Here, one boat sets out onto Sebago Lake in late April, while another is towed onto a trailer, surely to return another day.
But there's little blue at the same spot in late November. The dock is out of the water, not a boat in sight; all the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray. (I'm dreaming of summer in Maine - not California.) And before long, the ice fishing shacks will appear where all those boats once sailed.
On this hot July afternoon, I stopped on White's Bridge in Windham. To the north, most of the summer camps are hidden by trees, and are spaced rather far apart.
But to the south of the bridge, the camps are as close together as houses in the city.
That doesn't matter a bit - these little camps have a back yard that can't be topped!
Some camps, hidden in the woods, are actually a bit primitive; simple one-room-and-a-bath affairs, but again -what a view. Even my 60-year-old ranch seems like a palace, compared with the sparse living of the older summer getaways. But at home, I'm packed in between houses, streets, driveways, and one-car garage sized back yard. I'd live in a tent to have this view.
It takes more than a teaspoon full of brains to guide a boat under White's Bridge ...
...but at least one person took time to smile and wave for the camera.