We picked Maine for our vacation--because the weather is far better than San Francisco in the summer; because we had the possibility of staying at a cottage on the shores of a large pond; because I have friends in Maine and another friend in Boston, whom I hadn't seen for about six years; because we just wanted to get away.
Maine definitely feels like "away" for a San Francisco resident. The long, narrow country roads, the countless lakes and ponds, the sultry summer days, the sudden thunderstorms, the call of the loons, the modest white Cape houses. I can imagine that it feels even more "away" in the winter; we don't plan on visiting in the winter, however.
Perhaps my most vivid memory of Maine will be, strangely enough, the cemeteries. They seem to spring up on every back road--while driving, you suddenly spot a few tombstones sprinkled in among the greenery; sometimes a handful, sometimes a hundred or so. Usually no more than a hundred. The interred seem to have died in the 19th century, for the most part--a testimony to the harsh winters, perhaps? Or just to the "away"-ness of the place? To people living in such isolated conditions that they created new cemeteries wherever they happened to live?
Whatever the explanation, it provides one with a daily reminder of how short our tenure is on this planet, even in the best of circumstances. We're all going away eventually, to state the obvious. Perhaps heaven is a place like Maine...and that wouldn't be so bad.
No comments:
Post a Comment