When Your Scribe is hunkered down at the cabin, I don't think much about "tourism." To wit, I don't rent motels much anymore and I know the places I want to visit or dine at because I have traversed the state for years. Above is one of the most picturesque scenes in upcountry Maine, Rangeley Lake.

But I recently saw some statistics about tourism in Maine, and it made me think how important it is to every stakeholder in the state. Today it's difficult to make money in traditional careers like commercial fishing and lumbering. So the future of the state, if you want to work here, is tied into tourism - and its wealthier cousin, recreational real estate. (An aside: I know that I am not the first to form this conclusion, seeing that a major study on this very topic was released a couple years ago).

Anyway, here are some facts to think about as Tourist Season is about to start. They are state stats, from 2004, the most recent that are readily available. I imagine the numbers will be about the same this year.

About 8.9 million overnight trips were taken in Maine that year, with an additional 34.7 million day trips. Travel in July, August and September accounts for 52 percent of overnight tourist trips, with April, May and June accounting for 25 percent of overnights. October, November and December registered 16 percent, while January, February and March accounted for 8 percent of overnight trips. (The numbers must have been rounded upward, if you just did the math).

Of the overnight visitors, 32 percent came to "tour" the state. About 20 percent traveled here to enjoy the outdoors, while 14 percent came for beach vacations (I would think that would be higher, except the ocean is so blessed cold). About 11 percent came for a special event. (The "other" category is pretty large).

In a given year, the state collects $294 million in sales tax from domestic tourism; about $149 million in personal income tax and $88 million in gasoline tax (we'll see how that one plays out this year). That's $531 million!

There are bigger numbers, too: domestic visitors to Maine generate $13.6 billion in sales of goods and services; 176,000 jobs; and $3.8 billion in payroll.

As the nation enters a recession and Maine struggles to find jobs to replace fishing, wood-processing and manufacturing, you'd like to think that tourists will continue to be good for the economy as long as the year-rounders are good to the land and water.

A few weeks ago Your Scribe was all smiles. A tree had fallen into the river (probably crushing some wretched yellow perch), and in the early moments I felt I might have a free dock and a sand beach - as shown here.

But look at this. I didn't expect the pristine waters of Cancun, but this filmy residue of shedding spring trees is a real eyesore. OK, maybe Johnny Weismuller would dive in but he was Tarzan (in the '30s, which incidentally was before my time).

But Your Scribe? Swimming in impurities?

Come to find out, I did go swimming here. Well, it was 95 degrees, and I wasn't about to chop wood or haul stones for my rock wall. The water was cool, and the views across the 100-foot wide river were edifying. I had a great dip.

Another unexpected challenge about this "renovated" waterfront: the "beach" goes straight down. You can't walk out more than two feet - literally - before you go sink 10-15 feet.

This is odd, because most of the Sandy River (Franklin County) is very shallow, perhaps 2-8 feet. But in front of my fast-changing waterfront, I have been assigned a Jules Vernes undersea crevasse.

In addition to the "adjustment" to the new waterfront, I am faced with an ethical dilemma. I could probably cut the top half of the tree, and let it float downstream. There are no motorboats on this part of the river (because there are many trees underwater). There are few canoes for that matter.

But it seems cheesy to saw it off, and let it meander downstream. Would a naturalist really do that?

Yes, the bellyflop that this 50-foot beast took is creating much consternation in my part of Cabin Country. I still think that it can serve as a canoe launch if some of the branches are removed. But should I consign the branches to the deep?

The afficionado of National Geographic might opine that within 50 years this (natural) dilemma will take care of itself. I am as patient as the next guy but I have it on good information that I don't have five decades left to wait.

So I will continue to ponder . . . but my first action item will be, how do I remove that slime?

When Your Scribe was masquerading as an athlete (basketball, tennis), I did not like to sit on the bench.

Now, though, the bench at the cabin (shown above) is a fine place to vegetate and contemplate. This is my new perch, and though the photo is pitiful, the idea is sublime.

It sits at the edge of the forest (which is destined never to be thinned, owing to numerous bad backs of the woodsmen I approach). This location offers a good view of the cabin, the woods and the flowers and shrubs that I have planted. (I promise myself to produce a better picture than this).

Actually, the purchase and placement of the bench is just Step One in the larger plan. And that is to develop a remembrance of family members whose lives are not memorialized by tangible markers. A list would include my grandmother, Edith Carter, my parents, Clint and Eloise Hendrickson, my aunt, Beatrice Hostetter, and my daughter, Vanessa Hendrickson.

I plan to start with an engraved plaque, and attach it to the back of this modest sitting tool. And if I can sustain some momentum, I will order a granite memorial, perhaps a small bench, and have it inscribed with the names and living dates of these dear people. The idea is to have a permanent resting place.

I have put off this project for as long as the cabin has been there - five years. Though the motive is noble, I find the task itself very sad - which is no doubt the reason I keep putting it off.

The bench is the first step. I vow to continue the project until there is a handsome granite marker, inscribed with names and dates. They deserve their due, and I have got to do it.

Your Scribe is aware of a book titled, "The Wisdom of Crowds." Its point is that much valuable information and useful decisions are generated through the contributions of large numbers of people.

The writer had the reach of the Internet in mind when he came up with this theory.

In my case, if I wanted to figure out how to get a woodsman to selectively cut trees on my property, it would be good to ask readers if they have suggestions. (So far, not a tree has fallen, even after beseeching Kevin the Well Digger over the weekend).

But enough of that. Above is a photo sent by a reader, Nancy, who has a cabin in the Phillips area.

I am thrilled she sent it, and that she wrote a few words about her experience. If more people send photos and their stories to Cabin Country, we'd learn more about camp owners and tips to make the seasons better.

Here is what Nancy wrote:

"This is a picture taken last May. We have been going to the camp for exactly one year. We inherited it from my husband's uncle. We love going and just doing nothing or everything...no phones, really...can't get a signal there, no electricity (have a generator for working on camp, but isn't used for anything else.) No running water...that is a challenge, but we have a spring nearby that we haul from and it is all we need. I read mostly, my husband gets to see his Aunt down the road and we cook on a glorious wood cookstove that we found beside the road in Farmington for $150.00!!! It is in Phillips on a long dirt road about two miles from the Sandy River...we have had moose, bobcats and deer visit us already this spring and the wildflowers are incredible!!! As you can tell, we love it and hope to stay there all summer and fall once we retire. Looking forward to seeing other folks' camps. "

Thank you, Nancy!

If you have a photo or a story, email to dhendrickson@partners.org.