I had someone ask me if I went south for the winters. I said “no, I’m a lifer”. I’m here year round, watching the seasons and the tourists come and go. If you watch it long enough, you begin to realize there is a pattern. For instance, one day while you are shopping at the supermarket, you suddenly realize that all the cars have Massachusetts plates, and you know that summer has arrived. This is the season when snowmobiles are placed on the lawn with for sale signs on them and when the thing that blossoms even more prolifically then daffodils are yard sales. It is our way of getting rid of all the stuff we accumulated over the winter. Just stick it out there next to the snowmobile and call it an antique. Someone will decide that they can’t live without this rustic artifact from way up here in the woods. And, if you run out, you can just go down to the “give and take” shack at the Transfer Station (spelled dump) and get some more.
The harbingers of summer, mosquitoes and motorcycles, arrive early, populating the landscape by late spring. Next come the campers and boats. The laid back atmosphere of my town becomes charged with activity in the summer. The Village, as the center of town is known, is the point of demarcation to most points leading North, West, or East, with visitors pausing only long enough to sample our attractions which are gas stations, convenience stores , and fast food restaurants. We are not by any stretch of the imagination, a “destination”. Our main claims to fame are that the first woolen mill in the United States was built here, now just a clearing in the woods, a wildlife park with a real moose, and a cemetery that boasts the grave of a confederate soldier. Not sure where he came from. I suspect e-bay.
I guess the best thing about summer in Maine is that it doesn’t last very long. Pretty soon, the trees begin to turn and as if on cue, the boats an campers beat a retreat down I95, passing all the leaf peepers heading north with their cameras to capture a piece of Maine without getting shot by the legions of hunters trying to bag a deer, cow, or whatever else moves. It is beautiful here in the fall and the cruise ships entering the port of Portland are full of tourists arriving to sample the picturesque towns that dot the coast and inland’s.
When the trees finally disrobe, and the snow starts to fly, we are treated to the next wave of “those from away”, the skiers and snowmobilers. Again, the Village becomes a hotbed of activity as we welcome them to our fast food restaurants, convenience stores, and gas stations. Unfortunately, the wildlife park and the cemetery are closed for the season. But you can pick up a brochure.