater with a large turtle neck. On a gold chain, she wore a gold pendant with a red teardrop stone in it which matched the two inch earrings she wore.

"How's the host with the most, tonight?" Nathan said to Fred, handing him the wine. "Happy New Year. "

"Fine, thanks," Fred said. "Same to you."

He and Nathan walked into the living room and Nathan sat down in the recliner chair facing the glass wall on the lake side of the house.

"Rum and coke?" Fred asked.

"Yes, thanks."

"I should say, rum and cola. I usually only get the store brands, you know."

"No problem. That'll be fine."

Fred left for the kitchen and Nathan settled into the chair, cranking out the leg support. He often wore plaid shirts, with light weight turtlenecks underneath. Tonight he wore a blue, green, and white L. L. Bean shirt whose cuffs he unbuttoned and turned back, revealing the sleeves of the white turtleneck underneath."

In the kitchen, Helen was peeking under the lid of Sandy's casserole dish. "It smells delicious," she said.

"Thanks. Your chicken smells great, too."

"It's usually either chicken or ham that we eat, normally. I hope you're not tired of chicken. I didn't want to serve ham with you and Nathan coming."

We love chicken, but you know were not strict in terms of diet. I appreciate the thought, though. You're a very considerate person, Helen." Sandy put her hand on Helen's arm. "You're such an excellent cook, whatever you do is outstanding."

Helen smiled. Her eyes followed Fred as he carried the drinks into the living room. She spoke in a softer voice.

"Someday I would just love to splurge on filet mignon, she snickered. "Fred would probably have a stroke, though, and fall face first into his plate."

They both giggled at that.

"In the 'meantime," she continued, "I just keep on experimenting with new recipes. Someday maybe I'll write a cookbook on a thousand ways to serve chicken and ham."

"I'll be your first customer," Sandy said.

At that point, the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of the Kellys at the mud room door. Both the Barkers went to welcome them.

"Here," Mark Kelly said, handing the deep dish apple pie to Fred. "I baked it myself."

"Yeah, right, " Fred said. "That'll be the day. You couldn't bake a pie if four and twenty blackbirds jumped into the dish and begged you to bake them."

Mark and Ginny took off their boots and hung up their coats and hats. The group then moved inside. Ginny and Mark moved to the living room exchanging greetings with the Stones. Fred offered wine to the ladies, who both declined for the moment.

Turning to Mark he said, "I don't have to ask what you want. Do I, Mr. Beermeister? "

"Right. I'll have one of those English amber ales you're so famous for."

"Don't get cute, sport. You're lucky I even have this El Cheapo light in the house. It probably cost fifty cents a case more than the stuff you drink. I only get it for you. How can you drink light beer, anyway? It doesn't have much flavor."

"The flavor isn't that bad. And its only a hundred calories a can instead of a hundred and fifty."

"That means you can drink fifty per cent more beer for the same amount of calories, right?"

Mark smiled. "Well, I suppose a fellow could if he chose to."

"By the looks of your waistline you managed to choose to a lot."

"Leave my waistline alone. It represents a considerable investment in time and money. Besides, it's not fat, anyway. It's only relaxed muscle."

"Very relaxed muscle."

At that point, Helen said dinner was ready and all responded eagerly, settling in around the table. After a blessing volunteered by Ginny, Helen started filling plates from casserole dishes too heavy to pass around. The conversation started with compliments all around and then to the recipes for the rice and chicken dishes.

Fred turned to Mark. "Why don't you share your pie recipe with us, Mark?"

"Can't. Old family secret recipe."

Ginny smiled, "Keep it up and it's confession for you."

After dinner, the men retired to the living room while the ladies cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. When they finished, they joined the men. Fred got drinks all around when the women indicated they were ready for wine.

Mark watched Fred raise his glass and sip his scotch.

"Still drinking Cuttysark?" he asked.

"Don't get smart. This is just as good as Cutty. I like it."

"What's it called?" Mark asked.

Fred smiled slyly. "The Happy Scotsman."

Mark roared, "The Happy Scotsman? What kind of a name is that for whisky? I'll bet he was happy because he managed to sell some of it to you."

"Laugh all you want, but it's imported. It says so right on the label."

"Sure, the label was imported. But where did the whisky come from, New Jersey?" Mark said with a grin. "I'll bet you're the only guy in the state of Maine who ties knots in elastics when he breaks them, just to avoid throwing them out."

"That's ridiculous. I do no such thing," Fred said. Then, after a delicious pause, with a sly grin he added, "It's been years since I've tied a knot in an elastic."

"Mark, give poor Fred a break, will you?" Ginny interrupted. "Why don't you tell the Barkers how nice their Christmas tree is?"

At this point the Stones jumped in with compliments. The Kellys followed with their approval, too.

"It's not as big as it used to be when the kids were small, but it has a good shape," Helen said.

"Nathan and I got away from a tree after Sarah and Jeffrey went away to college," Sandy said.

"You had a Christmas tree?" Mark asked.

"Sure, we had a tree," Nathan put in, "only we called it a Hanukkah bush."

"What did you use for decorations," Mark asked.

"The same things other people use for decorations, of course," Sandy said. "We had some Stars of David and some menorahs, but mostly it was garlands, tinsel, bulbs and white lights."

"Kelly here probably thought you might hang matzoh balls on it." Fred said.

"No. No matzoh balls, "Sandy continued, smiling. "When the children were small we would have things they made at school.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. We had the little angel, Gabriel, on top just like the Barkers."

"Our angel, Gabriel?" Mark said, surprised.

"What do you mean, your angel, Gabriel?" Sandy said. "Where is it written that he is your angel, Gabriel? We had him long before you ever did. Thousands of years before, in fact. "

Mark was clearly impressed. "You know, your right. I never thought about it before. I always say, 'You learn something new every day.'"

Fred couldn't resist. "You know, some people--like you for instance-- need to learn something new every day."

Sandy continued. "You know, Gabriel doesn't even belong just to Jews and Christians. In the early 600's Gabriel appeared to Mohammed and inspired him to begin his work."

"I'm impressed," Mark said. "That's really very interesting. "

"Your doing great, Mark," Fred said. "Two new things in the same day. Now you won't have to bother learning anything new tomorrow."

Mark grinned as the group laughed at that one.

Helen spoke up. "Why don't you draw back the drapes and put the outside lights on, Fred?"

As Fred followed her suggestion, the group smiled its approval at the view. The snow was still falling straight down softly in the evergreen woods between the house and the lake. Their land was like all the shoreline on Hourglass Pond, trees growing up as if by magic from among a varied collection of glacial boulders. The floodlights cast shadows of the snow covered boulders and trees in a radiating arc out from the house.

The only flat spots along the shore were the roads, driveways, house sites and foot paths down to the lake. At the end of the Barkers' path sat their sitting deck covered with a foot deep white blanket. Beside it, on the left, lay the deck panels and framework of their boat dock, safely on the shore for the winter.

"You were lucky to be able to build with only a 75 foot setback, " Nathan said. "When we built, we had to be a hundred feet back. Twenty-five feet makes a difference in the view."

"Before long, they'll have a 200 foot setback. You won't even be able to see the lake from your lake front house," Mark added."

"Since they changed the frontage requirement from 100 to 200 feet, the price has gone out of sight," Fred said.

"That's right, Mark said. "They are asking--and getting--a hundred thousand bucks for new waterfront lots now. When I bought our lot twenty-five years ago, I paid $6,000 for it. And even at that it took me five years to pay for it. How can people afford those prices?"

"But isn't the reason they made made the bigger requirement to protect the lake? With fewer lots there will be fewer homes and less pollution, right?" Sandy said.

"There'll be fewer homes, alright," Fred said, "and they'll all be owned by millionaires. That's where they are headed."

"What good are lakes that nobody can afford to live on? What are people supposed to do?" Mark said, "Fly over them in planes to look at them? Then they'll complain about the air and noise pollution."

"And all this because they never bother to consult you before they pass these laws, right, Mark?" Fred asked.

"That is absolutely right," Mark agreed. "I've always said that."

"Speaking of money and what people can afford reminds me of my surprise," Fred said with a smile.

"What surprise?" Nathan asked.

"The surprise I have for Pike the Piker."

"Fred," Helen cautioned.

"It's true. He is a piker. Here we are facing the fifth plowing of the season and he missed two of the four plowing payments already. Of last year's eleven plowings he missed four. He always has some complaint. Didn't do it wide enough. Didn't sand well enough. Damaged a shrub. Knocked over his driveway reflectors. Any excuse to save a buck. Getting money from him is like trying to get shrink wrap off a porcupine."

"So, where is it written that everyone has to be as generous and cooperative and wonderful as all of us?" Sandy said.

"It's written in my checkbook, that's where, and it should be written in yours, too. Why should we all continue to pay his share?" Fred continued. "You all know what a nice, informal arrangement we have in this colony. One of us coordinates the road scrapings, gravel spreading, the snow plowing and sanding of the roads and driveways--except for you, Nathan, with that big ark of a snow blower you brought up from Massachusetts. The summer people all pay their share of the fair weather road work without argument. We pay the rest except for Pike the Piker."

"So, what's this surprise you're talking about?" Nathan asked.

"Helen talked to Millie Pike before they left for New Jersey. They plan to stay through New Year's Eve to babysit the grandchildren and come home on the second, the day after tomorrow," Fred said. "Are they in for a surprise. I called Buddy Fortin and told him not to plow Pike's driveway."

"What do you mean you're not plowing his driveway?" Sandy asked. "This is a good sized storm. I heard on a Portland station six to eight inches."

"In Bangor, they said eight to ten," Ginny said.

"I heard six to eight on the radio," Mark said.

"Maybe we should put on Poland Springs and Augusta, and go for three out of five," Fred said.

"If the Pikes are corning from New Jersey, it will be seven or eight hours driving," Nathan said. They won't get here until after dark."

"I know," Fred said. "That's the beauty of it. With the snow ending tomorrow afternoon. He'll figure Buddy will have everything all cleaned up by the next day. If he were here it wouldn't work. He could just call up and have it plowed. This way he has a nice surprise waiting for him. Let him carry his suitcases all the way up the house. Better yet, maybe he'll try to drive in and get stuck. I'd love to see his face. I'm going to have my answering machine on. That will really blow his mind."

Nathan had a serious look on his face. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Fred," he said.

"Why are you defending him?" Fred said. "You're not exactly bosom buddies, you know. "

"I know."

"In the three years since you moved in next door to him, how many times has he invited you into his house?"

"That's not the point."

"He still refers to you as 'the Jew', you know. I don't think I ever heard him say your name."

"I know," Nathan continued. "But the man is in his sixties."

"So are Mark and I. So what? Besides," Fred went on, "Harland is too lazy to shovel, anyway."

"Still, If we could only reason with the man. If only there was a better way," Nathan said.

"I agree,'' Ginny Kelly said. "It's really not the Christian thing to do."

"That's right," Mark added. "It really isn't the Christian thing to do, you know."

"Christian?" Fred said. "Is it Christian for Pike to make us pay for his share of the plowing? Give me a break."

"So, what's with this 'Christian thing to do,' anyway? " Sandy said. "Where is it written that only Christians know how to set a good example? Why couldn't it be a Jewish thing to do? Or a Moslem thing to do?"

"Moslems don't have to plow six feet of snow every winter," Fred couldn't resist saying.

"Sandy has an excellent point," Mark said. "An excellent point. I never thought about it before. It is kind of arrogant for Christians to monopolize that expression,"

"Congratulations, Mark," Fred said. "Three new things in the same day. Keep it up and you won't have to learn anything new for a month."

Fred was not persuaded. The die was cast as far as he was concerned. After a few minutes the conversation slowed down. While Fred got more drinks, everyone sat quietly staring out the window at the falling snow.

Sandy couldn't help but think about all her animals and how difficult it must be for all of them living in the woods exposed to all kinds of weather. "I wonder where all my birds go at night," she said. "They never come to the feeders at night, and, yet, I never seem to be able to see them gather in any of the trees around our house."

"That's true," Ginny said. "I've never seen them at night either."

For the remaining few hours of the year, the group seemed somewhat subdued. Conversation moved from subject to subject: animals ,weather, firewood, road and driving conditions, taxes, politics, etc. Overall, it didn't seem to be as spirited as it had been earlier. There would often be long silences between subjects where everyone would just sort of stare out at the falling snow. Across the lake the few buildings occupied on New Year's Eve cast lights that flickered dimly and sometimes even disappeared briefly in the falling snow.

As midnight approached, the obligatory Times Square ball was brought up on the television. Thousands of shivering celebrants waved, shouting their greetings, emitting puffs of vapor from their mouths like smoke from imaginary cigarettes.

"This is the way to celebrate New Year's," Mark said, "indoors, where it's nice and warm."

"I'll buy that," Nathan said. The others agreed as well. After a period of nostalgia, where each described favorite New Year's memories, the group moved through the shared white lies known as New Year's Resolutions.

The Stones made the first move to leave, reminding all that they're not usually up this late. The Kellys concurred, and eventually all four finished their drinks and were on their feet, thanking the Barkers for their hospitality.

Helen offered to get the two casserole dishes with their contents for them to take home, but Sandy and Ginny wouldn't hear of it. She was to finish the contents in her own time. The dishes could wait.

Fred offered flashlights, but both men had them. Mark left an outside light on and Nathan had a motion light at home. Then, with a final flurry of New Year's wishes, the four bundled up and went out into the still quietly falling snow, now up to four inches around their boots.

At mid-morning the next day, The Stones sat side by side on the long side of their dining room table as they usually did, drinking their morning coffee, facing the sliding glass doors which displayed the bird feeders, the deck, and the shore front. With the snow still falling, there was little action at the feeding station. Only a couple of very hungry chickadees were visiting the feeders, each grabbing a seed and retreating with it to the nearby white birch to break the seed by holding it on the branch between its feet and pecking at the shell.

"Maine was wise to make the chickadee their state bird," Sandy said. "They are so friendly. I don't know how many times they have come right up and landed on the feeder even before I'm finished hanging it up."

"They are nice," Nathan agreed. "They don't seem to go for the suet as much as I expected. It seems as though every time I see a bird on the suet, it's a nuthatch or a woodpecker."

"I know," Sandy agreed. "They must get enough fat from the sunflower seeds. They eat so many of them."

The snow on the deck railing was now about six inches high. According to the consensus of weather persons, it would be noon or early afternoon before it would stop altogether. Then Nathan would go out to his garage and fire up his red monster.

About two years before retiring to Maine, Nathan moved up from the four horsepower model he had been using to this eight horse beauty. Strong as a bull it was, well able to handle Maine winters. It was ironic that he should settle into a colony where driveways were serviced collectively. Nathan didn't mind though. He enjoyed doing his driveway. Plows could never do a driveway as cleanly as a snowblower. He admired the smooth crisp sides left by a machine. He even felt it necessary to go over the area a second time at higher speed to clean up the ridges usually left behind first time around. Years of working as an accountant had finely tuned his appreciation for work well done with no loose ends.

The collective wisdom of the weatherpersons was right. Around noon the snow seemed noticeably lighter. Nathan closed the book on his bookmark and set it on the table beside his chair. He slipped his reading glasses into his shirt pocket and headed for the laundry room to dress for snow-removing action.

The Stones' driveway was a wide one that would easily accommodate four cars if need be. He needed a wide swing to get in and out of his garage, too. In designing his home and garage layout, he wisely planned ahead to the day when snow removal might be too much for him. He knew the problem plowmen faced trying to remove heavy snow from in front of garage doors which faced narrow driveways head on. He had his detached garage placed off to the side with its doors facing across the drive. That way, the plow truck could sweep down the drive and past the garage door in one pass, making for a much neater job.

But that was for a time years down the road. Right now he was enjoying the use of his machine that Sandy had dubbed "Goliath." It felt good to work it back and forth sending the snow fifteen feet or more in an arc into the woods. After about an hour, he had area cleaned up to his satisfaction. It always looked so much neater when done by snowblower rather than snow plow.

Sandy came out on the deck after noticing that the engine had stopped. "You ready for some hot soup?" she asked.

Nathan was in the process of refilling the gas tank on Goliath. "No, thanks. I'm not quite finished."

Sandy looked puzzled. "What do you mean, you're not finished? It looks fine, already. What's left to do?"

Nathan paused slightly and smiled. "Next door."

"You're not!" Sandy broke out in a broad grin. "Won't Fred have a fit. You'll be spoiling his fun." Sandy thought about a moment and added, "Harland will know you did it. It looks so different from when the plow does it."

Nathan finished pouring the gas and put both caps in place.

"Well, what else could I do?" he said smiling. "After all, it's the Christian thing to do, right?"

With that, he cranked up Goliath and headed down the driveway.

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