Oh, Rockport, Maine. You are the most perfect place in the world to me.
Being up here right now is bittersweet; for the past twenty-three years, coming up here at this time of year has meant knowing I'll be living in this beautiful, deeply loved town for at least three months straight. My mom and I would stay here for the whole summer, and my dad commuted up from Boston on weekends. In this place I have taught sailing, swum in Lake Megunticook, built fairy houses, gone to the farmer's market every Saturday, drunk beer on islands with friends, jerry-rigged slingshots, driven motorboats around in the fog, pretended to be a pirate, taken pictures of beautiful sailboats, raced along rocky shores, crushed mussel shells at Lincolnville Beach, and been surrounded by my dearly, dearly loved extended family, all of whom live on the same hill overlooking Rockport Harbor. The wildest, silliest, and happiest times of my life have occurred in this place (more after the jump).
But this year, I will not be spending seemingly endless weeks here. I have accepted a job at a young company in Cambridge and I start on Monday. The company is at the leading edge of its field, and the people who work there seem smart, motivated, kind, and totally goofy and fun. I can't wait to join the team and work with them. I also signed the lease on an apartment in Porter Square with one of my best friends, and we move in September 1st. I'm so looking forward to decorating our lovely little attic, to cook dinners, and to live in Cambridge. It's all exciting and thrilling, but the changes make me a bit anxious.
And while I'm having kind of a tough time thinking about not being in Maine all summer for the first time in my life, I needn't get too cosmic; I'm hoping to spend my weekends here, commuting back and forth with my dad. However, being here now, and knowing that I will have to leave during the weeks, has me unable to stop thinking about past summers. So much happened to me here. And I hope so much more will, too.
I was in Harvard Square the other day, and I walked by a table with books for sale. A box sat on the table labeled "honor system," and most book had stickers on them proclaiming them five or ten dollars. Sarah Orne Jewett's Country of the Pointed Firs' sticker, however, said "free." I picked up the thin paperback and put it into my purse.
The book is a novella about a seaside town in Maine and a writer who goes there to spend a summer. Here is the first page and a half, from which I wrote out the words above:
A life-long affair indeed.
