an island beach in maine
The road to Maine started in Atlanta, with my sister Kassandra and her husband Sean’s garden spilling over the fence, as the spinach grew thickly near the peppers and watermelons behind their new house.
I drove down to Atlanta after Annie and Andrew’s wedding, and then back up to New York the following day, pulling off the road for this eatery’s encouraging sign:
And then it was off to Maine, and to an island, passing the Coast Guard,
as well as bobbing boats in the harbor as I chatted with Keryn about ferries in the afternoon sun.
Keryn’s friends keep chickens, they couldn’t say exactly how many,
near beautiful male goats that perk up their ears in unison and wander toward you, bells swinging.
On Saturday afternoon, we gathered with their friends on an island beach,
and I learned how to pour coals into the rocks and set the grill cover over, and patiently wait.
As usual, it’s the guys hanging around the grill.
More friends joined us as the sun began to drop…
and there were crazy discoveries to be made in tidal pools (“Look, Mom!”)
and friendships renewed.
My friend Keryn sat serenely as the children ran about, with her usual calm that belies spontaneous dance moves that occur with some regularity while in her orbit.
I had a hard time leaving the beach, watching as we heaped the grill with seaweed, and looking back over my shoulder again at the sunset on the quiet beach.
At the farm Keryn’s friends caretake for, the sunflowers are at their height,
the garlic is drying,
and they sent us back with piles of springy rainbow chard, cucumbers, and tomatoes,
that made beautiful cucumber sandwiches and colorful couscous across the water, back on the Maine mainland, this dreamy area of the country I love to visit…