Reflections on Summer Showers

May 20, 2013 - Brighton, Ma

It's raining right now outside; the sky's had fists for the last few hours and the clouds finally opened up. I'd just finished working on the garden when the pops of falling raindrops began its quick crescendo. It's been a humid day, so the accompanying thunder was not surprising. I can hear the storm's surges by the rain's clatter on nearby gutters and the shwooshing of wet tires driving by; between that and the thunder, it's been quite a relaxing evening.

I've always liked these summer storms (I know it's not summer yet, but it feels like it -- I've already been barbecuing). When I was a kid, my childhood home sat upon a hill. There was a large window that faced the northeast and during the summer, when the air grew thick and the sky blackened, my sister Chloe and I would construct a fort of blankets and chairs near the big window, watching the storms roll in. We'd scream and jump at the crack of thunder and count how many lightning bolts we could see. Whenever a thunderstorm is on its way now, I try to find a place to watch it, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lightning.

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August 20, 2011 - Sebago Lake, Me

Sebago Lake

It was two summers ago now, Eric and I needed a way to fill our weekend. We had grown tired of Lake Winthrop, we didn't care to drive all the way to the mountains of New Hampshire or Vermont, and traveling to the Cape seemed like a chore. A funny idea struck us: what about the lakes of southern Maine?  The closest lake to Boston with an available campground was Sebago Lake. It is both the second largest and second deepest body of freshwater in the state (Moosehead Lake being the first). And, as I vaguely recalled from my childhood, it's quite a great place to spend a weekend. 

The storm's brewin' across the lake.

We arrived at the lake by mid afternoon. The sun was out and the campground's private beach was brimming with families, boaters, loons and mallards. The lake was surrounded by fir, pine and oak trees, and large rocks rested along the shoreline. We swam in the crisp water and peered down at the smooth rocks on the lake bed, clearly visible some twenty feet below. As the sun cast the last bit of heat on the lake, Eric and I laid on a raft, taking a break from the cool water, warming ourselves in the solar rays.

As the families left, Eric and I grabbed our canoe and set out on the lake to watch the sun set. Across the water, we could see clouds growing over the mountains to the north. The air was humid but still, so Eric and I sat and watched the tempest grow and erupt. The sky over the land across the lake grew black and distorted from the rain. Slivers of electricity shot to the ground, striking trees. Moments later a low boom would echo out across the lake. It was a fierce storm, but our side of Sebago was unaffected. The sky above us was bright and sunny, cloudless but for a few, stray cumulus clouds, painted sherbet by the setting sun. 

Soon, the sun vanished and the sky grew dark, revealing a few bright stars. The storm lingered across the lake, stagnating over one area for a long while. With its last bits of strength, the squall fired down a few more lightning bolts, illuminating the surface of Sebago. Rumbling to a slow death, the storm dissipated into the evening, slinking off in the inky black of the Maine night.

The best part of these summer storms is they often leave the sky cool and cloudless. The sun had barely set before the sky was alight with countless stars; a wondrous, unobstructed view of the cosmos. The low hum of motor boats piloted by inebriated lake men began to grow, so Eric and I headed to shore to avoid being struck by one of these lake cruisers while in our peasant's boat.

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Enjoy the night; it'll be cool and clear.

Here's to summer storms.