Feast of summer...

Summer is fleeting here in Maine. It arrives late, then before we know it, folds into blazing autumn. We have learned to try to embrace the lovely days, because really, there are not enough of them to squander.

Rachel and I worked today. Chris ran errands, mowed the lawns, and then prepared us a summertime feast. There were his amazing steamed clams, (he has tweaked a recipe he found, and achieved perfection.) Here is how he makes them:
50 small clams, in shell, soaked
2 TBS olive oil
6 cloves of garlic
1 cup white table wine
2 TBS butter
juice of 1/2 lemon
1- 1 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes.

Heat oil over medium  heat. Add garlic, saute for 1 minute, pour in white wine and add lemon and pepper flakes.  Add clams, steam until clams begin to open.  Add butter, cover, and cook until all the clams are open.

Rachel, Evans, Chris and I gathered at the picnic table. The weather was perfect.

Evans is a fan of clams. He appreciates Chris' recipe, as do we all.  Kindly note the tee shirt he has on.  A gift from me. It tickles me that he wears it. (It reads: I never dreamed I'd grow up to be a perfect freaking husband, but here I am, killing it.)

Next we had very fresh, local, corn.  There is nothing better.  Chris bought it from the farm stand, still warm from the field. The corn season is brief, and really fresh corn is better than almost anything. We have it every chance we get. I love it grilled, Chris loves it boiled. Either way, it embodies the flavor of the season.

And then, lobsters. This time of year they have soft shells, because they have recently molted. The shells are easy to crack, the meat tender and sweet. We dunk it in warm butter, then slurp it up. The meal is drippy and divine. We don't care because we are outside, wearing old clothes and the mess will be a breeze to clean up.

The setting sun slants its beams luxuriantly across the emerald trees and pasture. The dogs loll at our feet. Our old picnic table is laden with food. Music plays. Over butter and broth, shells and bread and sweet corn, memories are shared, jokes told, and laughter lifts and floats, mingling with bird song and the comforting murmurings of the livestock.

 We linger once the meal is done, savoring the last light. The animals, all fed and happy, head to their beds. Bats flit in the dusky sky, and biting insects drive us towards the house. We gather up the tray with the supper spoils and head inside, full and happy, glad to have shared a feast. We will remember evenings like this when blizzards rock the house, and be glad.