I Need to Have a Picnic

Blue lunchbox with mandala patterns and "Igloo" branding on grass.

I’m sitting on the rocks at Thunder Hole. Here, the waves crash against the rock inlet with a loud roar like the thunder it was named after. My family visits the area every year, and we watch the ocean move, listen to its arrival, its departure, and feel the salty mist as it sprays up over the shoreline. I sit there and eat my lunch.

I’m running around the park, playing on the swing set, the slides, the monkey bars. My hands are growing calluses and my muscles are growing fatigued. I’m trying to move faster than the mosquitoes, but when they catch up to me, I douse myself in a thick layer of bug spray. I leave half of it on the biggest, twisting slide, as I wind my way down. I replace it with hand sanitizer on my palms and collapse under the shade of a large oak tree. I pull out my peanut butter and fluff sandwich and eat my lunch.

I’m swimming in the ocean. The tide has pulled out, leaving a more shallow area, warmed by the midday sun. The sand is burning hot, but the water is perfect. Its cool rhythm soothes the developing burns on my skin. I rinse my hands off as best as I can and wade towards the beach. I dash across the sand to the comfort of my towel just as my mother hands me my lunch.

Despite traveling to many different places, I don’t picnic very often. Usually, I eat in the car, or let the hunger pangs motivate me to get home faster. I don’t like packing lunches, which I think is my biggest barrier, but I do like picnics. I think because it forces me to slow down while I’m outside. I can feel the sun, the breeze, the fresh air, and enjoy the calm that nature brings. Picnics, for me, have always been about the place. To eat, to exist, to live in a beautiful space—whether that is a tourist attraction, a park, or a beach—is a soul-feeding experience.

This summer in Maine has been nice; especially when compared to last summer, which was full of rain. Yet, I don’t think I’m spending enough time outside, so I’m left to wonder, how could that change? I landed on one, simple solution. I need to have a picnic.

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The Inspiration Behind “Lost Shoes”