March in Maine is not the most beautiful time of year. The snow is heavy and gray, and there is so much mud that it sometimes seems as though it is going to pull you down to some dark, unknown kingdom. In fact, last year on a walk, I had to help a young boy get his boot out of the mud at the edge of his driveway. He couldn’t pull it out by himself, and while he hopped on one foot, trying to keep his stocking foot from touching the dirty ground, I pulled and pulled and with great effort yanked the boot from the mud.
However, I live in a pondtown, where there are so many lakes, streams, and ponds that it sometimes seems as though Winthrop is an island. And where there is water, there is beauty. Even in March.