Just yesterday, it seems, we were all splashing around in our favorite lakes and traipsing across the state, searching for our individual definition of summer fun.

According to the tried-and-true Maine calendar, summer ended back on Labor Day. According to the official calendar, autumn arrives today.

Of course, as Mainers, we ignore the official info for a couple of reasons. First, since traditionalists don’t recognize Mud Season, it really doesn’t apply to us.

And second, Leaf Season (which lasts for about two weeks, unless, of course, we get a big blow and all the foliage comes flying off the branches in one wild weekend), Hunting Season, and Fishing Season are also left off most traditional lists. Can’t have that.

For those reasons (and others, like the fact that my mother always told me I don’t know enough to come in out of the rain), I defy the seasons. I taunt them. I refuse to recognize them at all. … Until it’s absolutely necessary.

I wear shorts until puddles freeze. I fire up my barbecue grill all winter long. I golf in the mud. I fish when it’s snowing.

I am Mainer. Hear me roar.

Or at least watch me act foolish enough to scare the lobster bibs off unsuspecting tourists.

You’ve heard the clich? about the fat lady singing? Well, summer, I figure, isn’t over until you take your boat out of the water.

Of course, it’s possible to abuse this handy rule. For instance, I have a friend who once left his boat in the water until the water ceased being water at all. Then he tromped carefully out onto the ice, hacked his 14-footer out with an ax, and dragged the boat ashore.

That, I’ll admit, is going a bit too far: I’ll be rescuing the Minnow sometime in the next week or so (I don’t have an ax, and if I have to borrow my dad’s, he’ll just shake his head and wonder … again … if he and mom didn’t actually head home with the wrong bundle-of-joy back in October of ’64).

Fall is, you see, a season of transition. And though I love all eight or 10 seasons that Maine offers, it’s always difficult to let go of summer.

When I actually take the Minnow ashore and officially hand her over to the squirrels as a cozy winter condo, it means the end of a special season.

No more lazy, hazy days. No more beaches. No more picnics.

No more of any of those good things. Luckily, there are more, different good times ahead.

Like driving down the road on the way back from a soccer game, truck heater on high … and the window wide open, just so you can smell the wood smoke of rural fireplaces and stoves.

And the first real football Friday of the fall, when you can see your breath, and you have to relearn the sportswriter-specific trick of writing in gloves. You’ll know it’s really football season when frost starts to blanket the field before your postgame interviews are over, and the mud crackles under your feet as it begins to freeze.

The season is about adjusting from springing ahead to falling back.

It’s about finally realizing, after about four weeks of the new high school season, that none of the stars you covered the year before are here any more … but a new crop of eager athletes makes your job fresh. Just like they always do.

It’s time to start thinking about putting the golf clubs away … but not until next week. (It’s always next week, you know. Until snow flies, or your club pro throws you off the course, that is).

And it’s time to start thinking about the ice shack, and the auger, and all the things you have to buy before ice fishing season.

It’s time to think back. And plan ahead. It’s time to move on.

Now I’ve just got to get the boat out of the water.

John Holyoke is a NEWS sportswriter. His e-mail address is jholyoke@bangordailynews.net