I picked asparagus for the last time on Saturday, until next year that is; for the past six weeks it’s been a daily delight. Along with the raspberries (which are coming along nicely) my asparagus is the reason Don sticks around. Or so he tells me. I tell him his attraction is the shore at the bottom of his field, along with his tool collection – I’ve borrowed most of them.

July 4, the Fourth of July, is a gardener’s midpoint. My dad always said if your garden is weed-free on the Fourth you’ve got the weeds beat. Although I repeat this mantra every year, my weeds pay no attention. This past week’s rain just gave the tiny survivors a boost, and they’re back more lush than ever. Still, he had a point. Those infant flower and vegetable seedlings need all the space you can give them in June.

Asparagus, the part we eat, is the tender shoot of a five-foot-tall ferny plant, coming up from a deeply buried perennial crown. Snapping them off when they’re six inches tall prompts another shoot to replace it. As long as the soil is rich – asparagus is a heavy feeder the books say ­– picking them every few days for six weeks doesn’t deplete the roots.

But there’s a limit. Next year’s asparagus depends on the nutrients stored this year. Already the stalks I haven’t picked since Saturday are shooting up and branching out with their characteristic ferny leaves. They look a bit like dill. Later orange berries will form on the female plants; the ones that drop may sprout next spring, and I’m careful not to pull them with the weeds.

Somehow, years ago, a poppy seed sprouted in our asparagus bed. Wally loved them so much that he refused to pull up their seedlings that began appearing every spring. I’ve been more ruthless, thinning them out quite a bit, but even so pink and red poppies bob and wave over the deeper-rooted asparagus. He’d be pleased.

As a Midwesterner I grew up knowing that corn better be knee-high by the Fourth of July. In Maine, especially near the coast, that's a pretty high bar. Here you plant corn when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrel’s ear, or, if you have trouble getting a squirrel to hold still long enough, you can just plant your corn on top of the apple blossoms. When the petals have fallen to the ground, that is.

Our corn hardly came up at all this year, either because we planted when the soil was still cold, squirrel ears be damned, or the drought. I finally planted more in peat pots, setting them out last week. Then the hens squeezed under their fence and scratched up half those corn seedlings, leaving little empty peat pots scattered all over the bed.

But if our corn was a bust this year, the peas are right on schedule. For the first time in many years, we could have had peas for the Fourth, a small handful to be sure, but peas nonetheless. The traditional Maine Fourth dinner involved a whole salmon, fresh peas and new potatoes. Getting your peas in early was a common conversation starter – “Got your peas in yet?”

Lyford Beverage was our mailman in the 70s, and there was no way you could beat him in the pea department. One year he claimed to put his in April 1, and the next year he told me he’d planted them in the fall before the ground froze. And they came up in the spring!

Probably he was just messing with me.

Just as Christmas seems to usher in winter, the Fourth sets us up for summer. And like Christmas, for many families the Fourth brings tradition – cook-outs, fireworks, coming together.

Joe, my childhoods family’s good friend, barbecued in his backyard every Fourth, handed out sparklers to us kids, and lit those little black pellets on his driveway that grew into a long, snakey ash. The other night my son produced a small cardboard dog that hid one of those pellets under its tail; only a young boy can really appreciate the result.

Wally and I took the family to Ducktrap every Fourth, getting down there before noon to stake out our favorite spot under the trees. Building a fire, hot dogs and potato salad, wading out at low tide – the Fourth was always a lazy day, shared with all the other families, spread out (before we knew about social distancing) along the point. With its limited parking, Ducktrap never feels crowded.

These days, the last three years anyway, my family and I have joined Don’s family, who visit on the Fourth, eating lobster and clams cooked on his rocky shore. Holidays like the Fourth, like Christmas, have a comforting predictability. Don’s daughter, who has pulled together this yearly portable feast ever since her mom died, follows her prized list of what to bring down to the shore. It’s a long walk back if you forget something like, say the little cups for the melted butter.

Missing this year was the thrilling fireworks display Donnie Heald has put on at the Beach the past couple of years. With a crowd clearly in the hundreds it’s the kind of event I wonder if we’ll, or should I say I’ll, ever see again.

You start to think that way when you’re in your 70s and beyond.

Still, many, if not most of us, have begun to venture out, masked and distanced for sure, but stepping inside stores, visiting one another. We sit outside for the most part, in our gardens or on porches. Businesses are taking precautions seriously, making their stores feel safe. I suspect we’ll all learn to live with this “new normal” and stop fighting it.

Rick McLaughlin’s Lobster Shack has been busy ever since he opened back in April, with customers ordering food and either taking it home or eating at his picnic tables. The Lobster Pound opened last week, and also has outdoor seating, as well as inside. And the Whales Tooth, with increased outside seating (Rob and son Kirk built a number of new tables this spring) is open as well, with live music outdoors Friday and Saturday nights.

Such strange times we’re in.

Town

One of the articles in this year’s Warrant asks voters to approve a land swap between the town and Coastal Mountains Land trust; a 69 acre parcel of town-owned land on the Ducktrap River will be traded for some 4 acres CMLT owns on the shore north of the Trap. There are two chances this week for townspeople to tour the land – Thursday, July 9, 4-7 p.m. and Saturday, July 11, 9 a.m.-noon. The land is located at 2817 Atlantic Highway (Route One); watch for a sign as it’s easy to miss the entrance.

Heather Rogers, CMLT Land Protection Manager, will be present on the open days as will Town Administrator David Kinney, to answer questions.

The town would maintain the property in its natural condition and allow public recreational access to its relatively remote forest. The Lincolnville Select Board voted unanimously to support this proposal.

Election Day is Tuesday, July 14, with the polls open 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. at Lynx Gym at the school. If you prefer not to come out to vote you can get an absentee ballot by calling the Town Office, 763-3555. Ballots must be received back at the Town Office by 8 p.m. July 14.

See the annual Town Warrant here.

Cancellations

Not surprisingly, this year’s Oldtimers’ Luncheon has been cancelled. As has the Strawberry Festival and the Blueberry Wingding.

Stay tuned for a couple of berry-themed events that don’t involved large crowds which are in the works.

Mike Hutchings in the New York Times

Read all about the state of Lincolnville (and Maine’s) lobster fishery this year in the NYT. Mike Hutchings, fisherman and Harbor Master, is the subject of this interesting article, and there are some great photos as well.

Bob Anderson

If you remember the Indian Basket Tent at Lincolnville Beach, then you probably knew Bob Anderson. Along with his wife, Jackie, Bob was the proprietor of the popular shop for many years. He bought the business in the 1960s from his grandparents, Florence and Leo Shay, members of the Penobscot tribe from Indian Island. The Shays had been coming summers to the Beach since the 1930s, making and selling baskets. Read their story in Staying Put.

Although Bob and Jackie closed the shop some years ago, Bob continued to run the business from his house at Ducktrap, including a fascinating museum of baskets and basketmaking tools in his barn.

Bob passed away recently at the age of 90. I’ll remember him fondly.