It begins, as it usually does, softly ~ with a slow, deliberate entry. Once we cross the bridge from New Hampshire into Maine, the guard comes down, the shoulders descend, the gradual letting-go begins. After a rainy drive through New York, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, the clouds appear to be parting for a moment, and a brief bit of sun peeks through.
It appears Maine is just a few weeks behind us as far as blooms go, and it’s a perfect bit of timing: the lilacs are resplendent and at their prime. Even a few Poet’s narcissus are in their small-cupped glory. Andy mentions that this is our third flush of spring – first Boston, then Albany, and now Ogunquit. It is an elegantly auspicious beginning to another Memorial Day weekend – the unofficial start of summer.
Like the shoreline itself and sometimes unseen by those who don’t notice such things, Ogunquit varies from year to year – and especially from spring to spring. Winters in Maine can be, and usually are, rather brutal. Bridges get washed out, paths lose their way, and signs get torn down. The way things were left in the fall is rarely the way things remain in the spring.
This year the town seems to be slow to awaken – or at the very least stunted by a tough winter. Construction and renovations are in progress at many sites. We arrive early for the holiday weekend (to avoid the cumbersome traffic), and find a place in flux. But it’s good to see. It means the return of spring. The coming of summer. The signs of hope.
