It is 6:15 a.m. The thermometer outside my kitchen window registers -7 degrees. I feel concern wondering whether my car would start. A quiet reassurance tells me, “It always does.”

I am taking my friend to the airport this morning for his annual visit south. The phone rings; it is my friend. “Are you ready? I want to leave for the airport by 7:15.” Still harboring doubts that the car will start, I tog up and plunge into the cold. A slight hesitation, the car comes to life. Why do I always doubt?

The first hurdle of the day accomplished. It’s going to be a clear day, good flying weather. I pick up my friend and we are on our way.

As the plane is readied for its passengers, I give my friend a farewell good luck hug. I see pity in his eyes as he tells me, in only a few hours he will be in the sunny south with 80-degree temperatures. He feels sorry for me that I have to be in the bitter cold.

The car is still warm when I return to it. The sun is just showing its rays over the airport buildings. As I fasten my seat belt and start the engine, the plane flies over. I pause, look up and think: I would miss the sunrise as it filters over the white expanse of the lawn, making patterns from the many chimneys in the village below. I would miss the early morning calls: The radio says it will be warmer today. How cold is it at your place? How many inches of snow did we get in the night? Are you plowed out yet?

I would miss seeing my plants flourish as they seem to in winter, and who would care for my neighbors’ plants when she went south?

I would miss the curtain of snow as the plow passes, and the wave and smile of the driver who has plowed our road for so many years.

As I walk in that snow I hear the whine of the pond as I walk by. It seems to be complaining about the winter cold.

When I return from those walks, I open my door to the aroma of a beef stew, baked beans or some other good Maine fare. Now time for a hot cup of tea.

I hear the shouts and laughter of the grandchildren outside the window, as they slide in the track made by the oldest on his three-wheeler.

Someone is waiting for my parking space. I hear the plane as it carries my friend away, away. Have a safe trip, dear friend, stay well.

I will be here when you return in the spring, to see the first robin, first crocus, first pussy willows, first ice out, first awakening of the maple trees.

I will be here to greet you and spring, dear friend.

 

Evelyn Potter is a resident of Kents Hill.

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