The Rain in Maine

It has been sunny every third day of my visit to the coastal splendor of Maine. When the sun shines, the blue sky reflects on the water, turning it into a deep sapphire jewel. Mountains run headlong into the sea and waves pound and pulse with a jagged rhythm mile after rocky mile. It’s easy to be swept away by the vigorous landscape on a sunny day.

When the rains and fog take their turn, thoughts turn to long yellow slickers and a cup of tea by a potbelly stove. The reason the residents call themselves Maineiacs? It takes a hardy breed to survive the gray days. Last year in June it rained twenty seven days. When it rains, it’s a great day for an LL Bean outlet trip, where plenty of slickers, rain hats, and fleece pullovers are available to round out a southerner’s wardrobe.

On gray days, the lighthouses work overtime guiding the lobster boats safely to harbor. A lobster fisherman may run five hundred traps marked by distinctly painted buoys and check them every other day. On peninsula back-roads, every house has traps stacked in the yard. So many people depend on the fertility of a crustacean....not an easy life, and one that is threatened by a proposed ban on lobster trapping for five years.

The rain doesn’t seem to affect the attitude of the RV park operators. They attract seasonal volunteers who are so happy to be here that they can’t wait to hand out advice on attractions no one should miss. The farther out the peninsula the campground, the funkier. Near Bass Harbor, the campground coffee pot is ready at 7 am, and the summer resident retirees aka volunteers aka workmen show up to discuss the myriad of projects going on. There’s an addition to the office under way, and it looks like the insulation on the side of the building has been exposed during several rainstorms. There’s talk of a new water heater. The desk clerk is getting a lesson on closing up, which involves putting a board across the front door in lieu of locking it.

Another work camper attempts to rewire the internet connection; he’s trying to thread eight tiny wires into a plug. Should he succeed, I’ll post this blog. Then I’ll have another cup of hot coffee before putting on my new LL Bean slicker and walking out to the lighthouse, where I will think about the family living in the lighthouse and the families of the men in the lobster boats. I wish for them the bluest of skies.