"The snow is gone and it's not coming back," a baker at the farmers market told me recently. Impressed by his beard and suspenders, I took his word as gospel. The rivers are humming with water from a mild winter's snow. Dead set on maximizing their lawns, Mainers are raking up gravel and sand deposited by the county's army of plows.
I live in a shanty in a shanty town.
Signs warning of thin ice pepper the edges of lakes as open water slowly gains confidence around the perimeter and then spreads towards the center like kids at a middle school dance.
Tucker reading out on the ice on one of the last days of winter.
For Sale by Owner.
As you read this I will be in Nicaragua, playing in 85 degree water like a seven year old at Chuck E. Cheese.
Protecting a Mainer's back yard, these ice shanties won't see redeployment for another nine months.
Things weather fast here.