Our Favorite Letter

[cs_drop_cap letter=”G” color=”#000000″ size=”5em” ]rowing up in the ’50s and ’60s, Bubble Pond was practically in my backyard.  It was an easy jaunt via bicycle over the carriage road, past the Cadillac Mountain turnoff, to the spot by the side of the road where the Bubbles rose, seemingly right out of the water.  Of course, there weren’t the millions of tourists and thousands of cars then. The spot became so congested and the edge of the pond so degraded by the many footsteps that the road was rerouted, and it now takes a bit of effort to be rewarded with that view, but it’s well worth it. We’d take a picnic lunch, climb around in the hills — sometimes even on an actual trail — take a dip in the cool water after working up a sweat, and, in August, pick a few blueberries for dessert on the ride home. Sometimes we’d be rewarded by spotting a grazing deer or two. It was an idyllic place to grow up, and it still delights. — Martha B. Higgins, Trenton, Maine