Notes from Maine - 2020/06/13
This time of year is a gift.
Many people think of Maine as the frozen north.
This part of Maine isn’t that far north. The latitude of my house is north of Milwaukee and south of Minneapolis, just for comparison. Or, if you prefer, it’s about the same latitude as the border between France and Spain. The light this time of year transforms Maine. Before 5 it was bright outside. Things were happening. I woke up and felt all this activity bustling. Secret plans are executed out there before the sun gets too high. Then, in the evenings, you can see the sun retreat but it doesn’t seem to really go away until well after 9. It’s hiding just below the trees, like it’s cooking up something.
In the middle of the day it felt hot, but the temperatures last night dropped into the 40s (around 7° C). Crisp mornings that can either soar into summer or hover just above a frost—you have to take each day as it comes.
Usually, summer up here represents the culmination of months of winter work. People will come to stay, we’ll make trips to the lake or the beach, and big outdoor parties are planned. Every two years, we have a carnival at my house. It started out as a surprise party for my sister about fifteen years ago. My mom & sister were driving around one day and they saw a bounce house (like one of those inflatable castles for kids to jump around in). My sister said, “I’ve always wanted to go in one of those, but I never have.”
Mom was on the phone with me later that day. She told me to rent a bounce house when my sister came up—she would pay for it.
I called my friend Chip. He knows how to turn anything into a major event. That’s just what he did. While my sister was off visiting an old friend, people descended on my house and turned the place into a carnival. We had the bounce house, a dunk tank, cotton candy, popcorn, a water slide—everything we could think of. My sister returned to find a massive surprise for no reason.
She really enjoyed the bounce house. Don’t tell the rental company, but later in the day she climbed on top of it when it was deflated and we turned the fans back on.
After that, the tradition continued. Everyone had kids so we decided to have a carnival every couple of years. Some years have been enormous, others are low-key, but there’s always a bounce house.
I hope that in twenty years there will be a bunch of thirty-something adults in the world who remember this house as a paradise where they got to run around and experience things that were akin to magic. Giant, friendly dogs roamed around. They got to drive a go kart across a field while their parent ran behind them, telling them to turn before they hit the fence. One year, the cotton candy machine was right next to the barn and kids fed the horse so much cotton candy that he decided enough was enough. Another year, people had their faces painted into whatever they wanted to be that day.
Always running, yelling, and laughter. So much laughter.
We were supposed to have a carnival this year. We’ll just have to make it even bigger next year.
This summer, life just feels like it’s on hold. Everything has changed and I’m waiting for the dust to settle before I start living once more.
Maine doesn’t care. The sun still has those secret plans it’s hatching off in the woods, when nobody is watching. The moon is in on it too.