The fall air is moist and thick on the island today. Fog moves between the pines and changing leaves as if it is the breath of the mountains. Compact swirls flow in and out, obscuring then revealing the waters of Jordan Pond.
Most people come to Acadia National Park for the sunny days, when from the heights of Mount Cadillac – the highest point along the eastern seaboard of the United States – you can see the mainland of Maine, Schoodic Point across Frenchman’s Bay, and the Cranberry Isles. I love Acadia when it is wrapped in mist. Fog dances just out of reach beyond the cliff’s edge. The few other people are glimpsed mirages lost to time and fog.
Along the shore path, the stones glisten under a layer of moisture. Beads drip from the low bush blueberries now bedecked in crimson fall colors and into beds of moss. Gnarled branches are black gestures from a Japanese brush against vibrant leaves and mist. Days like this connect you to when Mount Desert island was considered a sacred place by the native people. No tribe ever built a permanent settlement on the island. It was only visited for hunting and ritual, when you could be alone with the forest, ponds, and mountains.
We walk back through the field to the Tea House at Jordan Pond. Another reason to love the weather: it makes giving into the desires for tea, chowder, and massive popovers all the more rewarding. Despite many years and ramblings across the island and along Acadia’s trails, I’ve never actually been to the Tea House. I’m looking forward to it, especially today.
The odd mid-afternoon hour and weather has kept even the cruise ship passengers, that now anchor off of Bar Harbor, away. There is no wait and we are led to a table that looks out to the rolling lawn and the blank grey wall where a view of the pond usually captivates onlookers. Before we have even settled, the waitress asks for orders. I know I want tea and choose the first one on the menu: Earl Grey. Raven follows suit, but after she leaves he realizes he could have gotten gourmet hot chocolate. We are in a slow mood and the waitress’ pressure has thrown us off kilter. We let it go.
Despite her rush, she is back after ten minutes with the tea but no honey. She insists on taking orders before disappearing again with a promise to be right back. I’m on my second cup of tea and it is getting cold by the time the honey is finally provided for Raven. We give each other a quick glance. Yes, the room is pretty, the setting above the pond perfect, but I’m not impressed with the Tea House as of yet.
Lunch gets a higher rating. The popovers are massive, fresh, and lovely served with Strawberry jam and butter. The chowder is excellent if expensive. But everything is expensive on Mount Desert Island. The tea is only so so. It is tea. Not Tetley or Lipton’s, but not as fine as Upton for certain. We leave the Tea House with mixed feelings. There is a better and cheaper lunch spot down the road, more homey and less pretentious. But I could see myself going back for just tea and a popover.
We walk out to the smell of damp earth and leaves. The fall world wraps around our upturned cheeks with a gentle embrace as we are lost to the mist.
