Welcoming Back the Fog

I am quite certain some robins were just lazy and stayed here all winter. They might have taken a trip or two to Stonington for liquor (Southern Comfort being preferable to migration? Though maybe like true Mainers, they went as far as NH for their booze), but there seemed to be a pretty steady red-breast presence through the winter. So screw them as a sign of spring. Last night and into this morning however, we got a sure sign that winter is losing its grip: fog rolled in.

In my imagination, Maine is more or less always cloaked in fog- but factually, this is not so. Except in June. And much of May and April. And the Fourth of July. Also possible in October and November, and the odd warm day in December. In a rough year, also count in August. And all of the days in July that surround the Fourth. It is a good bet though, that it will not be foggy from January into March.

Which is, I guess, a relief. We may be drifted in with snow, pelted with sleet, and drowned in rain, but we are not dampened by fog.

After a few months you get around to missing it. Or I do. This is probably a vanity thing, because it makes my hair curl. It is also atmospheric...

Beyond reviving tired winter locks and anglophilic romanticism, fog does also denote something else, something rather important in these parts: time to start lobstering. This means that soon volleyball nights will not be as well attended, and they may dwindle to one night a week. The pace of life here will pick up- indeed, town meeting is the day after tomorrow, and that's when all the nearly-year-round residents come back from warmer climes. The school year is on the downhill slide, and everything will just start to pick up speed. The traffic on and off-island will increase; Sunday boats will make a regular appearance; and the Miss Lizzie (she of the slick white benches and sleek tourist-friendly lines) will join the Mink (warm and lived-in like a downeast kitchen) in hauling people, pets, and their attendent stuff back and forth.

I am glad for the sun, and glad for the fog. I am pleased to roam without yax trax, fleece, and parka... But I do sigh over the speed of summer, the loss of intimacy that comes with the population explosion, with the intensity of work, as every local nose goes to the grindstone.

This year I will dutifully try not to wish summer away- I will jump off the dock, fly off the rope swing- dance my feet off as often as possible (they grow back you know- but only if you dance them off). But will I constantly be looking for signs of fall?

It's likely.

Here's hoping I get to stay here long enough for them to make themselves manifest...