Who doesn’t love summer vacation?
My brother, Randy, and I sure did when we were kids, and we would meet up on the last day of school, and walk home together, talking about all our fun and exciting plans for the lazy days of summer with our friends.
I’ll never forget one year as we strolled home from school in the waning days of spring just before my eighth-grade graduation. Randy and I were in high spirits when we arrived home, and burst through the back door into the kitchen to raid the cookie jar before dinnertime. We suddenly stopped dead in our tracks, assaulted by a pungent, all too familiar aroma that filled the entire house, which immediately struck fear in our hearts.
Both of us knew our mother, Sheila, had been boiling lobsters in the big black steel pot steamer on top of the stove, and was now sitting at the kitchen table cracking lobster claws and tails and filling a large bowl with the sweet lobster meat.
Randy was already looking a little green because he hated lobster with a passion! The smell of it, the taste of it, the sight of live lobsters crawling around in the meat bin in the refrigerator before suffering a horrific, violent death thrashing around in bubbly boiling water, the whole idea of it made him sick.
He turned to face me. We both knew the sight of our mother humming a romantic Beatles song and tearing a fully cooked lobster apart while perusing her arsenal of lobster recipes from her card file could only mean one thing!
Mom had a new beau!
And by the time Mom made a big deal of ringing the dinner bell, which she must have bought that day because she had never before rung a dinner bell, our worst fears were confirmed. We were joined by a big, weathered, rugged-looking man with arms that looked like large barrels to me. I’ll call him Mr. C since many of Mom’s former boyfriends still live in town, and probably prefer not to be mentioned in the local paper as one of her many exes.
Mr. C was one of the team of lumberjacks in the Great Maine Lumberjack Show that they held in the summers off island, across the bridge in the town of Trenton. That would explain his huge arms and bushy beard.
We all sat down at the dining room table, which had been perfectly set with our grandmother’s antique dishware that Mom only used for special occasions.
Mom waltzed into the dining room, carrying a large platter in her hands piled high with her perfectly toasted, overstuffed Maine lobster rolls. She giggled coquettishly as she set it down in front of Mr. C, who made a big display of smelling them and complimenting Mom on how delicious they looked before he scooped one up and tossed it in his mouth, followed by a fistful of potato chips. He had barely swallowed it when he grabbed another lobster roll, and then another, and another, scarfing them down in record time as if he was focused on winning some kind of lobster roll eating contest!
Between bites, Mr. C informed us that he was a master woodcutter and could start a fire with two sticks, cut down a tree in three minutes flat, and so on and so on, clearly on a mission to impress his new gal pal’s children.
Randy and I just sat there praying he would run out of steam and this meal would soon come to a merciful end, but each time there was a pause in the conversation, and we pushed back our chairs to make a mad dash for our bedrooms, he grabbed another lobster roll and popped it in his mouth and told us another story about his favorite subject—himself!
All I could focus on were the dollops of white mayo and bits of celery that were caught in his beard.
Finally, Mr. C grabbed his belly and jiggled it. His stomach was at long last full! Randy and I exchanged a quick glance. We were seconds away from a fast escape. Free! Free at last!
But then Mom spoke up and said, “Guess what, kids? Roger is taking us camping this weekend!”
Roger, of course, not being his real name.
This was crazy! Our mother hated camping. There was no logical reason for us to ever go camping! But the motive was crystal clear. Mom was hell-bent on us bonding with her new beau, and the idea of a weekend in nature with a real live lumberjack was like the plot from one of those Harlequin romances she devoured especially during the summer.
By now, Mr. C had gotten a second wind (especially after Mom served him another one of her world-famous—her words, not mine—Blueberry Lemonade Cocktails) and was prattling on about what an expert camper, hunter, and fisherman he was, and how there was nobody else you would want to be out in the woods with than him. Randy and I just slumped back in our chairs, visions of watching ABC’s TGIF lineup of sitcoms on TV in our rooms quickly dissipating.
A few days later when the weekend arrived, we left the comfort of our cozy little home, and drove miles and miles out of town listening to the same stories again from Mr. C. Expert camper, yes, expert fisherman, yes, expert hunter, yes, we get it! Thank God it wasn’t hunting season!
After what seemed like days, we finally pulled up to an old, ramshackle, abandoned cabin with dirt-covered windows, weeds, and bushes growing wild all around it. There was a small cut path that led to the front porch with one lonely looking old rocking chair and above the front door a very scary and disturbing skeleton of a deer head complete with antlers that seemed to be staring right at us, daring us to go inside.
I was about to turn to my mother and tell her I absolutely refused to stay one night at this place because everything about the area reminded me of that movie Deliverance, which I stayed up late watching on TV one night when I was supposed to be asleep. I never got over it! I was already hearing the banjos playing in my head!
Suddenly the door to the cabin creaked open and I spotted a dirty, long white beard poking out. Then, in the blink of an eye, all hell broke loose! A crazed man sprinted out the door, jumped off the old porch, and ran straight toward the driver’s side of Mr. C’s truck! Mom let out a little screech! Mr. C flung open the driver’s-side door, sprang out, and ran at the screaming old coot, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs.
We watched in horror as they both took a flying leap and collided in midair, crashing to the ground with a thud.
As the two men punched each other and rolled around we sat frozen in our seats until suddenly they stopped and began laughing and clapping each other on the back while helping the other up off the ground.
Apparently, in all of Mr. C’s long-winded stories, he forgot to mention that his old buddy Goober from his Army days worked at this campground site, and they hadn’t seen each other in years, and he thought it would be nice to stop and say hello before heading to our campsite. I could see my mother’s tight smile as she was introduced to the old codger, which was not a good sign. She didn’t like surprises. So Mr. C quickly lost a point.
After all the introductions were over, Goober ticked off his list of instructions, all the wildlife dos and don’ts like never feed the wild animals, especially the bears, and most importantly, always clean up after our meals and lock our food away so those greedy, nosy bears won’t be tempted by any yummy smells. Mr. C reminded Goober he was an expert camper and there was no need for him to worry.
When we finally arrived at our remote campsite near a picturesque lake, Randy and I were tasked with collecting small sticks and wood for the fire pit at our site. When we returned, Mr. C was giving Mom a lesson on the proper way to erect a tent. We could tell from her face that she was over her whole lumberjack fantasy big-time. It was going to be a long weekend.
As Mr. C unrolled the tent and hauled the poles out of his truck, I couldn’t help but notice that the flimsy, faded, patched green tent didn’t look too sturdy. It was probably old enough to have been with him during his Army days with Goober. But I had no choice. That tent was going to be our home for the next few days.
It took longer than expected for Mr. C to finish putting up the tent. There were a lot of four-letter words along the way, especially when he accidentally jammed one of the poles into his fingers. After that, he got busy building the fire, telling us he was one-fourth Native American so starting a fire was second nature to him. He rubbed two sticks between his hands for what seemed like an hour, all the while mumbling and cursing. Randy and I had to stifle our giggles. Mom was losing patience. Finally, she stood up with a loud sigh, reached into her pocket, and hauled out a pack of matches. She grabbed a couple of paper napkins and lit the kindling and logs until a nice fire was crackling and roaring, and then sat back down with a huff.
Mr. C looked a bit miffed, and announced he was going to go fishing for our supper, but our mother held up her hand and said he had done quite enough work for one day. She crossed to one of the two coolers we brought, and pulled out three neatly wrapped, you guessed it, lobster rolls! And one peanut butter sandwich for Randy.
After dinner Mom asked Mr. C to lock away the cooler in the truck, and then with all of us yawning, we crawled into the tent for the night. Mr. C wanted to tell ghost stories, but I fell sound asleep before he could decide on which one to tell.
I don’t know how long I was out before I was awakened by Randy thrashing around in his sleeping bag beside me. I tried to turn to see what was wrong, but I couldn’t because there seemed to be a heavy weight holding me down! I could hear my mother yelling at Mr. C, screaming that he had put the tent up wrong because it had collapsed on us in the middle of the night! I tried desperately to lift the tangled mass off me, but it was useless. Finally, Mr. C managed to bunch up enough of the material and yank it off us. Now we were lying in our sleeping bags looking up at the night sky. There were no stars, which meant, yes, the clouds were hiding them, because it was about to rain! And it did. Buckets of it came pouring down on us. Mom begged Mr. C to get the tent back up, but in the dark and with all the rain, he managed to fix enough of it to allow only three of us to squeeze back inside. By then, the rain was subsiding so Randy volunteered to sleep outside on the wet ground in his Justice League of America sleeping bag.
I tried falling back to sleep, but after all the excitement, I just couldn’t. After what seemed like hours, my eyes finally got heavy, and I was about to close them and forget about this whole horrific first day of camping when I heard Randy whimpering outside the tent. Curious, I crawled out to ask him what was wrong, and that’s when I saw him, sitting up, with one hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his screams. His other hand pointed at a very large Maine black bear, not more than twenty feet away! The bear had apparently opened the cooler and was digging through it! Yes, the one Mr. C was supposed to have locked up tight and put in his truck. He forgot! The bear was using his paws to shovel leftover lobster rolls into his giant mouth!
I let out a tiny scream of surprise, and then caught myself, but it was too late! The bear stopped and slowly stood up on his hind legs, staring in our direction, and let out a thunderous growl. I felt my heart stop!
To Be Continued
Sheila’s Perfectly Tasty Maine Lobster Rolls
Ingredients
4 1¼-pound lobsters steamed
1 celery stalk, finely chopped
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 to 3 tablespoons real mayonnaise
Fresh ground pepper
6 New England–style hot dog buns
2 tablespoons butter, room temperature
Fill a large pot with enough water to equal an inch deep; bring to a boil and add a good amount of kosher salt. Add your lobster, cover, and cook 8 to 10 minutes, until bright red. Transfer lobsters to a pan and let cool.
Crack your lobster shells and pick the meat from the claws and the tails, and cut into one-inch pieces. In a bowl, mix lobster, celery, lemon juice, and 2 tablespoons of mayonnaise; season with salt and pepper and add more mayonnaise as you need it.
Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Butter both flat sides of the hot dog rolls and toast until golden brown. Fill with a generous amount of the lobster mixture, serve and enjoy!
You can also serve this refreshing summer cocktail with your lobster rolls!