"Man about Wiscasset" is how the newspaper headlines this journal by a “summah person from away.” Which I am, with my wife, Donna, and our two-year old herding dog, Luc.

We were 'about' Saturday evening, attending a reception for an exhibition at the Maine Art Gallery. And if you need any proof that we have been starved for community, it was all there ... on the lawn, on the sidewalk and on both floors of the gallery. Must have been a hundred people ... in Wiscasset!... mask-less ... noshing and sipping ... laughing, appreciating art and each other. 

The works, from a dozen artists, were remarkable, varied, and provocative. From a sculpture made of shovels to striking Rembrandt-inspired portraits by photographer Felice Boucher to Colombian rock art by Jorge Pena, we saw a rainbow of talent. And of course, friends we hadn't seen for at least 14 months.

The night before, we had dinner in Edgecomb, across the river, at Water's Edge. (Gotta be out and about, the newspaper says.)

While we are in a small town in a small state, we have some of the same challenges of bigger places, like back in Hilton Head. Here and there, tourism is an important part of the economy. And in this post-COVID time, every business has a Help Wanted sign. Now, here's something we perhaps did not expect. We can understand and sympathize with business owners trying to find those people. But, we the customers, are going to have to pitch in, too. Don't expect too much from your waitpersons this summer. We've learned to be patient and kind in the time of Corona ... can't stop now. Our dinner server, taking an order for what was the evening's special was unable to spell the word “filet.” And when we inquired about bread, he said "Well, you have to ask for it." The menu, by the way, doesn't include that advice. So we were not surprised when our server also said, "No one's ever asked for it."

We're off to church now, sure to meet and greet even more people we haven't seen for a year. Then Donna's prepared lunch for our dearest neighbor friends. We will play some cornhole, and then eat on the back porch under a blue sky, mid 70 degrees.

Maine. The way life should be. We are so damn lucky.