Saturday the 15th was a day of revelry and merry-making all around this area.

I had, in hand, a gift certificate for a ride in the Waco biplane at the Owls Head Transportation Museum. This had been given to me back when I did a presentation at the museum for the “Women Who Dare” series (quite an honor, and don’t think I don’t know it!). But I rarely can get to air shows and tourist events during the long working days of summer, and the only biplane I’d been in so far had been the Rustoleum-red corrugated-cardboard rig I’d fabricated for the 4th of July parade on Matinicus a couple of years ago. The Waco is gone now, but the museum has two 1941 Stearmans, classic biplanes down to the crayon-colored paint jobs. At the “Hops in the Hangar” event this year, I would finally get my ride.

Pilot Jeremy Harmon, of Penobscot Island Air and the Transportation Museum, flew me in the yellow-and-blue Stearman over South Thomaston and Spruce Head and my mom’s place. I grinned like a little kid. When we landed on the grass and taxied back to the museum, I didn’t want it to be over.

At “Hops in the Hangar” the local beer was great, the band was nailing it, the antique cars and hopped-up racing units were undeniably cool, and the weather couldn’t have been finer. John Karp from the museum (who gave me the fishing vest I still wear to fly in the summer, because I need the extra pockets) introduced me to a lady who wanted to relate a “random kindness of strangers” story, apropos of a Free Press column I’d written a few months ago. As we sat on a bench and watched the beer-drinkers ogle the hand-built Mustang Fastback/Shelby racer which, a museum volunteer explained, “you can’t drive easy,” I asked my new friend if she had a comment for a Free Press column about this event.

She thought for a moment. “Do you know the paintings of Breughel?”

This was not a reply one might have anticipated.

“Uh, yes, actually; I guess I do.” (By the way, it is reason-able to be ambiguous; there were several Breughels and several spellings. But I knew what she meant.)

“This is like the village having their festival,” she allowed, referring to a well-known Dutch painting from the 1600s.

We hadn’t seen the half of it yet. After “Hops in the Hangar” ended (and after some time sticking with the strawberry lemonade), I headed for what I thought was a 15-minute errand in Rockland and found myself in a street party. Main Street was closed to traffic for the Summer Solstice celebration. A couple of the Transportation Museum’s cars were there on display, straight from the other event, and the middle of town was filled with music and food. The little kids were smiling, the policemen were smiling, and at 5 p.m. sharp — and here I counted myself exceedingly lucky to accidentally be in the right place at the right time — there was a sculpture race!

Now, that beats all.

Down Tillson Avenue rolled a large multicolored wheelie thing with somebody inside it. A gigantic “green man” (“Jeff O’ the Green,” I think) plodded along with his accompanying green-clad troupe of musicians and Morris dancers. There were a whole bunch of high-speed art jobs constructed on shopping carts and baby carriages, a large cow made of #2 plastic jugs, and all sorts of other hilarity including a towering giraffe/zebra contraption on wheels. Ready, steady, go!

What would Breughel have made of this?

Bringing up the rear, after the other works of art had sped past, a rolling shower bumped down Tillson complete with bather in shower cap with customary long-handled back brush. I was behind him trying to get out of town for my next engagement (hurrying to my appointed time as the keynote speaker at a potluck supper) so I nailed it through the Hamilton Marine parking lot to pass the fellow rolling down the street in his shower.

Our daughter happened to be driving the South Main detour circuit earlier that afternoon, bound for Father’s Day on Matinicus Island — this while I was still drinking beer and discussing Breughel and Shelby and angling for another biplane ride at the museum — when she happened to cross paths with a large giraffe sort of apparatus on a utility trailer. She later told me that the look on her face evidently caused the driver of the vehicle pulling said giraffe to grin, elbow the small kid seated on the passenger side, and point to the startled driver in the other car (that being my daughter) as though to indicate, “See? That’s the reaction we’re going to get! Not bad, huh?”