Labor Day is behind us, and, folks, we’re into one of the nicest months of the year here in Maine. September’s full of clear sunny days free of humidity, followed by those crisp nights, just perfect for snoozing. All of a sudden, the tourists have transformed from exasperated parents with their cranky, little sunburned kids, to retired couples, kickin’ back and livin’ the dream. And you can actually get a parkin’ spot on Main Street!
Me, I always get that back-to-business shot of energy ingrained no doubt from years of school. Years of September representin’ new outfits, new notebooks and a new teacher and schedule. No more lazin’ around all day, playing with my friends.
Do you remember what that was like? I was reminded a couple weeks ago, just before Labor Day actually, when I was out ridin’ my bike one morning. Yes, I’m still hanging in there with Marge.
(Me and my yard sale bike are on a first name basis, now. We have long conversations, which, I admit, turn a little testy when I’m pedaling uphill.) I don’t know if I’ve improved all that much, but I’m hanging in there. It’s kind of fun, really. I even got some streamers for my handle bars.
So this particular day, I’m pedaling along when I see these two young girls up ahead, maybe nine or ten years old. They’ve got their helmets on (good), but they’re riding their bikes on the wrong side of the road, my side (not good). They get off their bikes, and one of them puts her hands on the ground. What is she doin’, I’m thinking? I slow down as I pass, and see that she’s protecting a caterpillar, one of those fuzzy ones, orange and black.
That picture just kind of stuck in my head, and every time I think of it, I remember what it was like to be that little girl. Not that we wore bike helmets back then, but what it was like to be concerned about the welfare of a lowly caterpillar. Like that was the most important thing in the world.
That’s right up there with catchin’ fireflies in a jar. Or bringing home tadpoles, thinking I could keep ‘em alive long enough to watch them grow into frogs. Or starin’ in wonder at a spider’s web, instead of vacuuming it up without thinking about Charlotte and Wilbur, or how hard I cried when Charlotte died.
By now those little girls are trudgin’ back and forth to school, their backpacks so loaded down with stuff they look like turtles. And I’m planting mums in my flower boxes, closing the windows at night and puttin’ on a sweater before taking Scamp out for his morning constitutional.
Still, as I ride by that spot where I saw those little girls, I remember what it was like growin’ up here in Mahoosuc Mills. I stubbornly pedal up the last big hill, and let out a “whoop” as we coast down the other side, me and Marge cutting quite a figure, with streamers flyin’ and my finger not far from my “get the hell out of my way ‘cause I’m not sure I can stop this thing” bell. And I’m thinking of Charlotte and her web, and how “terrific,” “radiant” and “humble” I feel on this beautiful September day in Maine.
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Me, I always get that back-to-business shot of energy ingrained no doubt from years of school. Years of September representin’ new outfits, new notebooks and a new teacher and schedule. No more lazin’ around all day, playing with my friends.
Do you remember what that was like? I was reminded a couple weeks ago, just before Labor Day actually, when I was out ridin’ my bike one morning. Yes, I’m still hanging in there with Marge.
Ida, 5 years old
So this particular day, I’m pedaling along when I see these two young girls up ahead, maybe nine or ten years old. They’ve got their helmets on (good), but they’re riding their bikes on the wrong side of the road, my side (not good). They get off their bikes, and one of them puts her hands on the ground. What is she doin’, I’m thinking? I slow down as I pass, and see that she’s protecting a caterpillar, one of those fuzzy ones, orange and black.
That picture just kind of stuck in my head, and every time I think of it, I remember what it was like to be that little girl. Not that we wore bike helmets back then, but what it was like to be concerned about the welfare of a lowly caterpillar. Like that was the most important thing in the world.
That’s right up there with catchin’ fireflies in a jar. Or bringing home tadpoles, thinking I could keep ‘em alive long enough to watch them grow into frogs. Or starin’ in wonder at a spider’s web, instead of vacuuming it up without thinking about Charlotte and Wilbur, or how hard I cried when Charlotte died.
By now those little girls are trudgin’ back and forth to school, their backpacks so loaded down with stuff they look like turtles. And I’m planting mums in my flower boxes, closing the windows at night and puttin’ on a sweater before taking Scamp out for his morning constitutional.
Still, as I ride by that spot where I saw those little girls, I remember what it was like growin’ up here in Mahoosuc Mills. I stubbornly pedal up the last big hill, and let out a “whoop” as we coast down the other side, me and Marge cutting quite a figure, with streamers flyin’ and my finger not far from my “get the hell out of my way ‘cause I’m not sure I can stop this thing” bell. And I’m thinking of Charlotte and her web, and how “terrific,” “radiant” and “humble” I feel on this beautiful September day in Maine.
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Fuzzy catapillar protection. How quickly we forget. Thanks for the reminder Ida.
Posted by: Pat Spalding | 09/10/2012 at 11:01 AM
Oh my goodness. Ida at five -- a bundle of cuteness. She hasn't changed much over the years. Thanks for the visit to our younger selves.
Posted by: Rebecca Rule | 09/10/2012 at 09:07 AM