Maine

So the winters may suck, but damn, what the summer provides more than makes up for the 16 hours of darkness a day during February.
This was my dinner last night. Everything was from Maine, and my entire salad was from this island or the waters nearby. Except for the mayonnaise. Where does mayonnaise come from? I guess I could have made my own with the eggs from a friend's chickens on the island, but then there's the whole oil dilemma. Can I make my own vegetable oil? Details details.
The lettuce, zucchini and tomato came out of my garden. The cucumber came from a friend's garden. The lobster salad on top came from a locally caught lobster who snapped his tail at us and flexed his claws as he was lowered into his fatal lobster sauna.
Brother Ross, father of Gary Ross the lobsterman responsible for the catch, sold us a dozen of these 'bugs' the other night, straight from the boat, apologetic for the rising prices: it's now up to almost $5 a pound. $5 a pound for a salty taste of heaven? Sign me up.
The Rhubarb wine came from a local vintner about 30 miles away, and yes, it is made out of rhubarb juice and tastes like rhubarb pie. A slightly bubbly, fermented rhubarb pie. Yum.
When we have friends over we talk about tomato worms and mulch and unfertilized zucchini as we eat the fruits (and veggies) of our labor. I am still marveling over the explosion of green and red and yellow. I am still squashing broccoli eating green worms between my fingers. I am in love with squash blossoms, ruby red chard, and the buried mysteries of root vegetables.
I plan to can as much of the summer goodness as I'm able so that when January rolls around I'll be reminded of summer and all it's glory.
As I sit under a sun lamp.
And dream of California.