It’s not the Friday trip south on Route 1 where you mentally tick off the number of out-of-state plates in the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the opposite lane…..although that has its satisfactions.

It’s not getting closed out of Popham Beach parking, swinging around to Spinney’s and coming back just as a space has opened up, allowing you to trudge to the beach and search for enough room to throw down a towel in the crowded narrow strip that is the beach at high tide…. although the blue ocean, the sight of waves, and the intensity of the children running back and forth, emptying the ocean to fill up their hole in the sand, all make it worth while.

It’s not the swarms of mosquitoes or black flies that descend as you’re trying to squeeze in that last bit of gardening before nightfall.

No, it’s the aaaaahhhh of the first day wearing a T-shirt, the sense of release as you let go of the zipped up, buttoned down, swaddled, smothered self that tenses and holds itself tight to face the cold head on.

And, of course, as you get beat down by the heat and tired of relaxing so much, it’s the sweet anticipation of crisp fall and white winter!