Category Archives: Ogunquit

Lulled by the steady crashing of the waves, called by the cries of the gulls, and cradled by the warmth of the sand, Andy and I made our way to Ogunquit Beach. Though the water was almost 70 degrees (very high for Maine, thanks to a few days of 90 degree heat), it still stung at my feet, and I would not be going in. (Andy would brave it a couple of days later.) Protected by sunscreen and a straw hat, I also brought a towel and a book, and that’s all I’ve ever needed to have a good time.

The beach never fails to enchant, and those unfortunate folks who aren’t beach people, who can’t access its magic and calm, will always be suspect in my mind.

There is beauty all around, but sometimes you have to look for it, and sometimes you have to patiently wait for it to reveal itself. When one is accustomed to the cheap thrills of online entertainment or televised madness, the shore may not initially astound. But for those of us who have retained that wonder, who still have the ability to appreciate the simple and the still, it will hold us rapt.

Little gems can be found, hidden among the mounds of seaweed, speckled with sand, adorned with the fallen feathers of sea birds.

Like some wild necklace, strands of sea plants lie in brittle, dry swirls ~ the discarded jewelry of a mythical siren ~ sadly beautiful and gorgeously tortured.

Bits of wreckage and bulbous seaweed pods, the trapped finery of a lost feather, and the mangled limbs of a multitude of tiny crabs – all get swirled together, then dropped upon the sand, left for dead beneath the unrelenting elements: a fiery sun, a sand-stinging wind, the very ocean itself.

It has a way of bending time. Like the warped, once-malleable sea life, time too gets distorted here where land meets water meets sky. It’s tricky business, meddling with such elemental forces, and there is always the possibility of ruin, but it’s a beautiful ruin.

We depart in a daze.

Does the ship see?

Are they looking back too?

This evening we’ll be having dinner at one of our favorite restaurants anywhere in the world: Five-O. Despite the rain, we are determined to have a good time. (The rain is actually fitting, as it rained all day before the evening we met back in 2000.) Rain is lucky – for weddings, and anniversaries.

Our time in Ogunquit had come to an end, and like a curtain being closed on the first act of a musical, it drew its sun-flecked spring foliage around its enchantments and disappeared into our rear-view mirrors. But since it was just the first act, there are two more to come – what with an extra summer trip for our friends’ wedding, and the closing act in fall. So while we bid adieu to Maine, it’s only a temporary good-bye.

That makes leaving only slightly easier to bare, especially as the weather made a turn for the better just as our time was up.

At least we had lilacs.

Loads of lilacs, spilling forth from branches that seemed to descend from the sky, perfuming our walks and teasing our noses with their sweet aroma.

The scent of paradise has passed, another spring draws to its close. Summer will soon ensue.

A week ago we were still in Ogunquit, and the sun had finally come out. I hastened to the Marginal Way – after three days of rain, you take the first bit of sun and run with it, in case it might not show itself again. When that initial glimpse of blue sky appeared, it was a revelation. It turns out I needn’t have worried or rushed, as the sun deigned to linger for the rest of our time in that fair seaside town. These photos were taken later in the day, when the light was slanting down from the West – a few moments shy of the golden hour.

The best part of a rain spell is when it’s over. The sudden ceasing of the falling from the sky, the gradual straightening of plant stems, the re-opening of flower buds – it’s like morning all over again whenever it happens. The rain also dresses things up – cleaning off pollen and dirt and leaving behind transient diamonds of water on the plainest of leaves.

It affords more colorful garb for those of us trying to stay dry too. Every man should own one raincoat, whether it’s Burberry or bright yellow, and the latter is sometimes more fun. (Especially when paired with pink pants.)

In the end, though, nothing beats the wardrobe in which Mother Nature adorns herself. I could never compete.

Is it meta to be reading ‘To the Lighthouse’ by Virginia Woolf while en route to see a lighthouse on the coast of Maine? I don’t know – mainly because I don’t really know what ‘meta’ means. Whether it is or not, that was the glorious predicament in which I found myself three days into our Ogunquit vacation. The Nubble Lighthouse is an oft-photographed and much-visited tourist attraction just a short drive down the coast from Ogunquit. It’s on an island just off-shore, and cannot be reached by bridge.

On this day, when conditions forbid a walk on the beach or the Marginal Way, we take the scenic Shore Road route to the lighthouse. Upon arrival, the winds whip wickedly upon the shore, and the waves are crashing violently against the rocks. The rain finds ways of pelting both from above, and from the sides – a vertical and horizontal attack that manages to invade the most tightly-buttoned hood. Yet the scene is, despite all discomfort, breathtakingly beautiful – rife with the kind of beauty that doesn’t translate to photos. It’s a gray sort of gorgeousness, lost among the missing vibrancy of what’s supposed to be a bright blue sky, studded with white puffy clouds and a clear sun.

It’s the kind of beauty that resonates more deeply than the flashy pomp and circumstance that often populates these posts. It’s the antithesis of what almost everyone thinks of me, and as such it is the sort of beauty that’s always touched me the most ~ the sort that lasts.

It begins, as it usually does, softly ~ with a slow, deliberate entry. Once we cross the bridge from New Hampshire into Maine, the guard comes down, the shoulders descend, the gradual letting-go begins. After a rainy drive through New York, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, the clouds appear to be parting for a moment, and a brief bit of sun peeks through.

It appears Maine is just a few weeks behind us as far as blooms go, and it’s a perfect bit of timing: the lilacs are resplendent and at their prime. Even a few Poet’s narcissus are in their small-cupped glory. Andy mentions that this is our third flush of spring – first Boston, then Albany, and now Ogunquit. It is an elegantly auspicious beginning to another Memorial Day weekend – the unofficial start of summer.

Like the shoreline itself and sometimes unseen by those who don’t notice such things, Ogunquit varies from year to year – and especially from spring to spring. Winters in Maine can be, and usually are, rather brutal. Bridges get washed out, paths lose their way, and signs get torn down. The way things were left in the fall is rarely the way things remain in the spring.

This year the town seems to be slow to awaken – or at the very least stunted by a tough winter. Construction and renovations are in progress at many sites. We arrive early for the holiday weekend (to avoid the cumbersome traffic), and find a place in flux. But it’s good to see. It means the return of spring. The coming of summer. The signs of hope.

As we cross the first sign that says ‘Beautiful Place By the Sea’, a calm comes over us, and everything we left behind stays behind until we cross the sign again. Ogunquit has become a place of refuge, a home-away-from-home where the baggage of real life can be forgotten for a few days. I’ve always found peace wherever the sea meets the land. There’s something about that line between two worlds that appeals to my love of transition. It’s the place where water and stone collide in ways that are beautiful and dangerous, peaceful and primal.

There are lessons to be gleaned from the shore of learning. The timing of the tide, the pull of the moon, the ever-lapping tongue of time licking our lives into submission. The power and might of a storm, the ceaseless wind, the salty erosion. It is the perfect place to cull a sense of humility, for we are all at the mercy of something greater than ourselves. There is comfort here as well – in the shaded spaces between rocks, the tiny tidal pools that protect a few lucky sea creatures until the return of life-giving water, or the quiet sunrise that sets another day in motion. Looking out over the expanse of the ocean, it is impossible to feel very big about yourself. There is nothing more grounding than the shoreline. It will always be a balm upon the heart.

Once upon a time I was young and lithe on Ogunquit Beach…