There’s much to be done as summer turns to fall, the camp is about wrapped up and ready to close and we start to settle back into city life.

As I drive back and forth between the lake and Waterville these final days, shuttling food and other essentials from the camp to the house, I feel a sense of unease, not being fully in one place or the other.

Yet, there’s anticipation about being back in our year-round abode, away from the rush of summer. It was nice, those sunny days by the water, windows wide open and warm breezes wafting through. But now the house is cool and damp, a rainy day is no longer desirable and acorns from the old oaks ping like BBs off the roof. The loons’ call seems to say it’s time to fly to warmer climes.

I like to go through each room at the Waterville house, one at a time, vacuuming, polishing furniture, scouring floors and windows and culling out things that have been around too long.

But perhaps my favorite chore is spiffing up the back porch where I spend much of my free time. I scrub the walls and woodwork, wash the outdoor sofa and rockers, wipe cushions and pillows with hot water and vinegar and mop and rinse the wooden deck. I polish windows until they sparkle.

The porch is my sanctuary, away from the whoosh and worries of the world. The view from where I sit is of trees, bushes, green grass and the small boulders that line the flower gardens. Occasionally a squirrel or bird flits by to acknowledge my presence.

I do my best thinking on the porch, where breezes waft through on a late summer afternoon and the sun squints through boughs of a hemlock tree, lulling me into an alpha state.

I love to read while lounging there, traveling to other worlds and fictional places where interesting characters reside and plots promise intrigue.

As the cat lies at my feet in the sun or explores the mini jungle that is my neighbor’s backyard, an afternoon nap for me is not an impossibility. Waking to the sounds of birds chirping is calming.

My pulse seems to slow as I linger there, inhaling the outdoor air and allowing my thoughts to wander. The longer I rest, the more at peace I feel.

We all ought to have a refuge as summer wanes, a place to stop, sit back and look neither to the past nor the future, especially in these harried, uncertain times.

For some it may be a hayfield or forest; for others, a sojourn to a mountain, lake or the ocean.

While all of that may promise balm to the soul, sometimes the solace we seek is as close as our own back porch.

Amy Calder has been a Morning Sentinel reporter 35 years. Her columns appear here Saturdays. She is the author of the book, “Comfort is an Old Barn,” a collection of her curated columns, published in 2023 by Islandport Press. She may be reached at acalder@centralmaine.com. For previous Reporting Aside columns, go to centralmaine.com.