Summer slowdown and speed

Rangley Lake, in Maine.

Adapted from Robert Whitcomb's "Digital Diary'' column in GoLocal24.com

The other morning in southeastern New England, in its calm, cool, green beauty, was the sort of setting we dream of in February.

As we move deeper into real summer, we set out many plans – people to see, places to go and books to read and so on. We probably won’t do most of them but if we’re lucky enough to retain some of our childhood sense of spacious time we’ll get a start. The summer is certainly high season for bucket lists, especially in a place with a climate like New England’s.

We’re so fortunate to have so much to look at in this little corner of North America. From mountains that go above the tree line, spectacularly varied coastlines, from the sandy south, with its surprisingly warm summer water, to the dramatically rocky Maine Coast, with its frigid sea, to gorgeous small towns and haunting old and gritty mill towns, to several dynamic cities,  including one truly world city -- Boston.  The best way to see it is to go off the Interstate and take your time as you wander through lush countryside, towns with surprising, even bizarre mixes of architecture, from colonial to hyper-modern, patronize small-town diners and stock up on local tourist kitsch.

Get to it. Labor Day will be here in a flash and we’ll think summer is over. (Actually, the best weather is in September.) Indeed, some of us start thinking summer is about over when we start hearing the cicadas and crickets.

One of the most poignant essays I’ve read about the speed of summer,  and of life  in general, is E.B. White’s “Once More to the Lake,’’ about being with his young son at the same Maine lake where Mr. White’s father had taken the author years before. You won’t forget the essay’s chilling end.

May this summer be your good old days.