Spring comes slowly to Wayne, dragging in with muddy feet, leaving footprints in the dirty snow. It’s a slow process that can’t be rushed, and raking that small brown patch of lawn too soon will only bring clouds, flurries, and eventually another snowstorm, as if to spit in your face and say, “Who are you kidding? It’s not time yet, you old fool!” I know- I ‘ve tried it before and have now learned patience in my more mature years.

But the signs are there despite the rebuffs from Old Man Winter. The buds on the lilac and the bright green shoots pushing through the munch, the sap that drips slowly from the wounded maple out front, and the herons that flap lazily down the length of the mill stream as Blue and I walk to the post office, speak of the inevitability of the coming season.

Neighbors appear on the street, leaving their warm dens like our Maine black bear does each year, and look at us as if trying to remember who we are after being “away”, literally or figuratively, since last December. I wonder where they have been all this time; we practice speaking out loud after months of reading, reflecting and listening to our inner voices.

Wayne seems like it always does; little changes on the surface of this small New England town, but there are some who sadly are no longer here, and others, strangers, who have come without our realizing it. The church held a newcomer’s dinner, and they were introduced to the town. What a wonderful thing to do! I remember vividly when we moved to town in 1976 that we were treated to a similar reception and how welcome it made us feel.

These are days when you feel like opening all the windows and letting out all the stale winter air and dust that has accumulated from burning the woodstove and the furnace for months. Spring cleaning happens every year because of this desire, particularly for those of us who spend that time indoors.

So the Open flag is flying again, and Molly is finishing up all the special orders that people hoped she would get to one day, and we are open for business, selling everything is sight at a discount as we do our spring cleaning in the shop. And we anxiously await the arrival of the loons, the eagle chicks on the island, the campers, and our wonderful summer visitors. Some, like the robins, will arrive early, to open up camp and to drop by to see what’s new at the pottery. Others will wait for school to get out before bringing their kids to the lake for another idyllic summer. Still others will arrive during their appointed week, having rented one of the camps, and hoping that they will be as lucky as they have in the past with the weather, and swim and sail and fish and sit idly on their porches watching the sunsets and listening to the haunting cry of the loon.

And so, as another spring snow begins outside the window, I look forward to warmer and happier times – and to your visit!