Writing at the comments section on her post one day saying I would come and see her one of these days wasn’t planned at all. Relating it with J over dinner after I wrote my comments didn’t register any positive enthusiasm or otherwise. At the back of our minds, a quick bike ride around the neighborhood, this means 40-50 miles, will take us to her place. That was months before.
We’re here in Maine finally and we’re still silent and not planning about it. Until a gorgeous and awesome weather on Saturday was announced over the radio, J said were going for a bike ride. My Harley guy, I come third after the 46s Chevy. In case you haven’t heard it, according to surveys of 100 American, owning vehicles takes the top spot in a guy’s life.
I tighten my helmet and Harley vest and he with his Harley gloves, Harley wallet, Harley visor and handkerchief. We zoom in the highway, no traffic, no cars even, one or two yes, that’s the traffic. He turns his head once in a while pointing some fantastic summer views, parched river, huge rocks and boulders with water flowing around it, small streams finding its course in this vast river.
There are two mountain looming in front of us but we navigated toward the Sugarloaf Ski Area. Without descending from the bike, it’s evident the hotel is busy with lines of cars parked in the lot.
We continued our trip, stayed on the bike and he asks me that writers’ address. I was relying on my good memory by paying attention to all the establishments’ name along the road, there weren’t a lot. We go back if we don’t see it. After about 10 miles, Out of the corner of my eyes, I spotted a familiar name, Diamond Corner Bed and Breakfast. “That’s it, that it,” I yelled to J, “turn around”.
“Are you sure?, it’s for sale”, he countered. “Go in and knock”, I was ordered.
The front door is locked, the notice says, Welcome. Someone must be in there, told myself. Walking a few steps on the left side I saw blue lounging chairs, a table in between, another set of wooden chairs reserve for two people, it wasn’t deserted after all. I traced my step back and forth until finally there she was. Without waiting any word, I Introduce myself and inquiring if she is L. E. Hughes, I heard only yes.
I came to know her first from a local paper regularly delivered to our city address, she is an alternate column writer, a column that J reads, I now share by habit, becoming our topic for discussion, comparing their writhing styles, making us expert in judging writing styles because we’re reading their columns. While browsing WordPress one day I saw that now familiar tag line.
Reading about this lady as she shares her life with us readers magnifies a personality completely opposed as I saw her that day. This petite lady is not only a business woman and a writer but is a ski instructor, baker, grandmother, a designer, antique collector judging by the numerous heirlooms she keeps in her house. The house is actually for sale, as she wanted to focus more on writing, her third book is set for publishing.
Oh, she was selling different pies, and we didn’t leave without buying one. For dinner that night we had apple pie, my favorite especially when they’re home made, topped with ice cream.
Feeling at the top of the world. In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mountaintops and Valleys.”