Quietly hidden among the other three mischievous seasons, summer always emerged unexpectedly after July 4th wearing a “Perry’s Nut House” T-shirt and Bean boots and drinking syrupy Moxie from an eccentric orange can. Summer would snatch me from winter’s cold fingers and lead me on a journey through strange-sounding lands – Downeast and Acadia, Moosehead and Aroostook, Mattawamkeag and Piscataquis. Bigger than all of his New England cousins combined, the Maine summer treated me to his best buddies’ cookin’ – Flo’s Dogs, Red’s lobster rolls, and Moody’s blueberry pie before whisking me off to ride Funtown USA’s bumper cars or cruise the pier in Old Orchard Beach.

Morning fishing holes morphed into afternoon swimming holes, wild rivers flowed into placid lakes and rocky ocean coastlines, drives up Cadillac Mountain on lazy days led to hikes up Mount Katahdin on active weekends. All evenings were topped off with ice cream and fireflies. In August, as quickly as it began, summer retreated to autumn and the memories faded – until now! Mindful of the “the way life should be”, my wife (from “down South”) and I rented a Budget truck (as any frugal Mainer would) and moved to Portland for many summers of good local brews, food and people.