I overhead some radio chatter this morning sugesting that the park plane would be heading out this way, so I spent most of the day hanging around the cabin waiting. It went to the upper lake to drop off some people and then to Telaquana before returning here to deliver my mail and then pick up the folks at the upper lake. In this time an impressive East wind asserted itself, apparently the beginning of a storm heading our way. The pilot didn’t want to beach the plane because of the wind so I met him out in the bay with the zodiac. It felt a little like a smuggling operation: a plane alights on the lake with a zodiac in pursuit; a package is tossed in the boat after which the plane quickly departs. The package came from Cuba too. My wife has a wonderful sense of irony. She sent apple pie, the most American of treats, from Cuba, the least American of countries (if our ideologues are to be believed). The wind continued to pick up all afternoon.