A few weeks ago, I was up in Bath talking to a contractor when he looked out the window at a patch of goldenrod and said, very casually, that once it starts blooming, you have about six weeks until the first frost.

Six weeks.

He said it like he was telling me where the electrical panel was; meanwhile, I felt like some old Maine witch had just wandered onto the job site, pointed at a yellow flower, and sentenced us all to winter. I had never heard this before, and frankly I preferred my life five minutes earlier.

Because once someone tells you something like that, you start seeing goldenrod everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It is exploding along 295 right now, growing out of ditches, around guardrails, behind gas stations, in fields, beside old houses, and basically anywhere humans have stopped interfering long enough for Maine to take the place back.

I love it.

Goldenrod might be one of my favorite signs of late summer here, even though it is also a slightly threatening one. It arrives when summer is still very much happening, but you can feel that something has changed. The light is a little lower, the evenings are coming faster, the garden looks slightly more exhausted, and you start noticing sunset again in a way you didn't a few weeks ago. Then suddenly half the state turns yellow.

Naturally, I went home and looked up the six-week thing because I needed to know if this contractor had actually cursed me or was just screwing around.

Turns out it is an old bit of weather folklore. Once goldenrod blooms, the first frost is supposedly about six weeks away. Is this how I would personally plan my agricultural calendar? No. But I love that people once paid enough attention to the world around them to notice something like this. No weather app, no push notification, just: well, the goldenrod is blooming, better start thinking about frost.

There was one issue with my newfound affection for the stuff, which is that I have severe seasonal allergies and for years I blamed goldenrod.

Of course I did. Look at it.

Millions of tiny yellow flowers suddenly appear everywhere at exactly the same moment my nose and eyes decide they would like to ruin my life. You don't need to be a detective to build that case, and I don't think I ever even questioned it. Goldenrod bloomed; I couldn't breathe, case closed.

Except the case is wrong.

Goldenrod has basically been taking the fall for ragweed this entire time. Ragweed blooms at roughly the same time and often grows in the same places, but the major difference is that ragweed looks like absolutely nothing. Goldenrod comes into the room wearing a yellow fur coat and demanding attention; ragweed slips in through the kitchen.

It is green, weedy, and forgettable, with little flowers you would barely notice. And unlike goldenrod, whose heavier pollen mostly gets moved around by insects, ragweed sends huge amounts of lightweight pollen floating directly into the air, where it eventually finds its way into your yard, through your windows, and directly into your face.

The bastard.

So if you're sneezing your way through August, stop glaring at the goldenrod and start appreciating it instead.

Because now when I see it, I think about all of this at once: the bees all over it, the ragweed hiding nearby, and that contractor in Bath casually informing me that winter was already on its way.

But if summer has to end, Maine could certainly find an uglier way to tell us.

I found Periwinkle Pie Co. completely by accident.

My boyfriend is obsessed with old boats, so we were driving through Georgetown on our way to Robinhood Marina when I saw the sign. Little purple periwinkle snail on it. Hand pies and coffee.

The boats can wait. I need whatever a hand pie is.

The sign points you toward the Robinhood Free Meetinghouse, an old church sitting up on a little rise, and you can smell the pies before you even make it through the door. Inside, huge old windows pour light into the room, local art covers the walls, and tables are scattered around like someone just decided this beautiful old place should be used again. There’s a shelf of cookbooks you can take for free, no explanation required, and right in the middle of it all is a counter piled with hand pies.

Madeline grew up in Georgetown, took a chance on this little idea, and started selling hand pies just down the road from Robinhood Cove. The people who run the Meetinghouse gave her some space to get going, and now she’s working toward opening a permanent shop next to Town Hall.

We’ve been back enough times that this is no longer research. We’ve worked through the Big Breakfast, curry chickpea, raspberry and Key lime, and the Big Breakfast is still my go-to. It’s basically the world’s best Hot Pocket, which I mean with tremendous respect. If you want the classic, get the Brown Sugar Peach.

I still don’t have a responsible ordering strategy beyond getting something savory and then convincing myself I also need something sweet.

You probably do too.

The whole place feels so specifically Maine that I have a hard time imagining it existing anywhere else. An old meetinghouse, local art, free cookbooks, a woman from Georgetown baking hand pies in the middle of it all, and a tiny purple snail on the road telling you where to turn.

If you need an excuse to go down to Georgetown, this is it. Get a pie in the morning, then keep driving to Five Islands Lobster Co. for lobster and clams, or disappear for a few hours at Reid State Park.

We never made it to the marina that day.

🐶 Radar – 1 yr
A happy, playful girl with plenty of puppy energy. Radar loves walks, playing with other dogs, and being wherever the fun is. She’s sweet, affectionate, and ready to find her new best friend.

🐱 Dempsey – 3 yrs
A handsome orange and white guy who just needs a little time to warm up. Give Dempsey some patience and space, and his sweet side will come right out.

🐱 Lady Cordelia – 8 yrs
A fluffy grey queen who knows exactly what she wants. She loves pets, treats, making biscuits, and would very much like to be the only ruler of her new home.

If the link doesn’t open anymore, it means they’ve already been adopted!

Western Prom Sunset Concerts @ Western Prom | 6:15 pm | Free

Hiss Golden Messenger Solo (Night 2) @ One Longfellow Square | 7:30 pm | 🎟️ $30

Tre. Charles @ SPACE | 6:30 pm | Free

Peaks Island Music Association Concert @ Fifth Maine Museum | 8 pm | 🎟️ $15

Maine Outdoor Film Fest Selects Tour @ Vinegar Hill Music Theatre | 7:30 pm | 🎟️ $25

Summer Sunsets Live! @ Thompson's Point | 5 pm | Free

Thursdays On the Prom - Renovators @ The Eastern Prom | 6 pm | Free

Summer Music Series @ Monument Square | 4:30 pm | Free

Concerts on Congress with Tall Heights @ Portland Museum of Art | 5 pm | Free

The Smiths Tribute NYC @ Portland House of Music | 8 pm | 🎟️ $25

Dave Attell @ State Theatre | 8 pm | 🎟️ $35

An Enemy of the People - PTF @ Blossom ArtsLab | 7:30 pm | 🎟️ $35

The Last Class: A Jazzercize Play @ SPACE | 7:30 pm | 🎟️ $18

Alexandr Misko @ One Longfellow Square | 8 pm | 🎟️ $30

River Shook w/ Olivia Ellen Lloyd @ Portland House of Music | 8 pm | 🎟️ $20

Deering Oaks Farmers Market @ Deering Oaks Park | 7:30 am | Free

Morgan Wade @ Live at Madrid's | 7 pm | 🎟️ $30

Dan Tyminski @ Portland House of Music | 8 pm | 🎟️ $45

Portland Chamber Music Festival: ECCO Jubilee @ Stevens Square Community Center | 7 pm | 🎟️ $12

wet hot QUEER CLUB summer @ Geno's Rock Club | 8 pm | 🎟️ $10

Bailey Renée Pop-Up @ 251 Congress Street | 10 am | Free

VOYAGERS: An Evening with Meg Charlton & Nick Fuller-Googins @ Back Cove Books | 6:30 pm | Free

Guitar Women: Sue Foley w/ Rory Block @ Portland House of Music | 8 pm | 🎟️ $30

Creative Trails presents Ellentown: America's Newest City! @ SPACE | 6:30 pm | 🎟️ $10

Thumper: Line Dancing @ Geno's Rock Club | 7 pm | 🎟️ $5

Ripe for Repair Meetup @ Congress Square Park | 2 pm | Free

Until next week,
— Jake Newman