Bigger, Better, Bunyan

August 14, 2008
Paul Bunyan Campground
Bangor, ME

According to the myth, Paul Bunyan was born in Bangor, Maine, which would explain our stay at the Paul Bunyan Campgrounds, and the annual Paul Bunyan events on the town calendar. The campground is beautiful. Lots of rolling green lawns, a band shell, a pool and lots of trees under which to park your camper. Although calling the public restroom Paul's Potty seems a bit much to me. But I can let that one go.

What I fail to see is why they chose to put the biggest camper ever built in a space between two trees that are set just one foot wider than said RV. That’s six inches on each side.

I was playing co-pilot, trying to fit this mammoth rig into our assigned space, but John kept ignoring my directions and doing his own thing. Or so it seemed. The steam was rising from my head, the Irish was definitely up, and my mouth was about to say something I’d totally regret a day later, when I realized that behind me, on his golf cart, was Paul – not that Paul – but Paul of the management, who had come over to help out, and John had been following him.

I stomped off in a huff. I’m good at huffs, and this was one of my better ones. After all, I’m the designated co-pilot. I took the lessons in right hand extended, left hand extended, thumbs up and so forth. Who was this guy to steal my thunder? And why did John prefer Paul's direction to mine? The more I thought about it the madder I got.

I marched up to the golf cart. “This is ridiculous,” says I. “This is the smallest spot in the park. Put us in spot #48 instead of this one.”

Paul thought a bit, then said, “But it’s already reserved.”

I countered with an observance of its apparent emptiness, “Put them here, and us there.”

“But they have a reservation,” said Paul.

“But we’re here. Now. This minute. And they’re not.”

Meantime, John had maneuvered the BB on his own, with no help from either of us, and managed to park it successfully. “I’m not moving,” he said.

“Fine,” I said, still huffy. Whereupon Paul said, “Ma’am, I have to apologize to you. Spot #48 is reserved, but the people left early. You could have parked there tonight.”

“Fine,” I said. (And we all know that when a woman says, “Fine,” it means exactly the opposite.)

Now I’m sitting here the morning after, knowing that there is no way we’re going to get out of this spot without taking down one of these trees. And somehow, there will be a part of me that is happy about it.

I’m also really good at “I told you so.”
Betty