Summer Rhythms

In Maine, the weather forecast is less a prediction than a suggestion. And rules the way our days go. If I thought I'd get mowing done on Wednesday, heavy clouds say, "Think again, dear." That unpredictability is truly our salvation, and we uncannily adapt on cue.

Maine teaches you to seize windows. You don't want to waste a beautiful afternoon because tomorrow may be pouring rain. I've stopped trying to dominate my day and instead learned to tap dance with it.

That's why I choose summer rhythms rather than rituals. Rituals imply predictability. A routine. We don't get that luxury here. The only thing I can count on is that things will probably change seven times before sundown.

So I keep a few things in mind (a running list) for when I'm weather thwarted. Sometimes it's an excuse to take a nap. Other times it's an opportunity to pivot indoors. Or into the barn... or garage.

The other day, we were bush hogging and mowing when the wind suddenly kicked up. Within seconds, a squall rolled in. We hurriedly parked the tractor and zero-turn, ducked into the garage, and spent the next hour assembling the new rockers that had just arrived. We casually deciphered diagrams while the rain came down in buckets. By the time it blew over, my old porch rockers had a couple new buddies.

Other rainy days become kitchen days. I'll make a big pasta salad or a green salad that'll last us a couple of meals. Sometimes I'll lemon oil the furniture or floors, clean the stair risers, or reorganize the mudroom before it looks more like an extension of the barn than the house. And if the farmhouse is mostly managed, I'll head over to the cottage where I can easily kill an entire afternoon.

With my brain, the lists don't really get shorter — just repeatedly rearranged. I've got a serious addiction to tallying new ideas. My Honey on the end of the Honey-Do list is close to staging a Pinterest intervention. So I make the lists. I just don't get too attached to the order they're in.

Somewhere between the paint sprayer, the seventy minute squall, and the pasta salad, I've learned that productivity isn't sticking to the plan. It's basically knowing where to stick it!

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