Here are some parting glimpses of our fall weekend in Ogunquit, where we took leave of the Beautiful Place By the Sea for another year. It’s usually one of our sadder departures, as we know we won’t be back until the spring, and there’s that whole mess called winter that must pass first. But the colors are rich, and we were sent off with the flaming beauty seen here.
This coming weekend marks the big Halloween celebration in Ogunquit, but they were already gearing up for it when we were there a couple of weeks ago. This fun display puts a witty and bewitching spin on our obsession with texting. My Mom asked me to take a few photos of the display, so these are for her.
Welcome to Mount Agamenticus (or “Mount A†which has an easier ring to it). One might have assumed that by our thirteenth year of visiting Maine we’d have climbed the mountain by now, but this is one of those somewhat-unheralded spots of enchantment that had previously escaped us. We brought my parents along for our virgin visit, and they were just as captivated by the views.
This area of protected land contains five watersheds that provide drinking water for southern York County residents, which would include Ogunquit, and includes over 10,000 acres of conserved wilderness.
We drove to the summit rather than walk, given the abundance of AARP-qualified peeps in the car, and the fact that the lone non-qualifier is a lazy bum. (That would be me.)
We walked around the summit area and took in the expanse of land around us, peering all the way into New Hampshire and out to the Atlantic Ocean.
Mount A was used for skiing in a previous incarnation, and some of the remnants were still around, rusty but intact.
I wish I’d had more time to explore the hiking trails on my own, and perhaps on our next trip I’ll have Andy drop me off at the mid-point and meet him at the top.
For now, I snuck away for the briefest of moments, to find hidden jewels like this dew-kissed patch of moss.
We did not happen upon any of the wildlife said to walk these lands, such as moose, black bears, or white-tailed deer, nor did we see any signs of the Blue-spotted salamander or Fairy shrimp. (Wait, what did you just call me?)
Also missing were any migratory sightings of peregrine falcons, bald eagles, or osprey. Perhaps they’ve already found warmer climes.
Regardless of the hidden wildlife, it was a great place to spend part of our last full day in Maine.
It took at least three men to position this 900-lb. pumpkin so it could be carved out and carved up. Once it was propped up properly, the artisans went to work on conjuring the face you see before you. In a few short hours it went from the slightly-warped ribbing that signifies a giant pumpkin to this funny facial facade filled with two endless rows of teeth. Onlookers (including my Dad, if you look to the top right of the photo below, he’s studying the progress from a balcony) stopped to watch the scene unfold from the Marginal Way.
Dad also thought to ask the carver for a few of the seeds, which were being dumped into a large garbage bin. Others followed suit.
We toyed with the idea of planting some, but there’s no way we have anywhere near the amount of room, sun, and heat required for such a squash to reach the monster proportions of something like this.
Besides, we’ve had trouble moving furniture that weighed half of this.
The final product, glowing magically in the cool night of an Ogunquit fall. He (or she) has got a great smile.
Somehow I’ve lost track of our Ogunquit recap, so let’s resume the telling of that tale, pictorially at least, with these photos from the Marginal Way.
Mom and Dad joined us for this year’s Columbus Day weekend in Ogunquit, Maine, and it was one of the more relaxing and enjoyable jaunts of late. We all needed a break, it seemed, and the weekend provided that in lazy walks along the Marginal Way, leisurely shopping excursions in nearby Kittery, and a lofty look at the summit of Mt. Agamenticus. Of course, my favorite part was just spending some time with my parents and Andy, at breakfast or dinner, or cocktails with friends.
Ogunquit is one of the few places where I can relax and not worry about what I’m wearing or what I have scheduled or what needs to be written for this blog. I don’t have to think about work issues or family drama or impending kitchen renovations. It’s a place of surrender and contentment, ease and comfort, balm and beauty.
It’s always good to see my parents and Andy interact – sometimes he gets along better with them than I do, but such is the benefit of distance. We had a great time, removed from the rest of the world, in a paradisiacal place by the sea, enjoying fine food and settling into a weekend of peace – and family fun.
Here we see Andy and Dad walking up from Perkins Cove, and then posing in front of the giant pumpkins.
Our family holiday weekend in Ogunquit had begun…
Last year’s fall trip to Ogunquit, Maine was documented here, and since I’m in Maine as this is being posted, I invite you to revisit some old haunts, where I may be as you’re reading this.
Rather than go back a year, let’s rewind to that first weekend in Ogunquit of this year – in May – when a cool rain started things off. It was nothing a yellow raincoat and some seafood couldn’t make better. And at the end of the wet spell, the sunny relief was that much more welcome.
There are still a few spots of seclusion, despite the growing popularity of this Beautiful Place by the Sea, namely this rarely-tread path. Back in May it was all spring flowers and verdant grass.
The best part of that first trip of the year to Ogunquit is the back-pocket notion that there will be another one. That’s what’s missing this time around, as it’s the last one this year. But we’ll make the most of it…
On a recent work day, the phone vibrated and displayed a number I didn’t recognize. When that happens it’s usually someone trying to sell me a security system for the house, so I was about to let it go to voice-mail when something made me pause and answer. I was at my desk, so I walked into an enclave, prepared and at the ready to strike fear into the heart of some hapless salesperson or telemarketer, when a woman’s voice asked to speak to Alan. She identified herself as Nancy, one of my FaceBook friends, and I recognized the name at once as we’ve had several friendly correspondences. She explained that she was sitting on Ogunquit Beach and thought she’d give me a call to let me hear the ocean. She held the phone in the air, and somewhere amid the wind I could barely make out the ocean waves, pounding gloriously upon the shore. High tide was moving in, and I could picture the throngs of people slowly advancing up the beach. I smiled.
The kindness of the gesture, the care she had taken, the thoughtfulness of thinking of me while enjoying her day on the beach – one of the last for this season she said – it moved me immensely. It reminded me that there is goodness in this world, that kindness does matter, and does still exist. Mostly it made me glad that there were people like Nancy willing to reach out and share a little of the happiness they feel with others. That’s what we were put here to do. Thank you, Nancy, for restoring my faith in so many things.
Our vacation in Maine had come to its close, and for our last night we had dinner at Gypsy Sweethearts and took in ‘Young Frankenstein’ at the Ogunquit Playhouse. While I’m not in any way a Mel Brooks fan, I found the show funny and pleasantly diverting, and the performers were excellent across the board. Of course, that’s to be expected of the legendary Playhouse, where Ms. Bette Davis herself used to tread the boards. As for the show itself, aside from some show-stopping production numbers, I was amused but not entirely impressed. Chalk it up to a failure on my part in appreciating that sort of Brooksian humor.
On our way out of town, we stopped for one final fried clam platter. The wind had moved in, and the air was cooler. The gripping heat-wave of the previous week had broken. It was the first time I felt the tentative approach of fall. The goldenrod along the roadside echoed the hint. Still, there is much summer yet to be had, and we are in no way going to rush through it so soon. The fact that we got to spend a week of it in Maine was a rare treat.
I had never been on the Marginal Way after dark. I’m not even sure it’s technically allowed, but when you reach a thirteen-year crux in your journey, when you reach a point of desperation and momentary unhappiness, you don’t tend to care about such things as danger or wisdom or police. No one was on the path that wound its way along the shore, high above the riotous sea below.
There were no lights on the Way. Only the brightness of the full moon, directly ahead of me, drawing me onward, pulling me toward something I couldn’t quite see. Like most of those telling moments of confusion, I didn’t feel the least bit frightened, not at the physical circumstances at least. In truth, it was a foolish thing to do, and in the proper mind-set I would never have walked it, but I did. And I didn’t care.
At a few turns, my mind raced, more with wonder than worry, over what might be around the bend. A thick misty fog was all around, half-falling and half-suspended in the thick air. Whatever night creatures were about, or whatever menacing forces came forth from a full moon, stayed at abeyance. I walked the way in solitude. Slowly, as usually happens, my anger dissipated, replaced by a weary sadness, and the slow, morose desolation that comes after hurting someone, and being hurt.
Venturing down to the shore, where the sounds of crashing waves overwhelmed everything, my feet skidded but somehow kept me upright – the dress shoes from dinner being a poor choice for the rugged Maine shore. I briefly contemplated going in, feeling the chill of the icy night sea, flirting with the deceptive undertow, anything to jolt some sort of change, some kind of reaction, something to head off the deadening drone of time. And then the expanse of it, the power and might of its relentlessness, the fathoms of unfathomable darkness, roiling the sand and stone, scared me off. I shuddered there at the shore, damp in the mist, stung by the sea, and it was enough. I walked back to the lights, to the quiet town that now slept, to the still and empty streets that I’d only ever seen populated with throngs of merry-making tourists and visitors. To the room and the bed where my husband slumbered. To the life I had made for myself – for us – and, always at the end, to sleep.
Some couples, when asked about the secret to their everlasting happiness, say they never go to bed on an argument. That’s ridiculous. I’ve gone to bed on many a dispute. I’ve walked out of the house and stayed in a hotel. I’ve left mid-discussion and gone to the movies. For us, a little time apart works wonders. It’s not whether or not you go to bed on an argument, but whether or not you wake up still mad; the trick is what you do in the morning. Do you let things go (as we often do) or do you continue the fight? Resolution is good, but sometimes not resolving every minute detail is a resolution in itself. A relationship should never be done. They grow and evolve like the people in them, and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way.
A pretty thing, that moon. Catching on the caps of the waves, hanging over the liquid horizon, glowing as if lit by a thousand candles – it’s a beautiful sight. But such beauty comes at a cost, the magnificence in exchange for a little happiness. You have to give something to get something. In the past, to bask in the moonlight was to invite bad luck, to change the make-up of a person, transforming their body, their mind, their blood into something different, something dangerous.
There is a reason for the term ‘lunatic’ (from ‘luna’ meaning moon), and something to the pull of that satellite that turns normally sane and reasonable couples into antagonistic adversaries. The last time we had a super moon, Andy and I ended up getting in a huge fight. The same thing happened this time around. After a pleasant dinner and an after-dinner drink, we got into it (though I will not get into it here – that’s another story for another day). It is sometimes said that every couple has the same fight, over and over again, and unless one or both of the people involved really changes, the fight will continue. Maybe that’s what was happening. After thirteen years, there were character traits and personality quirks that still hadn’t quite reconciled themselves. In some ways you learn to live with it, but sometimes you still fight back.
I stormed off into the evening. Alone. It was nearly midnight. Only the moon would guide me…
On our anniversary, as it had done those thirteen years ago, it rained for most of the day. And like July 23, 2000, it also cleared by the time evening arrived. A lovely dinner at our favorite restaurant, Five-O, came with two flutes of celebratory champagne. They were good enough to save our favorite table for us, and the meal was lush and romantic. In fact, it was almost too perfect, and had it ended right there, it would have gone down as one of the all-time best. But #13 would not prove as lucky for us, thanks perhaps in part to the number, but mostly, I’m guessing, to the moon…
