Running with the Gulls (and other Maine attractions)

We left the Adirondacks, counting farms for the whole of Highway 12. When the turnpike forced me to choose a direction and an EZ Pass lane, I signaled east, then north toward "All Maine Points". Wave after wave hit me, and this all before we even smelled the salt of the Atlantic. How is it that we could travel further and further from home, only to feel it so much closer?

I should have warned my Facebook friends that I'd turn into an over-poster this week. It's just that everything feels newsworthy, monumental, amazing.

Our very first morning back in Maine, the sun sat up at before 5 a.m., not a cloud or curtain around to hide it. I rubbed my eyes, wondered why I still felt so tired. Until I looked at my watch and wondered no more. I threw covers over the kids' heads, shushed the sea gulls and implored the kids to sleep a bit more.

But by 7:30, there was no chance we'd be anything but wide awake, so we grabbed sweatshirts and headed north to chase the tide to the furthest edge of the sandbar. Only our first morning, and the moon had quite literally aligned to give me an encore of my favorite Maine memory.

 The kids picked up jagged shells and deemed them treasures.  They played tag with the sea gulls, and deemed themselves winners (though they were "It" for the duration of the game).

I promised them when we moved away last summer. I promised them we'd go back.

And here we are, smelling like saltwater and sunscreen. Here we are, planning dinner around ice cream. Here we are. And keeping a promise never felt so sweet.

We're back.