Yesterday was the first day of summer, and I biked into Winthrop to have lunch at Sully’s Restaurant with my friend Barbara Penrod. Barbara and her husband, Wally, have a cottage on a lake in a nearby town, and they come from Pennsylvania to spend summers in Maine. I met Barbara when we were both volunteering at the Theater at Monmouth in Monmouth, Maine, and though we aren’t exactly sure how long we’ve been friends, we figure it has been at least fifteen years, and, in fact, it is probably heading on twenty. Time certainly does pass. 

Somehow, over the years, I have come to associate the beginning of summer with Barbara’s arrival, and to me summer doesn’t really start until I see Barbara. How fitting, then, that we should meet for lunch on what was actually the first day of summer, which was also my mother’s birthday. Mom passed away two years ago, and yesterday would have been her seventy-fourth birthday. In addition, Mom knew and liked Barbara very much. So this longest, loveliest day of the year was a day full of meanings. 

At Sully’s Barbara ordered a BLT and fries—fresh, not frozen—and perfectly cooked, a little soft on the inside—but not mushy—with a satisfying chew. Barbara’s plate was mounded with these long, golden delicacies, and she told me to help myself. Showing remarkable restraint—let’s just say that fries are one of my many weaknesses—I only took a few. I really do try to stick to one “cheat” day a week, where I indulge my love of sweets and fried food, and yesterday wasn’t that day. But, readers, it wasn’t easy to take only a few of those fries. 

I ordered a lobster roll, with a side of coleslaw, and the roll was disappointing. The meat tasted bland, not sweet and punchy, the way fresh Maine lobster is supposed to taste. I didn’t ask, but my guess is that the meat was either previously frozen or, even worse, it came “from away,” and it wasn’t even Maine lobster. Whatever the case, I won’t be ordering the lobster roll again. 

Nevertheless, it was great seeing Barbara and catching up with all that had gone on with her family during the winter. (Pennsylvania got blitzed with snow while Maine had a mild winter.) We’ll be meeting again many times before she and her husband head back to Pennsylvania in September, when the weather takes on that certain little chill that signals much colder times are coming.  

But September is months away. In the meantime, we have summer, my favorite season. Barbara is here. It has begun.