I love summers in Maine, because of the past, the present, and the future.

The past is all the memories. I grew up in a mid-coast town, and remember one June, on Warren Island, with surf slapping the shore, eating boiled periwinkles and raw sea urchins. I wouldn’t recommend the latter. During college breaks I lived near campus, in Gorham, and recall many barbeques and sunsets with the greatest of friends. Then, living in Portland, my wife and I fondly reminisce about post-dinner walks, out our Park Street apartment, and down through the Old Port on its brick sidewalks. We wore t-shirts and sandals, watched people, breathed the salt water air, and held hands. I would recommend the latter.

The present is this moment, my typing this essay, in Central Maine, on a July eve, with the kids freshly asleep and living room windows opened wide. A slight breeze drifts through the room; birds chirp in the distance; darkness begins to set. There’s the “click click” from my keyboard as these words appear. That soft, summer breeze brushes me, wakes me, and brings me to the Now . . . . . . where was I?

Oh yes - the future. Living in Maine began by chance and continued by choice. I expect the summers in my next phase of life will be as good as the past. I like thinking ahead, to days on the shore, my kids looking for crabs, and seaweed under our feet. I like the thought of taking them to swim in Maine’s many lakes, climb its many mountains, and canoe its many rivers. I love the idea of them, one day, thinking back with fondness as well, on summers in Maine.