Category Archives: Ogunquit

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…

It took about one full day before we found our footing again. Returning to a favored place after some time away is often slightly disconcerting. Things are never quite as one remembers them, in ways good and bad. Certain places felt smaller and less impressive, others revealed a beauty I never noticed before. One thing that remained as gorgeous and powerful as ever was the Marginal Way, and we took our time walking along its meandering seaside route. 

I still remember the first time we made this journey, on our first vacation together almost twenty-two years ago. The same rocks, and many of the same trees, remain intact. Thinking of all the waves that had broken over this space since then felt dizzying, and ruminating about all those years was equally daunting, in a good way. 

We’d seen this sea in all manners of moods: wild and thrashing about, calm and placidly gentle, violent and fiery, happy and sparkling, gray and somber, bright and invigorating – and always beautiful, always life-affirming. How something so changeable could simultaneously be so stalwart and stable remains an exquisite mystery to me. 

We’ve changed too over these last two decades, and like the gnarled and tough junipers that formed a little protected cove in our favorite part of the trail, we’ve been worn down and aged in ways that reveal our travails and our worth. 

We looked out into the Atlantic and watched a boat in the distance, wondering at the other souls on their own journeys…

After almost two decades of visiting Ogunquit, Andy and I took a break of a few years while our usual bed and breakfast was sold and a worldwide pandemic prevented travel. When I mentioned returning to a different inn, Andy was initially hesitant. He does not always deal well with change, especially if he finds something he enjoys, such as our usual guesthouse and his friendship and comfort with the innkeepers. Personally, I was ready to try something new, and I very much needed a vacation given my lack of one for about five years, so it was this or some other dramatic act of self-preservation, and luckily this one worked. 

Ogunquit had been calling to us for a while, a missing piece in our annual traditions, and it was the site of our very first vacation together back in 2000. We made about two trips a year there, starting the summer season on Memorial Day weekend and then closing things out either over Columbus Day or Halloween weekends. The last few years, that’s been missing, and I think both Andy and I realized it was time to get back to such beautiful basics. 

Given the crazed way everyone seems to be taking trips, we did our best to avoid traffic by arriving in town on Thursday, and a thankfully uneventful ride saw us checking quietly into the Scotch Hill Inn, and a gracious and friendly woman named Rita for us situated with a brief tour of the inn and the schedule for breakfast the next few days. We made our way to our room, and I instantly felt at home. 

A four-post bed, high off the floor, welcomed us into this new era, and light filled the space. The sunny weather was precisely the sort of welcome that set us at ease. The entire town seemed to be in full bloom.

While Andy settled into the newness, I did a quick walk about town, peering into old spaces and seeing how much had changed (quite a bit). Along with Covid, there had been five years of life that had run through this Beautiful Place By The Sea, changing and shifting things, like the shore itself.

We watched a Judy Garland film on that first night – ‘In the Old Summertime’ – and she sang this pretty little song. It was a perfect re-entry to our favorite vacation location, and the world, so rocked and wearied since we’d been here last, felt like it was righting itself, if just a little bit.

We entered our own little dreamland, with visions of sea roses and salty sea spray and the invigorating draw of the ocean tugging at the edge of sleep…

As far as I can tell, the fall of 2017 was the very last time Andy and I set foot in Ogunquit. Since that time, we missed visiting at the start and close of the season – such happy bookends that once delineated our summer season. This year, we are set to return to the Beautiful Place by the Sea, trying out some new digs (Scotch Hill Inn) and with a renewed appreciation for travel. 

Memorial Day weekend always kicked off our Ogunquit adventures for the year, and it was often filled with the anticipatory excitement that this happy time of the year brings. The world feels very different now, and I’m hopeful that Ogunquit brings a new balm to everything we have all been through. 

Every trip to Ogunquit felt like a return home, a return to a place of sanctuary, where the beauty and majesty of the Marginal Way brought about a clearing sense of calm and centering, and stepping into the Atlantic Ocean, no matter how bracingly cold, felt like an instant cure to whatever ailed us. 

While things have decidedly changed, and Ogunquit may not look or feel like it once did, there is a grace and healing in nostalgia, and more importantly, there are new memories to be made. It is time. 

Crossing the bridge into The Way Life Should Be was both a figurative and literal entry into Maine for many Memorial Days. The past couple of years we’ve switched things up, and part of me is sad for that, especially given this year’s entire derailment of travel, but we have a treasure trove of memories that I’ll unfurl in this post. A moment of nostalgia feels good right now. It is a moment of comfort. A reassurance. Let’s look back…

Our very first trip to Ogunquit was in 2000, right after we met, and it was actually our very first trip anywhere together. It was late summer, and the town was getting ready to shut down for the season. It was just waking up to extending things through the end of fall, but back then it was the end of summer and almost the end of the vacation season. It turned out to be the start of something wonderful, in many ways, and the next year we came back for Memorial Day weekend, where we would return for almost two decades. 

The first dozen years are well-documented in photographs, but I won’t bore you with that kind of slideshow. Instead, I’ll post the more recent links that are still up after the big website revamping after 2012. It will good to remember, especially since we haven’t been there in a few years, and, the state of the world being what it is, since we may not be there in the near future. 

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2013

• It always begins with a hint of floral beauty, whether it’s raining or the sun is shining. 
• For many years, we had nothing but rain whenever we would visit. It’s a testament to the magic of the town and its denizens that it never deterred us from wanting to come back.
• Ok, maybe the food helped a bit too. 
• The men of Maine Street.
• A windy and rainy day is the whole purpose of a lighthouse. 
• When the clouds part, the beauty is lit. 
• After the rain, a pictorial.
• Bare-assed in the knotty pine room.
• A secret garden path.
• The yellow jacket.
• Flowers in the sun following the rain.
• After the sky breaks.
• A new friend from the forest.
• Farewell until the fall.

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2014

• Welcoming lilacs, a tradition that would be a favorite aspect of every Memorial Day. Just as they were finishing up in upstate New York, they would be beginning their show in Maine. 
• Making friends in Ogunquit has been a wonderful part of our vacations, especially when we come back to visit with them again.
• Going outside of Ogunquit can be fun too.
• Florals feel more groundbreaking in Maine. 
• Sweaters and underwear.
• Artistic endeavors find inspiration on vacation.
• Muted and unmated brilliance along the Marginal Way.

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2015

• A soft floral entry into the Beautiful Place by the Sea.
• Ogunquit’s beauty can be quiet or bombastic.
• Always the lilacs…
• This remains one of my favorite almost-secret places.
• A life not for sale. 
• Another new friend hidden in a pansy. 
• A colorful climax to a holiday weekend. 

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2016

• This year went lighter on the recap links, relying on a few photographs to say thousands of words. , which is somewhat regretful seeing as this was the last time we were in Ogunquit for Memorial Day for a while. 
• There was still some room for these whimsical objects. 
• After that, Ogunquit lived on in memories and virtual posts. 

There would also be more visits to the Beautiful Place By The Sea, such as this fall visit in 2017. But for a more comprehensive look, check out this post which included some of the summer and fall journeys we’ve taken there. 

There’s something special that happens when you stick your toes into the sand beside the ocean. You can feel the sea pull back, and pull you deeper into the sand. It’s dizzying, and it instantly grounds you, connecting you to the natural world in a way I’ve not found anywhere else, not even in my all-too-rare brushes with the sublime. It’s been well over a year since I’ve had my toes in the sand by the sea, and I just realized it’s something I’ve been missing. 

As a substitute for that, for now, since it will have to do, I’m putting this post up to remind myself of the Beautiful Place By the Sea – Ogunquit – because it’s been too long since we were there. It’s always been a magical place for us, where the difficulties of day-to-day life melt away once we cross the bridge, where we can suspend our usual cares and worries and focus on what really matters – the way the moon pulls on the tides, the way the wind whips along the Marginal Way, the way a mid-afternoon slumber enervates the ennui of the daily lull. 

It’s always been more than a vacation, and more than an escape from living – it’s the way life should be. Let’s revisit some happy memories in the following links:

A summer day at Ogunquit Beach.

Holding the ocean in our hands, and our hearts.

Blooms upon blooms. 

Falling in Ogunquit.

A secret garden.

By the Way.

Walking in the woods.

A surprise for Andy.

More fall beauty in Maine.

Andy & Mom.

On the rocks.

Even in the rain, Ogunquit is beautiful. 

One always eats well in Ogunquit.

A lighthouse in Maine.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Finding the sun.

Return to the secret garden.

Sun again. 

Even the farewells are better in Ogunquit. 

Back at the beach.

The Marginal Way at dusk.

The family in Ogunquit.

Some seaside scenes.

A mountain in Maine.

Spring entry.

Writing it into being.

When gray is the way.

Ogunquit quietude.

More lilacs.

All of Ogunquit’s entertainments. 

Ogunquit whimsy.

Rich in beauty.

The fall goodbye.

And again.

Rosa rugosa.

Harvest moon over Maine.

Looking out from the start of the Marginal Way, we take in the view of the moon as it reflects over the eastern seaboard. Framed by clouds and cradled by the sea, the moon hovers and disseminates its magic along the shore, sprinkling fairy dust and sparkling gypsy water in its wake. This is the Harvest Moon, I’m told – aptly named from the time when it aided farmers in gathering their harvests late into the night.

I use its light to harvest memories – of trips to Maine, of childhood adventures, of misunderstandings, of beauty and happiness. I also use it to make a new one: spying this spectacular moon with my parents and my husband, on a balmy October evening after a family dinner in Ogunquit. (Add it to the list of happy ones.)

If you’ve been following this blog for any decent length of time you are already accustomed to our twice-annual sojourns to this Beautiful Place By The Sea. This year we closed out the season with a long Columbus Day weekend, but rather than take you through a multi-post recap of what went on every stage of the trip, this sole post will have to suffice.

Carrying on with my self-imposed backing-away from non-stop blogging (hello dash-happy sentence), I decided to reclaim my vacation time as well, which meant less documenting every minute and instead living in each moment. I left the real camera at home and did just fine with the iPhone to convey brief glimpses of our time there. 

These pics tell a vague story, hinting at the fun and enjoyment we experienced, while allowing you to conjure your own fall trip connotations. This is one of my favorite times of the year to be in Maine. Spring carries its excitement and the promise of a summer to come, but there’s something more moving and beautiful about the fall, when we are ready to put everything to bed for the winter slumber. The prettiness of the pumpkins and the colorful cacophony of the chrysanthemums are not long for this world, so we value them a little more. We pause instead of rushing by. We know what winter may bring. 

Though our fall trip to Ogunquit finished up a few weeks ago, the memories still haunt me, in the best possible way, so I’m going to indulge in a lazy look back at some of the scenes seen then.

 

Until we meet again… after the winter.

There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark, and though Rose Nylund would claim that it’s their cheese, it’s actually something that goes well with cheese: the apple. Torn from their boughs, these fruits have fallen to the forest floor and begun their transformation back to the place from which they came. Decay and decomposition. Seems nasty and gross to some, but it’s the very source of life again. There is beauty here too, if you can bend your mind a different way.

I stumbled upon these fallen soldiers while walking through a secluded corner of Ogunquit. They reminded me of fall days when I would walk home from school and pause beneath a few pine trees, nestling into the rust-colored needles warm from the sun and plucking a few pine-cones to decorate later. I’d sit there in that sublime patch of autumn and retrieve an apple I’d saved from lunch, biting into the crunchy sweetness and peering out from the edge of the forest.

The harvest is at hand, and the spicy tones of grains and gourds fall upon the earth like little globes of ridged amber baubles. Indian corn, probably politically incorrectly-monikered at this point, makes a striking accent with its rows of multi-colored kernels, hinting at a Thanksgiving to come, and the coziest time of the year. Our reluctance to head onto the path for winter is eased by such scenes, and fall will always carry her own enchantments.

Vines of invasive bittersweet, beautiful but dangerous, open their shiny yellow orbs to reveal bright red hearts. They sing their tempting siren song to the birds, who, entranced by such color in a sea of dying leaves, swoop in and carry the seeds to further the invasive destruction of this fast-growing vine. There is a price to pay for such prettiness.

Fall hints coldly, and grandly, at the fiery end to the growing season. It will not go quietly into the winter night, and why should it when there is still so much color and texture to display? Such as in these gourds, whose surface is a mottled dream of ridges and bumps, as strange and delightful to the hand as it is to the eye.

Nature is a skilled architect, adept at crafting vehicles who purpose sometimes seems to be beauty alone. That has always been purpose enough.

Even the most striking autumn color is doomed to fade. Sometimes that happens overnight, with a harsh biting frost, but more often it happens in slower and less definitive fashion, as in the way the sky softens, and wispy clouds filter the light. It’s a very subtle change, and one might miss it when presented with a rose thrillingly defying the edge of the ocean, but if you look closely you will detect it.

There is a more nuanced beauty at work when the change happens, delicate gradations and misty renderings as a gauze descended like the fog, and on our final full day in the seaside town, the rain fell steadily, revealing a murky melancholy that was not wholly unwelcome. After a summer of sun, it’s only fair. Fitting too, as an afternoon nap is a luxury to be indulged while on vacation, and you don’t feel like you’re missing as much when it’s raining.

Before that, however, we got in a walk along the Marginal Way. The colors were a comfort – gentle and harmonious – in the way that nature manages to put forth the most pleasing palette seemingly without the slightest effort.

We finish with a lunch in Perkins Cove. Though the days are turning gray, they are doing so in thrilling fashion. Fall can be charming, and we are already under its spell.