The Lake

Thoughts on a special place as we enter tourist season in Maine

A few evenings ago my husband and daughter and I made the short drive to Maine’s best known retail palace, L.L. Bean. We needed a few things for an upcoming trip so, like most locals, we picked a time when things would be quiet, when we could park within an easy walk, and not encounter the crowds that gather in flocks during the daytime. “In and out” is our mantra when we venture to Freeport.

On our way in we saw a family trying to snap a selfie with the giant replica Bean Boot in the background. My husband stopped and offered to take a photo for them while my daughter and I waited nearby. They thanked us and asked if they could return the favor and snap a photo for us. But we all just laughed and said, “No thanks, we live here.”

One of the women in the group replied, “We thought you must be locals. You look so relaxed.”

We laughed about that afterward. It was a compliment, too be sure, and we took it that way. But I’m not sure I believe we, or other Maine residents, are really any more relaxed than our neighbors from other states. We have all the same stresses of work and family, the same constraints on our time. We are a fairly unflappable breed, though, so perhaps that’s what they were picking up on.

We chatted with them a bit longer, asking where they were visiting from. They hailed from Florida, the Jacksonville area. They were lovely people, excited to visit Maine, jazzed to see L.L. Bean in person. Before we parted ways they told us how very nice everyone in Maine seemed, how friendly and welcoming. And I thought, but did not say, “Well, it’s early yet.”

We see a lot of tourists here. That’s not a bad thing. We’re grateful for the revenue and I suspect like most people who have the privilege of living in a beautiful place that others want to visit, we are grateful to these seasonal visitors for seeing what we love and valuing it.

But there comes a time in every tourist season, after weeks and months of struggling to park and encountering crowds as we simply go about our daily lives, that patience can wear thin. For me it’s often that day when all the passengers from a monstrous cruise ship decide to cross against the light en masse, shutting down a busy intersection while they meander and gawp in their matching t-shirts, seemingly unaware of all the people simply trying to get back to work after a lunch break, or arrive on time for an appointment. I’m happy our friends from L.L. Bean were here early while everybody is still happy to see them.

Most of us who live here have places we escape to so we can avoid the crowds. Our gardens, a secluded mountain trail, a secret beach, or a pond too small to draw tourists. I grew up spending the month of July on a small lake not far from my parents home, close enough so we could return to water the garden during dry stretches. My parents were both teachers, so while there wasn’t a lot of money for big vacations, there was plenty of time to enjoy the summer. We rented a run-down cabin on a little lake and did little more than swim, paddle, and fish for a month, during which time I forgot what it felt like to wear shoes.

Here’s a poem about that lake, written during NaPoWriMo. The prompt was to write a platonic love poem including at least three memories. I haven’t done much of any editing to it, so it may change in the future. But right now it’s just a snapshot of one of the places that make me feel lucky to live here. Wishing folks in the U.S. a happy Memorial Day Weekend, the official kick-off of the summer tourist season here in Maine. May you have safe travels if you’re venturing out and only the most well-mannered tourists if you stay at home.

---

The Lake

Ringed with pines, 
echoing with loons, 
dotted with islands,
you are the place
my heart goes when
it needs to float

I learned to swim
in your waters,
my mother saying
the water wants 
to hold you up, you
just have to let it

I know now she meant 
all water, but as a child
I believed it was you 
who wanted to hold 
me up. I never felt so
buoyant in another lake

I would sit with
binoculars peering 
across your width at 
the houses across 
the way, finer, better 
than our shabby rental
But perched high 
on a rise as they were, 
stairs winding down
to your water, I could 
never have run from
their doors, my feet 
pounding pine needles, 
and leapt from 
the end of of the dock
as I did every day on
your western side

I have bathed in your
waters in every decade
of my life and you are
always the same to me
Your cold water always 
a cure for what I didn’t
even know was wrong
I stretch out on my back,
floating near your surface,
and gaze up at the pines,
rising like the ribs and arches
of a cathedral, sunlight
filtering down green and gold

Like a great aunt 
or a former teacher,
I brought my children 
to meet you so they, too,
could learn that the water 
wants to hold you up, 
you just have to let it

Thank you all for reading!