I went to Maine and all I can talk about are hot dogs and chicken and dumplings. What’s wrong with this picture?
Lobster, Lindsay. You forgot the lobster.
I didn’t forget the lobster. This is lobster’s year–a warm, early spring caused quite the lobsterpalooza on the Maine coast this summer. The glut was great for tourists and seafood shacks but less so for the lobstermen trying to make a living off the lowest prices in decades. We did the best we could to help; a shack’s sign along the highway announced that their lobsters were “cheaper’n hot dogs!” and we took full advantage.
I have been rising early enough to be able to tell that fall is beginning to wheedle its way in. Our chilly mornings have some bite to them, and I think hopefully, maybe today I can wear my sweater. Today? But I shed the sweater by 11 am and switch to a tank top by 2.
Napa Valley’s summers are persistent, and at times I love the dusty depth of the early fall heat. There’s no chance I’ll get confused, though. I know my summer is over because I’ve had my Brunswick hot dog.
Empty Cottage. Photo: Luke Myers
It has crossed my mind that I may be too selfish to write about the Maine coast in August. I don’t want to reveal my secret hideaway.
Sunset. Photo: Luke Myers
I could warn you that the mosquitos are fierce this year, high-pitched specks of pure evil, and that the humidity is akin to being licked by an enormous, overheated St. Bernard. There are deer flies and sharp barnacles, and they say that somewhere out there a lost shark is roaming around the harbors looking for lunch. Continue reading