To the Editor:
The signs of summer; those days we dream of all winter, the days of our childhood that are recalled quickly as adults; fireflies in Hellmann’s mayonnaise jars with holes punched in the metal top, beach sand in our flip flops, hamburgers on the grill, potato salad and watermelon seed spitting contests. Let us not forget the crowning jewel of summer: ice cream.
I remember the summers before seat belt laws. We piled into the back of my uncle’s pick up truck and went to Hobbs Pond, the local swimming hole. On the way home, refreshed and tired, my bathing suit sticking to the warm fender in the truck bed and sand between my toes, we passed a crude road side sign for ice cream.
Today, as I write this little ode to summer, I paused to scoop some ice cream in my own ice cream parlor. A small room, in a cottage by the water in Sheepscot village, is an unexpected treat for Dottie. Dottie lives at Jefferson Green and her son and daughter in law have brought her to Alna for a drive and some ice cream.
Ice cream is the universal excuse for slowing down, sharing time with family and appreciating the moments of life that build fond memories.
The road signs of summer in Maine, those colorful, handwritten signs beside the road from June-October: “Strawberries,” “Blueberries,” “Fiddleheads,” “Lobster,” “Fresh Corn,” “Ice Cream.” Ice cream is a good excuse to gather together and take a ride. Drive until you see a strawberry ice cream cone sign with an arrow pointing the way to your favorite flavor.
This morning I was visited by the code enforcement office of Newcastle. He had removed our strawberry ice cream cone sign from the Sheepscot/Old County/North Newcastle intersection in Sheepscot village. A complaint had been received; the sign ordinance was in violation and the rules were delivered in print. He was kind and polite and simply responding to the complaint.
I own the ice cream parlor in violation of the sign ordinance. While one might be inclined to label this letter merely “sour grapes,” I would simply offer these thoughts about summer in Maine. I also take this opportunity to wonder out loud about the need for more signs of summer life in Maine.
Interrupted three times while writing this letter by mothers and young sons, adult sons and elderly mothers, grandparents with children and grandchildren who saw a strawberry cone beside the road (in front of the ice cream parlor) and stopped to enjoy some summer moments together, I am reassured that this is one sign of summer that will prompt many shared experiences that I can only hope will be recalled as fondly as the hot summers in the back of my uncle’s pick up truck.
