At one point or another on every trip or vacation we take, I will often find myself alone, as is my wont (and a secret as to how Andy and I have gotten along for these twenty-four years). On this weekend, it consisted of a walk through town, and an excursion to a little woodland stretch off the beaten path where I usually miss the Trillium in bloom. This year they were holding onto their flowers, which felt like another gift after the lilacs and peonies in our room.
A bleeding heart dangled its precious pink cargo at the other end of the path – a true harbinger of summer – and I paused there to take in the day, and to accept a little bit of gratitude. No matter how rough the times in-between our trips to Ogunquit may occasionally be, in this space I have always found a place of peace.
It wasn’t only the woods that were bursting with blooms, as this line of irises leading up to the Scotch Hill Inn proved in pungent purple fashion. Bearded irises, and their spicy scent, bring me back to summers in Suzie’s garden, where I would also wander on my own – the only kid entirely entranced by the irises and peonies and plants in the semi-secret garden of the Ko’s side yard.
We’d already ticked more than halfway through our trip to Ogunquit, and I wanted to slow time, so I leaned into an iris bloom and inhaled a memory…
