Our last day in Maine was a perfectly leisurely one: We slept in, padded downstairs to blueberry pancakes (the blueberries having been picked straight from Evelyn’s property) and a giant pile of crispy bacon, which the four of us had shockingly little trouble polishing off.
The rest of the day was spent packing our things, visiting a few thrift shops (Jesse found an electric air organ with little retro star designs on its sides and I found an old carbide miner’s cap lamp—in Maine, of all places!).
We lazed around the backyard, sprawling over wooden chairs and looking at this:
Can you imagine? Can you imagine every day seeing this from your backyard?
That evening, we had an epic lobster dinner with baked potatoes and corn and salad with homemade creamy honey mustard dressing. Homemade lemonade in a big pale green Ball jar. Jesse and Dad opted for burgers and scallops, while Evelyn and I ripped our way through two bright-red lobsters from Tracey’s up the road.
I’d never had a whole lobster before, and it was a little fun and a little disturbing, the tearing off of legs, the twisting-ripping off of the head. Juice splattered everywhere. Butter dripped off the tips of my fingers. And, oh, the texture, the taste! Creamy, rich, silky, strong. Worth the effort.
We cleaned up and played Rummikub until it was past our bedtime, the night just outside the windows a deep, deep black.
And what a finish, what a day to end our time in Maine, watching seagulls congregate at the cove, finding treasures, relaxing in the shade and cool air, eating fresh lobster that had, of late, been swimming around the cold Maine waters, playing a game I grew up playing, staying up too late because we had to play just one more round.