It's a cool gray day on Norton Island, up here in the Gulf of Maine. L.L. Bean woolen-sweater weather, which was almost unimaginable back in the sweaty heat of Brooklyn. Almost, not quite, which means that I do have flannel pajamas, a turtleneck, a sweater, and a fleece pullover, all of which will be very good (and muddy) friends by the end of next week.
Tiny, aspirin-sized wild blueberries are just beginning to ripen all over the island; after picking with intent for two mornings, I had almost enough for a batch of muffins this morning. Although this is a congenial, food-focused group of artists and writers up here, it seems no one had ever thought to pick and bake for the morning before. I foresee making friends the PQ way--with the oven! It would take hours and hours to pick enough berries to make pie for 12, though, since the fruit's only just starting to ripen, so I put my weekend order in today for 5 pints of berries to be brought out by boat from the local Hannaford's supermarket so I can bake a few pies tomorrow.
The only connection to the mainland is by small boat (the same boat on which we went bucking around the bay yesterday on a fruitless but beautiful hunt for a dead whale, supposedly floating out there near Great Wass Island). It's hard to remember what day it is, especially on days like today, when the fog rolls in and all is silent and gray.