A day of drizzling perfection

"Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain..."

-- The Cascades

Funny guy... you should listen
to his stuff sometime.

The Maine comedian Tim Sample has a bit where he talks about the "Five Perfect Summer Days" in Maine...the idea being that vacationers like myself come up here during the summer, experience one of those five days, and become so enamored of Maine to wish to move there permanently.  They then discover the joys of the long hard winters, the May O' Mud, and other non-summer trials that the locals can tell you all about.

The hidden side of the joke is that Mr. Sample says specifically five days.  He knows, as does anyone who spends a long period of time here during the summer, that even the months of June, July, and August can present some mercurial weather.   The biggest culprit in this, especially in the western half of Maine in the shadow of the White Mountains, is rain.

A soggy camp

Rain is the "forced reset" mechanism at our camp.  Camp changes when the day is entirely marked by rain... there are no boys playing sports on the upper fields... the tennis courts are deserted until the water goes away and the surfaces have been jet-blown and squeegeed.  If the administration knows (with as much assurance as anyone can have about weather forecasts) that the day will be rainy, they might even announce "late breakfast," which also means everyone can sleep in another hour.  As I write this post, my lovely bride is taking full advantage of that extra hour.  Almost everyone loves it when late breakfast rears its head.

I say almost, because I am an early riser, and I like to eat a hearty breakfast; and, unless the said rainy day occurs on the weekend, I have to start my normal job somewhat on time, no matter what time the mess hall opens.  So I combat the elements with an umbrella, a quick trip to the gym (to workout indoors!), and then I jaunt up to Lovell, ME, to a lovely little store & diner called Rosie's.   I get a great breakfast, Rosie gets some of my money, and there is even a 0.0005% chance I might see Stephen King having breakfast there as well--it has been known to happen.

But back at my desk in the cabin, I sat and listened to the rain...and I realized that this day is no less perfect than any sunny day I get here in paradise.  True, it's not as much fun, or even advisable, to go out and shoot archery or kayak or hike, but there is an inordinate amount of peace you can get just sitting in this cabin and watching the rain, listening to it, savoring the sounds and smells and sights of the Earth refreshing itself.

I realized that I can hear the rain in this cabin far better than I could in a house.  There is no insulation to interfere, and the lack of an interior ceiling makes the muted drops on the roof quite audible to one who listens for it.

Rainy days are vital to Nature;  today I realized they are vital to us as well... we all need time to contemplate, and to meditate.  Yes, it is uplifting to the soul to spend time in God's creation, floating down the lovely Saco River or paddling Moose Pond.  But...if you can see the opportunities that a rainy day presents... a chance to read, maybe peruse some poetry, or do a crossword puzzle, write a blog entry.. or a poem!...or to just sit and think... and to do all that to the soft serenade that whispers all around you... you realize that maybe this day is a perfect Maine summer day as well.

A Whisper of Creation

"All creation had a language,

words to say what must be said.

All day long the heavens whispered,

signing words in scarlet red."

-- 'Anthem for Christmas', Michael W. Smith

The cozier, snugg-lier girls camp

 This morning, I had the opportunity to eat breakfast over at Forest Acres, which is the girls' camp in our community.  This camp is a couple of miles down the road back toward Fryeburg, and there are a lot more trees surrounding the main living areas.  This is not to say that Indian Acres doesn't have trees, for it has them in multitudes, but Forest Acres has a cozy, "nestled" feel to it... unless you go down to what FA calls the "lower field", you really do feel more like you are living in... for lack of a better term...a forest.

Although we now make berth at IA each summer, Forest Acres has a special place in my heart...  Allison and I spent our first summer here living in a cabin at FA, and I got to know the staff there well... they are good folks.  And you could not ask for prettier surroundings... it truly is a beautiful camp.

Only half the road
I walked

But back to this morning.. as I was leaving the dining hall, and walking back down the long road to the parking area, I was surrounded by the gauntlet of trees.  It was rather breezy this morning, and the sussurration of the wind in the treetops was an incredibly gorgeous and spine-tingling melody.   Bach, Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, James Taylor, Bob Dylan... none of them has ever written a line of notes that came close to matching that sound on this fine morning.

I was Enya-videoed
the whole way....

And the pine needles!   They were being carried around on the breeze, floating gently past me as I strolled down the lane.  No king or prince of Zamunda has ever had rose petals trailed in front of him that could match the honor done to me this morning by the pine trees of Forest Acres.  It was like walking through an Enya video, although even that cannot do it justice.



On a morning like this... if you listen to the whispers in the trees.. if you read the messages shown by the pine needles as they flit by... and if you feel the hope of another Maine summer day.... it is not so hard to believe that there is a creator, a Master Artist who painted and sculpted this world, and did so in order that we might enjoy this beauty, and know that we are loved.

On the advice of cousins, apocryphal Albert stories, and Maine time to contemplate...

He looks like *he* has
something to say...

I have a confession to make:  I don't write in this blog as often as I should.  It says right there in the title bar, that "like Alfred, I only show up here when I have something to say"... but that is not the whole truth.    That line is based upon a story (which unfortunately I cannot accurately source) in which Albert Einstein was supposedly invited to give the keynote speech at a college commencement ceremony.  After he was introduced, Albert got up, headed to the podium, and stated "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have absolutely nothing to say.  I will return to speak to you when I do."   And he left!  Some time later, he contacted the college and said he had something interesting to say, and so they gathered, and the great physicist returned to share what he had.

I put that line in the title bar as a way of warning the handful of people who might actually stumble across my blog that it would not be updated on a regular basis... given that I don't really try to increase my readership or anything like that, I figured it wasn't much of a loss if I was not "pushing enough content."

And so my writing here comes in spurts.  I have been told that folks enjoy reading my updates from our summers in Maine, so some summers I decided that I am "going to blog about Maine again this year"... last summer I began to do just that, and then I felt like I ran out of ideas for fresh comments on Maine, and the writing dwindled to a stop after a few entries.

Then, just a few days ago, a very dear cousin reached out through a text, bonked me upside the head, and told me (in effect):  "You are too good of a writer.  You should write more, whether in a blog or not."

You know what?  She's right.  Thanks, cuz, for making me think.

The problem is that I'm trying to find a subject about Maine to write about.  What I should be doing is writing... if I happen to be in Maine, then the topics covered might happen to brush up on that.   I should write wherever I am.  Sometimes the writing may make it into this very public (yet dusty and unused) corner of the cortex, and sometimes it may stay hidden safely in my Evernote notebooks.

Maine gives you time to
contemplate the important
things... like your toes.

But my cousin is right... I need to write.

There is one thing about being up here at camp, nestled among the tall pine trees--the pace of life is different.  Even though I work my normal job here, my life is a lot less hectic and "go! go! go!"...  there's no regular TV to serve as a distraction, and there's more time to just think about things.

So, when my cousin prodded me, I was on fertile ground for the idea to take hold, and for a revelation of sorts.









The hurly burly of life will take care of itself, or fade away into non-significance.  Writing feeds my soul, and I shall write.

Time to use these more!

My thanks to the lovely, idyllic and pastoral State O' Maine.   And my thanks to you as well, my lovely and impertinent cousin.