Category Archives: Ogunquit

Marking our 16^th fall in Ogunquit, this year found us embracing some old favorites on their way out, and putting our official vacation season to sleep for the year. I’ve got a couple trips coming up, but our Columbus Day weekend in Maine is when we say good-bye to the majority of sunny days. It’s a bittersweet trip, but when you go in knowing that, it makes things a little more precious. We hold them a little dearer and closer to the heart.

The sea – constant and powerful, beautiful and devastating – would shout out in roaring waves. Foaming at the mouth, it would shoot its spray into the air and onto the rocky outcroppings. That would come later. For now, it gently lapped at the shore, an innocent young canine playing with gentle yet insistent purpose.

Here is a glimpse of the glory that is Ogunquit, as our real lives intersect with my online adventures. We are scheduled to depart this lovely town tomorrow, as our annual fall visit comes to a close, and we do so with our usual tinge of sadness. Still, there is something of comfort in such beauty, and we always leave a little richer than when we arrived.

At the edge of land, the light is magical. Where the sea greets us, whether in peaceful slumber or tumultuous rage, there is the crux of life.

We will be back when things awake again… in the spring.

Blacksmith’s Antiques is a stalwart warehouse of antiques and bric-a-brac. Much of it is junk, but one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and in the right evocative lighting these objects take on different meaning. Some become more mysterious, some become more menacing, and some become more magnificent.

Ogunquit is one of my happy places.

Whenever we go there, life seems to be a little bit better.

Something lifts off our shoulders as we cross the bridge and enter Maine. Like an old, dear friend, it greets us with warmth and reassurance, no matter what else is happening in our lives or in the world.

Here are a few shots of our recent Memorial Day weekend trip. After sixteen years, Ogunquit still thrills. A little rain, a perfect beach day, some shopping, some impeccable food, and lots of relaxation. The best of all possible worlds.

Our time in Ogunquit was over much too quickly, as is always the case, but the end of the fall trip is always the sadder of our two departures. In spring, there is the promise of a return at the close of the season, along with the whole of summer in-between. In fall, there is nothing but the long trudge to and through winter to which we can look ahead. That’s trying enough with the lengthy half-year time period until we meet the Maine shore again, made doubly so by the wretched weather that will occupy much of that stretch. Still, there is beauty in a goodbye, no matter how sad it might be.

There is also beauty in a New England fall, as seen in the accompanying photographs here. While I’ve never been a fan of chrysanthemums for my own yard or garden, I do enjoy seeing the rainbow of colors being produced by hybridizers these days. The dahlias are another highlight that I have yet to grow in my garden – they will go like fireworks until the harder frosts strike them down. It would be too heartbreaking to see a show like that felled by the onslaught of freezing temperatures, but in other gardens I can admire and appreciate them without having to witness their demise.

Throughout it all, there will be gourds and winter squash, heaped upon one another in piles of textured, colorful flesh that hides the kind of goodness that lies in wait to be roasted. Along with soups, roasted winter vegetables will be filling our toasty kitchen this fall, the kind of cozy comfort food that warms the home and the soul. It makes departing Maine only slightly more bearable. We will return… with the spring.

Along the Marginal Way, the breeze is biting but the sun is warm. We walk along this well-traversed stretch of shoreline, pausing to admire the rocky coastline, waiting to absorb the beauty of the day. A couple of seagulls fly overhead, while other water birds float in the distance. On the sea, shards of sunlight bounce off the tips of waves – the effect is of some sparkling blanket, undulating in the darkest of blues.

There is a sense of grounding whenever I find myself on the crux of land and ocean, and upon planting my feet and feeling the power of the place, I look up into the sky and beam at the soaring of the gulls.

In the midst of our annual fall trip here, our Marginal Way walk, en route to lunch in Perkins Cove, is a calm highlight in a long weekend of calming moments. If you stand there for a while, listening to the waves lull with their lullaby-like dirge, you will feel the spell the sea casts on all who pause to hear it. It’s a spell that the land echoes, with its rocky soil that affords only the hardiest of roses a foothold to unfurl their rugged beauty. Even at this late stage of the season, a few Rosa rugosa blooms manage to perfume the salty air.

By the time we round the juniper-shaded corner to Perkins Cove, my stomach is ready for a warm bowl of chowder, and maybe a fish fry. The cove is quiet today, the water relatively still, mirroring the sky and begging for a haiku.

Indigo ocean

beneath playful sky hosting

non-threatening clouds.

The quick, photo-heavy posts of our latest jaunt to Ogunquit begin here, with some lovely shots of one of my favorite stores in that fair town: Spoiled Rotten. It’s one of those neat retail establishments that comprise almost an entire house, where tiny rooms open onto others, creating a jewel-box-like enchantment that is matched only by the exquisiteness of the gifts on display. The entry way opens immediately to a stair-case that leads to rooms filled with candles and kitchen accoutrements, artistic works in glass and ceramic, stationary, potpourri, colorful quilted bags, and all sorts of gorgeous wreckage that collectively casts a most pleasant spell.

For someone’s who’s done his retail time, the mere thought of doing an inventory in such a packed place both exhausts and impresses me. Godspeed, good people. In the meantime, the rest of us will reap beautiful enjoyment from the sights, scents, and sounds on the scene.

The locality plays a major role in the items and merchandise on display, and much of it ties into Ogunquit or Maine, or the sultry seasonal fare of New England. To that end, something is always changing and evolving in the store, and every time we visit there are new delights to be discovered.

Echoes of the sea, refractions of the light, and every conceivable charm of the season find expression here.

From the outside porch that spills over with gourds and squash and fall amusement, to the innermost room that hides the most gorgeous velvet pumpkin, Spoiled Rotten glimmers with the whimsical rustic charm that marks the best of Ogunquit.

Our time in Maine had come to a close, but with it I was holding the calm and restorative peace the town always produced close to my heart. As the unofficial start to the summer season, Memorial Day weekend could not have been more perfect – weather-wise, food-wise, and soul-wise. We arrived to a lovely gift from our fellow Ogunquit-lover Eileen – a gorgeous piece of pottery and a heartwarming note of welcome. Along with the scent and pleasant visage of lilacs everywhere, it felt like the whole town was once again open for merriment.

Newly-planted flowers were already bursting with blooms, while returning perennials finally felt warm enough to begin their show too.

One of the most important things for this Dadbod in the making was the food, and this trip provided a number of delicious meals, including the one picture here from Five-O. it began with the most amazing octopus dish – fresh, tender, and perfectly grilled, it sat on a bed of fiddle-head ferns and was so good it turned Andy into a new octopus fan. The chicken that followed, on a creamy bed of mushroom risotto, was nothing short of miraculous. Don’t even get me started on the olive oil and orange cake that I splurged on for dessert. My pants still have not forgiven me.

Along with the food, there was no shortage of entertainment on hand, starting with a phenomenal set (and personal lap dance) by Hedda Lettuce at Maine Street. My thighs are still tingling.

There was also the magic of the Ogunquit Playhouse, where ‘Sister Act’ was raising the roof with a glorious production.

It’s there through June 21, so get your tickets and book your room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn now.

The weather was so perfect, the weekend flew by too quickly, but even when it rains that’s the way it goes. Ogunquit is magical in that respect. Maine is a state of mind. Maine is the way life should be.

Until we meet again…

Spiders usually scare the shit out of me. Almost as much as house centipedes (truly the ghastliest of all creatures put on this great good earth.) Yet every once in a while, when a spider is cute and small enough to not pose a threat, I’ll think of ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and not scream like a baby when I see one. That was the case when this ghostly little arachnid surprised me as I was taking photos of a ruffled pansy. I didn’t see it at first, so intent was my gaze upon the colorful petals, but just as I was leaning further in to snap the shot, I saw it walk forward a bit.

Startled more than scared, I took another photo and watched as it did a little dance. Backlit by the sun, it was an almost translucent white – hopefully no one identifies as some poisonous thing that could have killed me with a fang-transmitted dose of venom. And if you do, please don’t tell me. The best part of a spider is everything I don’t know.

Sometimes the perfect blog post title can be found on a tag in an antique store. Such is the case here, where a mannequin posed with the titular phrase. A bit of punctuation tweaking and suddenly things took on a deeper meaning. Blacksmith’s Antiques is filled with such hidden art, and some startlingly spooky items as well. Dolls like these are creepy on so many levels, I don’t understand how our children aren’t more disturbed. There is an eerie beauty to their dilapidated state, though, and a sadness that hints of neglect and age and the passing of time and innocence.

We all suffer similar effects, even if they’re mostly internal. I don’t know anyone who could stand to face a Dorian Gray-like portrait that told a physical tale of what they were thinking throughout their life. Let it be writ on the fading visage of these dolls rather than anything else.

Here is where we discover whatever happened to Baby Jane. Here we see who was afraid of Virginia Wolff. Here is the embodiment of soiled dreams and dingy nightmares, the stuff of hourglass sand and every thing that ever had a price tag attached to it.

The past can be a sad and scary place, and even happy moments can’t last forever. Time conquers and takes all, including the most trifling memento.

Time devours the present and prepares its great gaping mouth for the future. Emotionless, it swallows us up, and the only thing to do is give in to its relentless march, easing into its unyielding formation.

When you make your peace with time, all else falls into place.

It is the land that flows by the river, and the world that spins by your ear, as a pair of dancing mice sings a sweet song of youth.