Pretty hard to give up Maine sunrises, sunsets and all that happens in between those ends of each day.
Any season, reason you are lucky enough to be up here in the right hand corner. The cozy feeling of snug as a bug, warm as toast inside.Backed up, parked next to a wood stove warming your bones. As your own hand split maple, beech, birch and some cedar kindling crackle, spit, sputter. Do their thing. While winter snow piles up outside. And you deviously, creatively scheme about what you are going to be doing later on. The many options outdoors. To carve up, slice, dice, rearrange that new powder.
The eye candy of Maine is undeniably addictive.
I test positive. Guilty as charged. Both hands raised high in the air. So are you for not being able to quit, avoid her natural charms. To cover your eyes, look away as the beat goes on inside. As Sonny when he and Cher still held hands, appeared on stage together sang. Hands still up, take me to your leader surrender happens. When one by one your senses are taken prisoner in a good way. And you just stop resisting.
But the sights, the pretty landscapes, waterways, quaint small Maine towns are only part of the tractor beam pull. To keep you from staying away for long. The sound of Maine water is not to be taken for granted. Just so’s you know. In the role it plays in calming your insides. Taming your thoughts, capturing your mood. Lifting it skyward.
How do you like, take your Maine water?
Delivered straight up in eye of the needle, weaving? Bobbing to and fro. To avoid being splashed, dashed on the rocks kind? Threading down a section of high speed Maine river rapids water modified high output CFM dam sluice? Strapped in, holding on to a paddle in a large rubber boat, two in a canoe or just you in a tiny single kayak? With noisy, rushing, gushing, very verbal water making it hard to talk.
Taking control of your every thought. Until the eddy out for conversation with other survivors. Some dirty rice, grilled, blackened chicken, beef or fish, chunky Maine potato salad. Maine adventures and outdoor fresh air cooking make you hungrier, savor the food all the more right?
Or is the sound of Maine water gently lapping the shores in front of a lake camp more your speed, liking? With Maine loons the background singers. Adding minor chord harmonies, solos. Ear spice, seasoning to your unforgettable experience in Maine.
Or do you like the sound of your water when it whistles loudest? Sitting atop a wood cook stove in a tea kettle signalling time out. Reach for a handful of home made cookies, pour some steaming tea. Plop down into your favorite kitchen or porch rocker. To sip, chat, reflect on how lucky you are to be in Maine. Part of a family, community, the four seasons of Vacationland. It’s all about the senses for the deep down inside where your soul lives take away of Maine.
The Maine sound channel.
Turn it up. Close those peepers. Feel the transport, energize, materialize as no matter where you really are you are heading to Maine.The eyes have it easiest. But never let the sounds of Maine, other senses take a back seat. Give them credit where it is due. For their part. Remember the many sounds of Maine. From thick pea soup Maine small town harbor fog horns, sea gulls flapping, yacking overhead. Or navigation buoy bells clanking the louder the closer you get. As they appear briefly, then disappear into the salty smelling fragrant damp sea mist.
Or fan hoops, hollering, on your feet excitement in the stands. Along the sidelines in a crowded gym or arena, ball field. As your small town Maine sports team wins a close come from behind game to score a state title. Maybe it’s the sounds of old familiar hymns in a very small country church as your hand is taken, shaken and smiles signal they are glad you are here where you belong. Together under the tall steeple to worship, humbly give thanks, to count our many blessings one by one. To see what you know who has done.
The creak of rusty barn door hinges opening after listening to the crunch of snow crystals under foot.
As you head to a Maine farm barn in the early hours before most are up and at ’em. To throw down bales of stored, compressed square bales. Hay mow feed of timothy, clover, grasses secured by twine making a gentle, muffled thud on the stable floor below.
Armed, to distribute a few flakes to those four legged friends in the standing and box stalls. Who whinny, snort, neigh and nudge you. As each is some kind of glad to see you. And the grain can, watering hose you steer into their manger private cafeteria. Greeting each, rubbing their large powerful necks, scratching behind an ear. As you pay a daily visit to each old friend until spring pasture turn out arrives. Once the mending, post straightening to fencing is done. Scratched off your long, growing to do farm chore list.
Sounds of Maine can be summer evening crickets, croaking frogs not named Bud. Song birds of all colors, sizes, types around a feeder you keep filled to the brim with sunflower seeds.
Kids laughing, pedaling bikes, walking by talking. On the way to the open Maine dairy bar window. To reach for a twisted sweet treat being handed to them. The gentle wind in the pine groves. Or faster moving ones out of the Northeast in gale force fashion. Making that second floor window kazoo sound as it forces its way inside. To remind in case you had forgotten who is boss. Bigger than you or me.
All happening in your life, what you are missing, that’s now showing, playing outside on the Maine weather channel. As the wind picks up speed during a winter snow storm. Or the fast approaching down pour of rain is about to open up in buckets. Thunder crashes, lightning zig zags. Signals what is to come ready or not. Did you roll up the car windows? Put down the ones at home or not thoughts enter your mind a little late.
Sounds of Maine along with the other senses God gave you to enjoy are here to tap into when you make the time. Clear that schedule. Grab your coat, the car or SUV keys. Leave a note for loved ones. When you realize you need to unplug, recharge, get to Maine.