Lately, I’ve been reminded that movement can be as unpredictable as a 6-year-old’s golf swing. A few weeks ago, while coaxing one of my twin boys through the basics—knees bent, arms straight, head down—I got a swift wake-up call. He insisted, “I can do it myself,” then promptly began his backswing before I could fully back away. I narowly avoided his club by leaning to the other side of him, but hadn’t realized I’d positioned myself perfectly to take the full brunt of his follow-through directly into the bridge of my nose. There were stars, plenty of blood, and a frantic effort to avoid certain words he’d inevitably repeat at school. Once the bleeding stopped, we hugged it out and agreed: Accidents happen, and ignoring motion—be it your child’s arms or life in general—can be painful.
Maine’s summer reminds me of that same lesson. It’s always on the move—from ripening strawberries in June to the wild blueberries of August, from a quiet harbor at dawn to the hum of boat picnics by noon. I love how a simple meal taken outdoors can break a stagnant routine. The other night, instead of using the dining room, we set a blanket in the grass and feasted on burritos under a perfect sunset. Cleanup was a breeze—one shake of the blanket and we were done. Sometimes it only takes a small shift to turn the ordinary into a memory.
In this issue, we celebrate “movement” in all its forms. One story examines the potato’s journey from the Andes to Aroostook, a reminder of how we adapt to new places. Much like that spud, I came to Maine from away—upstate New York, then Boston, before settling a little farther north. I’ve long since learned I could survive on potatoes alone, and I’m fascinated by how they’ve become a Maine staple despite arriving so far from home.
Speaking of relocating dinner, Barton Seaver’s piece on outdoor meals hits close to my heart. It’s amazing how a picnic or a sunset boat ride transforms a humdrum family meal into something special. Yes, it involves extra prep and a good cooler, but the payoff is worth it—fresh air, scenic views, and the sweet luxury of daylight stretching well past bedtime. Meanwhile, Amanda Palma’s feature on private chefs underscores the shifting ways we dine. Instead of going out, many folks are inviting professional cooks into their homes or rental cottages. In a swirl of busy schedules and even busier kids, having a chef whip up a feast in your own kitchen can feel downright restorative.
Of course, the sea itself never stands still. In “The Invasion Menu,” we discover how our warming waters are bringing new species up the coast while traditional favorites retreat. It might mean fewer shrimp dinners and more adventurous bites of cusk or green crabs—unsettling at first, but proof that Maine’s fishing community knows how to pivot when change comes knocking. And for those seeking a different kind of motion, there’s the gentle sway of the White Barn Inn’s houseboat, moored in Kennebunkport, blending coastal charm with a dash of indulgence.
Movement also takes a community-focused shape in the work of Presente! Maine, which ensures groceries and meals make their way to local immigrant families. These gestures go far beyond logistics—sharing food builds belonging and creates a sense of place. Elsewhere in these pages, you’ll find seasonal cocktails splashed with foraged seaweed, plus strawberries “on the move” in everything from gazpacho to dessert. Each recipe is a tiny push to experiment, to leave the comfort zone of familiar flavors.
Ultimately, this issue is about staying flexible—ready to move with the tides or duck a stray golf club when needed. Whether you shift dinner to a blanket on the lawn, try an invasive crab dish, or simply realize the potato you love has traveled across continents, there’s a certain thrill in seeing how life refuses to stand still. May these stories spark your curiosity, and may you discover that the smallest changes—carrying dinner outdoors, taking a new route home—can lead to the biggest joys. One thing’s certain: Summer in Maine never stays put for long, so we’d best savor each moment while it’s here.
Here’s to seeing summer not as a static season but as a kinetic adventure. May we pick up our plates and follow the sun, shift dinner to a boat or a blanket, and notice how much the smallest movements can spark the biggest memories. It’s a beautiful thing to realize that staying in motion doesn’t always mean racing around; sometimes it’s just a gentle sway that keeps us curious and connected. As you flip through the stories in this issue, I hope you find a nudge to break a routine, explore Maine’s changing tastes, or even just move your table a few steps closer to the horizon. And if you do get caught off guard by a sudden, unexpected swing—well, just remember to step back a bit faster than I did.
