As I was driving to the vet today, in my usual marginally impatient manner (I may or may not have left ten minutes late), I received the unwelcome reminder of a nevertheless very important and classic “sign of spring” in Maine. So I’m adding it to yesterday’s list.
I’m pretty sure there’s not a road within a 25-mile radius of our house that isn’t under some form of construction.
I guess I should be used to it. In the winter we leave extra time for weather. In the spring we leave it for construction, the summer for tourists and the fall for leaf peepers. You’d think I would have learned to account for these things by now. But, no. Like most New Englanders, I was born with the inherent entitled mindset that these are MY roads and everyone (and everything) should just get the hell out of my ever-loving way.
Unfortunately for me (and the people on the other end of my appointments), it doesn’t generally work this way. Mother Nature is supremely disinterested in my pleas for clear roads, as are the state municipal departments, the tourists and the leaf peepers.
Especially the tourists.
And this, my friends, is why it pays to know the back roads.