Dispatch from Castine, ME

Weather in the low 80s, little humidity, and a cool breeze coming from the ocean; these are the reasons why Maine in the summer is about as far removed from southwest Ohio as Neptune. Sure there are seaside lunch stands that want to charge you $10 for some lobster-flavored broth in a paper cup (described on the menu as "stew"). But any savvy Downeast traveler knows which places to avoid, and which beaten paths need to be left behind.

We did have an unfortunate encounter with some folks from the the New York Yacht Club (NYYC). The problem is less with the buff, windswept young crewmates that are hired to service and attend the boat - and one suspects, the wealthy matrons, on occasion. The problem is with the some of the yacht-owners who stand around the village and seem disgusted by the fact that the extra hot latte and perfect cell phone coverage is unattainable in these parts. And yes, there is "nothing" to do by Manhattan standards.

The locals are sometimes heard to dryly remark that they would be awfully pleased if these jaded sophisticates would go back to New York and tell any prospective future visitors exactly how much they disliked the place. And there was talk of hanging a sign on the bell buoy near the harbor entrance with the words "Red Sox Rule" for the benefit of the departing NY boats.

These things are so alien to Ohio. You have a better sense of being a part of the dynamic natural world, where the atmosphere cycles every day instead of hanging low and unchanged. When I was little I lived in New England, and I still have family here. When I am old I hope to return for longer periods of time, and read books, and care increasingly less about the world. I haven't even looked at the news in days - and I hope my readership hasn't evaporated because of the lack of pithy commentary on these pages of late.

(The webpage for Castine, Maine is here. I think the image of unappealing Winter scene on the homepage was a calculated decision by the locals.)