Hay, pizza and beach day...

 Although it is high summer here in Maine, we need to plan for the long, cold months ahead. Our firewood has been delivered, and we made space for hay, which began to arrive Friday. 

The garage now smells like summer condensed, and the cats are happy to have bales piled high for climbing on. 

It is a comfort to know that my goats will have plenty of food during the winter ahead. Every year I see people on the internet begging to know where they can get some hay for their livestock once the leaves fall and cold winds begin to blow. I feel sorry for them and for their livestock, but I also feel slightly smug to know that I have hay to the rafters because I planned ahead. 

On Friday, a friend sent me a message about a food truck in Belfast that has especially good pizza. I texted Chris and asked, "Want to take me to dinner here?" He said, "Sure." 

The view was unmatched, and the pizza, cooked in a funky old bus, was sublime. We had salmon with pesto—perfection. 

Today, we planned to take the grands to the beach. The Owlet has enjoyed the beach before, but the Cygnet has never been dunked into the Atlantic. We went to Birch Point State Park, a small beach well off the beaten path. The Owlet explored a warm tide pool, dug for "treasure" with her little shovel, threw rocks in the water, and then waded out to find them and throw them again. And again. We showed her how to make a dribbledly sand castle, and some bigger kids introduced her to several crabs they had captured before they set them free. There was stomping and dancing and splashing and joy.

A seven-year-old girl introduced herself to us, "I am Austin. Not like Texas, like Jane Austin the writer." She did cartwheels at the water's edge and told me she lived in California, where it hardly ever rains and is like heaven.  She hung out with us, chatting. Later, she said, "Your legs are cool." Her little hand splayed out against my thigh. "I don't mean cool like in temperature; I mean, they look cool." I looked down at my 64-year-old legs, lumpy, pale, I looked at her legs, tan, slim, unblemished. "Is it because you are old?" she asked. "Yes," I told her. When people get older, their skin changes. My legs used to look like yours." She patted me again, "I like them. It's nice you have legs like that." 

The Cygnet was dipped like a tea bag into the sea. At first, she was not amused, but then she began to kick and laugh. Rachel brought her a little floaty with a cover, and she loved it as we towed her through the sea. 

The weather was perfect, the water was lovely, the kids were a delight, and my thighs were cool.  So far, this weekend has been a win. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.