The First Day of Summer, 2016
Yesterday was the first day of summer, that loveliest, bittersweet time of year when the day is as long as it ever will be. Yesterday’s first day of summer was hot and fine, and the evening cooled nicely—all in all a grand way to start the season. To cap off this day of days, there was also a full moon, the strawberry moon, and in Maine, appropriately enough, the strawberries are just beginning to ripen.
To celebrate, Clif and I went for a twilight bike ride. (In fact, Clif and I don’t really need much of an excuse to go on a bike ride, but when there’s a special occasion during the summer, we often go on a celebratory ride.) We’ve been riding regularly for a few weeks, but after a long, inactive winter, the riding has been slow going. (Last year, for various reasons, we hardly biked at all.)
However, last night, as we zipped along, I felt the possibility of becoming the strong rider I was a few years ago, when I could ride for fifteen or twenty miles and still feel like going on another bike ride the next day. Clif and I have talked about going on some long bike rides this summer, and by gum I think it’s going to happen. How good this feels!
I brought my little camera, of course, and Clif and I took some pictures of Norcross Point.
When we got home, there was still plenty of daylight left so that we could have supper on the patio.
We duly and joyfully toasted the beginning of summer, and we are looking forward to many more bike rides before the cold weather keeps us inside. (Unfortunately, because we live in the woods and the sky was a little cloudy, we didn’t see the rising full moon.)
Finally, today is the anniversary of my mother’s birthday. Mom died eight years ago, and this would have been her eightieth birthday. I am so sorry that she did not live to celebrate this milestone birthday, and it makes me a little teary eyed to think of her.
In honor of my mother’s birthday, I am posting this prom picture where she looks like the Queen of June.
Happy birthday, Mom. Wish you hadn’t passed so soon.
Rochelle June Dansereau, June 21, 1936–May 28, 2008
The Best Lobster Rolls, Ever: Father’s Day Part II
Yesterday—thanks to Shannon and Mike—Clif and I had a glorious meal of lobster rolls from the Lighthouse Wine & Seafood Market in Manchester, Maine. (You might call this delicious treat Father’s Day, Part II, with me benefiting as much as Clif.) We both decided those lobster rolls were the best we’d ever had—chunks of sweet Maine lobster held together with just a hint of mayonnaise and absolutely nothing else.
Some foodies, usually from away, will proclaim that traditional lobster rolls are too plain and should be jazzed up with, say, chives or chopped lettuce or chopped peppers. Simply put, they are wrong. Maine lobster is as close to perfection as food can get, and lobster rolls need only bread, lobster, and a bit of mayo. Case closed.
The rolls were so large and delicious that when we finished eating, Clif took a nap on the living room couch, and I did what I love to do most in the summer—sit on the patio, read, smell the flowers, watch and listen to the creatures who come to the backyard, hear the wind move through the trees, and take pictures.
A perfectly delightful way to spend an afternoon, and what with all the yard work and other chores I’ve had, yesterday was the first time since last summer that I was really able to sit on the patio and watch and listen. To borrow from Mozart, a more delightful way to spend the afternoon I cannot imagine. It never, ever gets old.
Here are some of the creatures I saw yesterday in my backyard.
What a weekend! All would have been perfect if on Saturday night, Sherlock hadn’t dropped a live mouse on the floor in the living room as we were watching Game of Thrones. The mouse ran under the couch, and then to parts unknown. However, on Sunday morning, the cats were crouched by one of hutches in the dining room, and we left the dining room door open for most of the day. I can only hope that the mouse found its way outside, and as we haven’t seen any more crouching cats looking under furniture, I feel fairly optimistic.
Once again, I was reminded that perfection is only for the gods, not for humans, and into every life comes the equivalent of little mice running about the house. So while we can eat lobster rolls, let us eat lobster rolls.
A Ducky Father’s Day Celebration by the River
Yesterday, we decided to celebrate Father’s Day early by having lunch by the Kennebec River and then by going for a bike ride on the rail trail that runs from Augusta to Gardiner. (We would start in Hallowell.)
Accordingly, we ordered take-away from Lucky Gardens, our favorite Chinese restaurant, and headed to the pier in Hallowell where we could enjoy our lunch.
As we were eating, we were joined by a female mallard duck, and the pleading look in her eyes reminded us of our dog Liam.
Did we share our fortune cookie with her? Of course we did! And I must say that seagulls could learn a few things about manners from this little duck, who was present but was neither aggressive nor obnoxious. No doubt she is used to getting handouts, and it would take someone made of very stern stuff to refuse this little beauty.
After lunch, it was on to the rail trail, where we went to Gardiner and then back again to Hallowell. It was a round trip of about ten miles.
All in all, a very good ducky kind of a day.
A Winged Visitor
Yesterday, my friend Mary Jane came over for zucchini muffins—I’ll be posting a recipe next week—and iced tea. As she was leaving, we spotted this swallowtail butterfly, and we both were transfixed by its beauty. However, I was not so transfixed that I didn’t rush to get my camera and take some shots of this ethereal creature. It was almost like having a fairy visit my pansies.
Yet another gift of summer.
A Bike Ride in June at Sunset
Last night, Clif and I went for a sunset ride along Memorial Drive, which goes along Marancook Lake and is one of the prettiest roads in Winthrop. Another plus is that the traffic is light, and drivers are so used to watching out for bikers and walkers that they do not speed on this road.
The evening was perfect for a bike ride, warm but not too hot, and simply put, the light was lovely with the water shimmering as the sun set.
We came across another neglected roadside beauty.
As my blog friend Betsy observed, it is very strange to come upon cultivated flowers in unusual places, where it is obvious that there has never been any kind of a garden. I must admit, I really enjoy these unexpected bursts of beauty, which somehow manage to be both wayward and cultivated.
Onward we went, along the lake, in the cooling shadows of twilight.
Then it was back to Norcross Point, the little lakeside park where we had left the car. As the golden hour was truly upon us, I found there were more opportunities for pictures.
The apple blossoms and bridal wreaths were no longer in bloom, but there were roses, abuzz with bees and giving the park a slightly coastal feel.
Here is a closer look.
Clif noticed the flags flying at half-mast, in honor of the people murdered in Orlando, and he took a picture of the flags. A horrible event, but it so touching to think that the town of Winthrop, thousands of miles away, is in solidarity with Orlando.
Then, it was back to the car, loaded with our bikes.
And we returned to the little house in the big woods, where it was still light enough to have a drink on the patio.
Ah, summer, summer, summer!
(I know. Officially it’s still spring. But in reality, summer has come to central Maine.)
Roadside Beauties
In Maine May is a month of sublime beauty, but June is not far behind. The leaves on the trees are deep green and full grown, but they still look fresh, and everywhere, everywhere, flowers are bursting into glorious bloom.
On the way to book group last night, I stopped several times to take pictures of flowers and grasses by the side of the road. The light was just right—not too harsh, not too dim—and it was a photographer’s dream. (No matter where I go, I bring my wee wonder of a camera because it is better to have it and not need it rather than need it and not have it.)
This little iris might also qualify as a neglected beauty, lighting up the side of the road with her ethereal purple in a tangle of green.
Then, it was on to the war of the roses. White?
Or pink?
Or really close up?
Never mind! I’ll take them all. Just as I am with food, I am a glutton for flowers.
Finally, I was caught by the more subtle beauty of this grass and the way the setting sun made it glow. Not as flashy as the flowers, I know, but still lovely to look at.
Tonight, Clif and I will be going for a bike ride, and you can bet I’ll have the camera tucked in my bike bag. Because this time of year you never know what beauty you might find by the side of the road.
Up Close and Personal with Iris and Daisy
In Memoriam for Those in Orlando
This post and this picture are dedicated not only to those in Orlando who were brutally murdered but also to those in this country and indeed in this world who also have been cut down by gun violence and explosions.
Orlando, Colorado, Connecticut, France, Belgium, England, Iraq, Africa, Mexico—on and on the list goes. When will it stop? And, if it does, will I live long enough to see it?
I am drawn to the tranquillity and peace of the Buddha, and I have a little statue of him in my backyard. I find it calming to gaze upon his serene countenance—so very similar to the Virgin Mary’s.
I wish I could bundle that peace and send it outward, so that it would radiate around the world and remind people that most differences don’t matter at all.
Not one bit.
Rough Winds Do Shake the Darling Buds of Irises
For the past four or five days, the weather has been terrible in central Maine. We’ve had lashing rain, violent thunder storms followed by a hideous wind that doesn’t seem to know when to stop blowing. (If I wanted Indiana weather, I’d move to Indiana.) Fortunately, the wind hasn’t been strong enough to blow over trees on top of power lines and houses, but it has certainly been rough on the my darling irises.
However, I’ve been able to prop up most of them so that they still look reasonably good.
With trees creaking all around us, the wind pretty much keeps us inside. Yesterday, when our friends Cheryl and Denny came over for pizza, Clif couldn’t grill the pizzas outside because the wind was blowing too hard. But lucky us! His oven-cooked pizza is pretty darned good.
Nevertheless, we are chomping at the bit, as the saying goes, to eat outside, to spend time on the patio. But until the wind settles down, it will be eating inside at the dining room table for us.
Notes From the Hinterland 