“What do you want to do on the last weekend before school starts?” Kurt asked me this past Saturday morning.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Let me think about it.”

This is a tougher question than it may seem. I’ve definitely felt the ratcheting up of tension over the past week–the feeling of the walls closing in and everything funneling inexorably toward the onset of the tyranny of the school year. Did I want to do something big and bold or something low-key and relaxed?

After thinking for a while, I suggested, “Why don’t we get up early tomorrow and go to Morse Mountain?”

“Sure,” Kurt said, “Why don’t we take a picnic?”

“Perfect!” I said.

Saturday was busy with errands and some family visits, but we tucked in time to swing by the store and pick up some goodies for our upcoming picnic: baguette, goat cheese, apples, grapes, etc. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even been on a picnic, and my anticipation was mounting.

“This is such a great idea!” I said more than once to Kurt.

On Sunday we were packed and out the door by shortly after 8 am. Morse Mountain is one of our favorite places along the Maine coast. You hike about two miles in and are then rewarded with an amazing stretch of pristine beach. The distance to the beach, along with limited parking, means that it is never crowded and it is always beautiful.

We set off cheerfully, picnic foods and blanket stowed in our backpacks. We hiked up and down through forest and past a few marshy areas. We detoured up for a scenic view from the summit, and then traveled back down toward the beach.

Finally, the trail opened up from forest to oceanside. As soon as I set foot on the beach, I knew we’d done the right thing. It felt as if my whole being simply expanded along with the view. It was the perfect place to be. An antidote to all things closed-in and constricting.

“This,” I said to Kurt, gesturing at the scene before us. “This is what I’m going to picture in the coming weeks and months, whenever I feel like I’m starting to frazzle and unravel.”

We set off, walking barefoot along the shore. A huge raft of some kind of ducks was floating along, a dark mass of bodies, moving parallel to the shore. There had to be hundreds of them! Next, we were delighted to see dozens of seal heads popping in and out of the water. The sun was warm on our skin, but there was a hint of chill in the breeze. The skies were cobalt blue, and the small bits and bobs abandoned by the receding tide yielded lots of treasures, and created fascinating patterns. Every so often we stopped to pick up sand dollars (mostly in pieces) and shells. We let the sound of the surf and our splashing feet wash over us.

Over and over again I thought, “Yes, this is where I need to be right now.”

After a long hunger-ripening walk, we stopped to spread our blanket and set up our picnic. Reclining on the sand, we stared at the ocean and chatted about this and that. Mostly we just soaked up the sun and the view.

“It’s going to be hard to leave,” I finally said, after we were done eating.

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed.

Eventually, heaving a few sighs, we packed up. Then, after one long backward glance at the ocean, we turned toward the trailhead and the two-mile return hike.

It was time to get going.