Life on a Small Harbor — a stop on M-22.
As we run past the harbor here, a word about how these little places actually work — because from the road they can look like nothing but a bar, a gas station and a marina.
They run on about a hundred days. Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, the population of a village like this can multiply several times over. The cottages open, the boats go in, the ice-cream window opens, and everybody who lives here full-time works as hard as they possibly can, because that stretch has to carry them through the rest of the year.
Then it empties. By late October the shutters go up, and what's left is a few hundred people, a long grey lake, and snow measured in feet. Ask anyone who's wintered here and they'll tell you it's the best part — the quiet — and they'll mean it, and they'll also tell you February is very long.
That rhythm is why the service can be slow in July and why the person taking your order has been up since five. Be patient, tip well, and buy something from the little places rather than driving through. These towns are one bad season from losing the store that keeps them a town.
Also: gas up when you see gas. Stations along here are further apart than you'd expect, and several close early.