The road.

Growing up as a teenager, I met you and fell in love with you.
You were hard to travel along as your mounds of grey were not always as attractive to walk along compared to the paved road along the shore.
yet, this road had a special quality to it. With its sharp-edged curves and its delicate plants growing out from its earth.
Tires traveled over this road as they meandered over it, crushing the pebbles underneath. And dust was seen flying from below as the dry air spew out its remnants.

This country road announced Pratt's Island and my feet trounced its paths whenever I traveled on one of its forks to the four main destinations that led me into travels of paradise.

One of the forks led me to the South Beach where we first spent our summers. It was along this road that I got the introduction to Maine as a teenager. It was a long road on Pratt's Island totalling about 1/2 mile. I spent time down in the car not knowing if it would be a place we would stay at. My parents were with the realtor checking out a cottage for rent. I remember sitting by the ocean with the big piece of driftwood in front of our Chevy Impala or Citation. And looking out at the shore listening to the roar of the water. Not knowing the adventure at the time or what the Maine adventure would be all about.

When we got there and spent the first summer at the Weber Cottage, mom and I took several walks along the road and I spent time at the South Beach walking along it and seeing the treasures that the tide left behind.

The Island had another fork that took me down to the town dock where we left for many a boat trip and brings back memories of when I went rowing alone and times when we as a family took boat trips along the shore. And at this dock, we had the Pratt's Island General Store with its bowling alley on the side. Out front there were some red gas tanks and the door to the store squeaked whenever it was opened. It was there that my mom and I walked to get some ice cream to eat outside or in the general store. The local yacht club was there also . We saw many a journey of kids learning to sail from our front porch who came from that Southport Yacht Club.

One of the forks was precious in that it led to the location where we spent the following six summers at the Cottage. This road was filled with pine needles on it. And the road was dark with the tall evergreen trees towering over it. Yet, these needles died off of the tree.

A final fork is the fork that led to the road along Cozy Harbor which passed by several artist houses and lobster shacks.
I miss these roads that I walked along. A time when life was much simpler.

But now, the golden silence of that time is gone. And with it came progress of bigger McMansion houses and more people. The calm invitation to Maine is gone for us now that life is more settled now. But pausing in front of a road or just thinking about the forks I traveled brings back good memories of appetites shared and whetted for more adventures back to the state I call my second home.