Lament for the Maine-less Summer of 2008

Alas, no gas...

With gas prices topping $4+ a gallon during the summer of 2008, my Maine vacation travel plans were scuttled. Like who knows many others, I had to settle for a "staycation" instead of a vacation, deeply disappointed I was unable to camp out on Mt. Desert Island and sail the Maine coast. Nevertheless, there was plenty of delight and contentment to be found in my "wanna-be Maine-like" small backyard, which has become something of a "Downeast" urban oasis, especially in the quiet early morning hours. Early birds announce the day in their variegated ways — from subdued and doleful mourning doves, to the sharp chirpings of a couple of cardinals, and the occasional incredible improvisations of a gaggle of starlings. On some days, when the wind is just right, faint Ivesian church bells Westminster-chimed their way away from some as-yet-unknown Olney area church. An occasional train horn's minor 6th (and sometimes diminished 5th) chords and weighty rumble would remind me from afar of Dad's coming home from work in N.Y.C. on the Pascack Valley Line's 5:55 pm train (one I myself used to ride with him when I worked in Lower Manhattan). [Coming up the huge bank of escalators into the lobby of the World Trade Center's Twin Towers indelibly imprinted in my memory.] Later on, the setting sun's red-orange rays slice their sharded way through the sylvan scene, briefly backlighting the sunflowers' large leaves. Fireflies morse codes lazily along the darkening greenery's edges. May as well be an evening in Maine...

What's in the garden? 3 tomato plants, a small stand of sunflowers, a fledgling blueberry bush (got 7 blueberries from it this year), a nice of day lilies, several hostas, an ivy-covered wall, a large bush, proliferating peppermint plants and a good-sized oak tree -- each variously work their ways upward, outward and/or onward. The extremely sociable Maine Coon cat, JaMaine, waits on the back porch -- which, come to think of it, looks a bit like a dock shed atop 2 pilings. The scene becomes especially delightful when a summer thunderstorm comes through, when you can watch and listen to it through the screen door on the back porch. But alas, Hummer languishes in the basement, and I fear we might never sail the Maine coast again. Hopefully I'll find someone who wants to go sailing on a lake a couple of counties over (many were asked, but there were no takers).

"You hear the call of the sea?"
Indeed, it's hard to ignore.
Lord, teach me how to stay back
when pressed within to explore.