One of my favorite spots at the Scotch Hill Inn was the front porch, which wrapped around the front and side of the house, and offered a vantage point that looked over the street and town below. It was where the inn’s magnificent breakfasts were served each morning, and provided a place to rest and relax. On our last afternoon I found it happily vacant, and I set up shop reading a book and watching the day go by. From behind the shade of a viburnum about to reveal its blooms, I looked out at the steady stream of dedicated beach goers returning from their day at the shore. They simultaneously amused and impressed me – their backs strapped with packs and beach chairs and rolled towels, some with tents and surfboards and other paraphernalia that looked as ridiculous to me as it must have seemed natural to them. It reminded me of eating crab legs, which I never do – so much work and effort for such little results.
That said, I adored the beach – though never to the extent that you would see a chair on my back as I made my way very publicly through town. I’ll make a fool of myself in many other ways. Andy and I had already made our pilgrimage to Ogunquit Beach, walking there with some towels earlier in the day before the rush of the crowds, and setting up in a relatively secluded space where we could lie about in peace, listening to the ocean waves, and occasionally approach its frigid water. (There were warnings in the weather reports about how cold it was, despite the heat and sun right above its surface.)
We don’t often get to enjoy a warm beach day this early in the season, but this year we had a whole Sunday of sun to enjoy its seductive charms. Andy loves the beach even more than I do, and I was just happy to join him there, letting the sand warm our bare feet, letting the ocean work its magic and ease any tension or worry that might have remained with us.
We took a new route back, exploring a stretch of beautiful homes we’d never passed before, new delights that proved no matter how well you think you may know a place, there is always more to see and discover, proof that we still have more to seek and more to find.
Back on the porch, I eased into the last afternoon of this little trip, intent on inhabiting the moment, being fully present and drinking in all of the joy and peace around me.
After dinner, Andy suggested we walk into town one last time, and without words or plans, we both instinctively made our way to the start of the Marginal Way, back to where our first journey in Ogunquit had begun so many years ago. The gardens there were once again in full bloom, the blues and purples echoing the azure descent of dusk. We walked along for a bit, finding a place that looked back over the sunset and the water. Andy seemed to want to hold onto the moment as much as I did, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over me as we slowly started back.
The next morning we had our final delicious breakfast – Eggs Benedict for me and a pecan waffle for Andy – then set about to finish packing. It’s strange the way sadness personifies the success of a vacation, but strange or not, there was that familiar tinge of sorrow as we loaded up the car from our first vacation in Ogunquit in five years. We didn’t want it to end, but were happy to have found our way back.
Until we return again…
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