For the first decade or so of our spring visits to Ogunquit, it invariably rained and produced dismal weather for the unofficial start of the summer season, yet for all of those rainy times we never once let it get us down. Maybe it was the giddiness of being on vacation, or the beauty that surfaced even in the subdued grays and wet leaves all around us, or the delicious food that tasted even better when it was the highlight of the day – whatever the reason, we always embraced our time in Ogunquit. 

When the downturn in weather happened three days into this year’s summer kick-off, we simply pulled out a couple of umbrellas, slipped on an extra jacket, and went about the business of relaxing. On the cozy porch of the Scotch Hill Inn, we began with a glorious breakfast, setting the deliciously-languid tone for a lazy couple of days. 

Rainy weather does not make for a comfortable walk along the Marginal Way, so the only way to get to Perkins Cove for a lunch was by car. At our ever-advancing ages, the two-mile hike wasn’t missed. We found a place that looked over the cranky ocean, tumultuously throwing one of its spring tantrums and rocking several groups of water birds and their little offspring dangerously close to the shore. When faced with such a chill and a possible dampening of spirits, a platter of fried whole belly clams is an ideal antidote. Comfort food at its most simple and sublime. 

In the way that the universe will occasionally throw us a bone, the skies lightened a little by the time we finished lunch. After driving back to the Inn, I went for a walk while Andy napped, finding this little pocket of beauty and solitude following the rain. 

Rain does lend its own beauty to things, such as these forget-me-nots cradled among some rose-hued pansies. If I wasn’t on vacation, I’d likely be too preoccupied cursing the gray skies or cruel temperatures to notice them, but here I pause at each patch of flowers along my path, culminating at a stand of beach roses beside the outlet of the Ogunquit River.

The sun was still valiantly attempting to show itself before we departed (it always does so on our last morning in town – always) but on this afternoon it didn’t make much progress, and that evening’s dinner at Walker’s looked to be a fall-like affair. A June night that recalls the air of October is not something to be celebrated, yet our first experience at this restaurant was one of those happy twists of fate that worked out perfectly.

A roaring fire heated the main dining room, while a line of wood-fired ovens emanated more lovely heat. It was the coziest restaurant we’d been in for quite some time, and its warmth was the ideal setting for a chilly night. The food was as lovely as the atmosphere, and the service was even lovelier. (I’d remarked how much I liked the soap they used in the bathroom and our server managed to sneak a container of it to us at the end of the meal). We wished they had been open the next day as we would have made an unprecedented return to try them again (the menu was filled with too many options to test in a single sitting). 

It was a new restaurant for us, a happy surprise that rescued a rainy day, and the perfect ending to a spring trip that felt more like a tease than a promise fulfilled. That might be what fall is for, when Walker’s may be the newest jewel in Ogunquit’s culinary crown. That is how we will close this pair of vacation posts – with the idea of a fall return – ending on a note of cozy warmth to greet the summer yet to come. 

Andy and I have been visiting Ogunquit, Maine regularly since 2000. It was the first place to which we traveled together, and will always hold special significance for me because of that. It has also provided the bookends of our summers – with the first trip usually taking place over Memorial Day weekend and the last closing things out in October. This year we were off by a week, which worked out in that we avoided most of the crowds, even if it was Pride Weekend. I overheard one of the servers telling their table that the best time to visit if you wanted something quiet was in the weekend following a holiday weekend, so our timing was fortuitous, and something to keep in mind going forward. 

We arrived on a sunny day, the kind that has often proved elusive on our Ogunquit visits. Home-base was once again the Scotch Hill Inn, which provides the best breakfast in town (and is reason alone to book this place, if the accompanying hospitality and comfort isn’t already more than enough). 

Our host Anthony graciously let us settle in, and after a quick unpacking we immediately headed to the beach and it seemed like there might only be two decent beach days. If there is one lesson we have learned over the decades of visiting Ogunquit, it is to make the most of the sun when it’s out. 

The ocean water was as cold as Maine ocean water usually is, but Andy reveled in it, planting his feet solidly on the shore and letting it surround him for the first time since last year; a year is a long time to be away from the healing power of the sea. 

Around dinner time, we walked a bit of the Marginal Way, which was resplendent with beach roses in pink and white (Rosa rugosa), sprinkling their perfumed magic along our path. I have yet to find a Tom Ford Private Blend that is as glorious as the scent of beach roses mingled with the ocean. 

The bench where I officially proposed to Andy was happily free, so we took a moment to pause and enjoy the view and the company. After twenty-three years of visiting this place, our gratitude took an easier and more relaxed form. Thinking back over all those years, it was both a marvel and exactly what I’d hoped for and envisioned when we first started coming here. The constancy of all that was before us was a comfort, as was the idea of all that was behind us. (And on cue Andy posed for just a couple of shots before tickling me and making it impossible to capture a non-blurry picture of us together.)

The next day was even warmer, the sun was shining in splendid glory, and we made it to the beach to make the most of it. Standing at the crux of land and water, I felt the frigid water roll past my feet, watching the reflection of the sun on the rippling little waves, sparkling like hundreds of white cranes fluttering back toward the sea. The beach has been casting the same spell over me since I was a child, and here I was at 47 years of age feeling its magic all over again. 

Joining Andy on a towel in a dry section of sand, I sat down and closed my eyes to do my daily meditation. To do so in such a location was a luxury and a treat, one that allowed for a deeper mindfulness and appreciation of where we were. One of the best things about mediation is that you can bring it with you wherever you go. 

As the tide began to roll in, we rolled our towels up and walked back to dress for dinner. Something about being at the beach always makes me extra-hungry. It had been a good two days of sun and fun, but the weather was about to turn, as it tends to do when we are in town…