Suddenly it’s cooler here in Maine. My mid-day swim in the bay on Sept. 1 was brisk. A stiff breeze out of the north urged me off course, made me concentrate as I breast stroked deliberately toward our dock. Brilliant sun brought welcome warmth once I was on dry land.

By now, the days are shorter, and red maple leaves litter the road to the beach. Fewer boats tug at the offshore moorings. A neighbor cleaning out his refrigerator before leaving has dropped off bottles of open ketchup and mustard, dribs and drabs of jam. Once again, in only a few more days, we will say goodbye to the luxuries and demands of an old log cabin on the coast, to return to our home in Vermont.

Today, with only my husband and me in residence here, I’ve taken advantage of the quiet of an advancing afternoon to sit down at my writing table. There is so much I notice during summers in Maine, by now 48 of them, and so much I’m grateful for. As the day draws to a close, there is joy in writing it all down in my notebook. Records on paper are portable, available when needed, as life goes on.

Our birds are remarkable. Just now, with the wind finally quiet, I listen to two loons calling out to each other, as if in meditation. They’re peaceful, in contrast to most of the other, noisy birds nearby. Especially in the early mornings, crows caw, diving competitively into dense bayberry bushes near the shore. Osprey scream relentlessly, fly fast, scoping out a next meal. Once they catch their fish, it’s a mad dash home to the nest. Bald eagles glide up the bay, and great blue herons squawk as they too sail along, close to the water. They seem to deny that they said anything once they land silently and gracefully on the shore for a long sit. Seagulls add to the cacophony. Nearer the cabin, pileated woodpeckers hunt insects, and juncos, finches, song sparrows, nut hatches, titmice and chickadees visit the feeder. It’s a cheering collection.

With adequate rain, our plants have thrived. Blueberries, raspberries and blackberries grow wild, and we’ve had more than enough to add to breakfast granola. Our small garden is overflowing with curly kale, tomatoes, and basil. Flat-leafed parsley tossed on new potatoes and butter has been delicious.

Inside the cabin, my recollections of summer turn to family, all of whom — two daughters, their husbands, and their children — never miss a summer in Maine. They’re outside most of the time, but they are also aware of what needs attention, whether it’s making dinner or climbing a ladder to caulk around a leaky chimney. They help willingly, and we try to accept with grace. How did the time pass so quickly?

A daughter and her husband will return later in the fall for a final cabin closing, but the days ahead for my husband and me will be busy. Ritualistically, we deal with boats, finish undone projects, organize the laundry, pack the car. And then, home we go.

At breakfast on these ultimate days of summer, our conversations focus on returning to life in our Vermont retirement community. Our move there was an adjustment, in ways both expected and unexpected. But having now been elsewhere for several months, we need to remind ourselves of what things will be like when we’re back.

Many aspects of where we live now are exactly what we had hoped for: We have warm, caring friends and neighbors; our cottage is well-designed and suits us both; we live close to nature, with expansive land and hiking trails right outside our back door.

Even so, over the four years since we willingly traded our too-big house in Norwich for the essential, ongoing care structures of an elder community, we have recognized the costs to us — beyond money — of that decision. Living where we live now, with the rules and guidelines of an institution, I feel made older. Living where we live now, it is a change to be asked to accept corporate board decisions when I might disagree.

This fall, a new subject is under discussion, that of an unplanned-for campus expansion. The proposal was revealed by the board only in June. It is, as I have learned more about it, questioned by a significant number of residents. We and others were assured, when we decided on this community, that future growth was all but precluded by zoning limits. Now, it appears that the community may be on the verge of putting a shovel into the ground.

Once we return, because I am unsettled by this proposal, I will likely become involved in discussions about it. Conversations on the subject may be challenging, another stiff breeze out of the north, like the one that influenced my swim in the bay. Still, I will be joining with like-minded people, and I will hope to maintain perspective. Remembering the words I recently wrote in my notebook will also help. Words of gratitude that describe the sights, sounds, and sustaining realities of a summer in Maine.

Mary K. Otto, formerly of Norwich, lives in Shelburne, Vt. Readers may email her at maryotto13@gmail.com.