Columns

The phone call itself was not surprising. My aunt and uncle had retired to Maine and built a home on Orr's Island in the mid-1980s. They had not had children together, so we were effectively their only family. Being invited for a visit was not, in itself, unexpected. We gladly accepted. What we did not know at the time was that there was an ulterior motive.

I remember when summer started in May. The giant, sliding classroom windows were open, and even without a hint of breeze, the hallways got a fresh-mown grass smell. The sun warmed stacks of paper on metal sills, the edges of a year's worth of essays and test scores browning in the bright sun. Dust danced in the light while my teacher droned on about the history of the kings and queens of France.

Halfway through the summer already and I'm still trying to catch up to the calendar. It's not a fair race. I think the calendar got a good six-week head start.

June in the library was busy with our 66th birthday and volunteer celebration on the 27th. Our board worked hard on this event that honored our volunteers.

Sometimes themes or topics emerge when you aren't looking for them — and yet, they are oddly perfect for the moment. I credit this month's topic to my mother, who, like me, is a lover of poetry.

One of the cliches of our world is the "helicopter parent" who tries to protect their child from any possible harm or disappointment. We have heard stories of mothers sterilizing baby nurseries to get rid of "germs" and fathers freaking out when their toddler eats dirt. It turns out that we should all go outdoors and get muddy.

Like yours, there is ample room in my head for inflation of my ego. And the quickest way to get a firm and plump ego — just at the tipping point of bursting — is to be labeled a prodigy.

Over the years, I have seen a great many animals near our island summer home in Harpswell: cormorants, gulls, owls, hummingbirds, ospreys, red squirrels, wild turkeys, eagles, crows, terns, occasional woodpeckers, seals, fisher cats, deer (who are surprisingly good swimmers) and voles (who destroy the garden with relish). All of them are part of the local ecosystem. We habitate together. They go about their daily routines, and I go about mine.

This year, the Harpswell Anchor turned 5, my parents will celebrate their 62nd wedding anniversary, and our country will turn 250 years old!