We saved one of our favorite jaunts in Ogunquit for our last full day. Walking the Marginal Way was the first thing we did on our very first trip here all those years ago, and it was an introduction that made the most marvelous impression on me.  It never loses its majesty, and it’s never quite the same journey twice. That seems impossible for those of us who have been walking it for almost a quarter of a century, but it’s absolutely true. The ocean, the sand, the shore, the wind, the air – they are in constant undulation and motion, never appearing in exactly the same way from moment to moment. There’s magic in that, as in the way the first beach roses of the season unfurl and spark their fiery focal points of visual interest. 

Along with the aforementioned changeability of the scene, the bluets seen below (Houstonia caerulea) have switched their position as well – this year they staked out a daring perch amid the rocks closest to the sea. Usually they hide further inland, within some protected nook shaded by juniper boughs and bittersweet vines. This year they were right there in plain sight – exposed for all to see – and they looked all the more jubilant for their exposure. 

We took our time meandering along the rocky coastline, occasionally stopping to take in the view. My departed Gram is here, and now it feels like Dad is here too – a memory of watching him watch the pumpkin carvers at the Anchorage on a sunny October day by the Marginal Way haunts me in a mostly happy way. Beauty is only a bit of a balm at such times – the rest will have to come with time. 

Returning to the house, we continued a relatively new tradition – because finding new traditions twenty-four years into visiting this Beautiful Place By the Sea is one of the best reasons to keep coming back here. Afternoons when the weather is fine, and it’s too glorious to nap it all away, Andy and I would take a cup of tea or coffee onto the front porch and watch as the beachgoers returned to their lodgings, while others walked back into town. Life walked by in all its stunning variety, as ours stilled for a moment of sacred, shared togetherness. 

I ran into the front yard to grab a picture of Andy, who promptly made a funny face. 

Thus our last full day of this trip came to an amusing close.

We can’t wait to come back. 

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…

While the lilacs of Maine were in full bloom as we arrived, we were missing the first flush of peonies back at home. Refusing to completely be absent from that most magnificent moment of the garden, I picked a bouquet of blooms to keep in our guest room. After setting up on the table by the window, they provided an unexpectedly-potent source of beauty and perfume, and a new memory that mingled the perfume of a peony with the happiness of a vacation with Andy. Memories are bound most powerfully by scent and new settings, especially in spring or summer. 

Outside the window, a catbird sang us a morning song, and then joined us as we enjoyed one of Anthony’s delicious breakfasts at the Scott Hill Inn. Sharing the first meal of the day on the front porch as the sun streamed in and the promise of an afternoon at the beach presented itself would be one of the more joyous moments of our entire weekend.

Beach days are never a guarantee in Maine, particularly this early in the season, but this year we lucked out. Spending a day at the beach is a favorite escapade of Andy so we made our way to one of the best beaches in the country and set up our towels in the sand and sun. The ocean cast its typical spell, its waves gently beating a seductive rhythm of tranquility, enough to lull the most jaded or stressed among us into a state of peace and comfort. 

Returning to our home-away-from-home, Andy took a nap while I padded out to the front porch to take in more of the afternoon light and do my daily meditation. A bright yellow azalea bloomed beside the granite posts of the Bed & Breakfast sign – prettiness and sturdiness at once – and another beautiful coupling that adds to the enchantment of Ogunquit. 

I tip-toed back into our room and snuggled into bed for a little nap myself. Meanwhile, the peonies continued to bloom… 

Our very first trip to Ogunquit, Maine occurred in the late summer days of 2000 – almost twenty-four years ago. It was our first vacation anywhere together, and neither Andy nor myself knew or had an idea of how it might play out. Just three months into dating, it could have gone any number of ways, but the weather was behind us – glorious sunny days of early September – and our mutual desire for one another kept us consistently entertained in our knotty pine room. Most people can get along in those early days of dating; it’s how they fare twenty-plus years into things that is the true test of love and time. 

We made our Memorial Day weekend pilgrimage to Maine on a sunny day that soon threatened a storm, but we had some time before that quick bit of rain, and in one of those happy strokes of floral timing, the lilacs were in full bloom (a couple of weeks after ours in upstate NY had finished their show). Usually the most magical perfume is when the beach roses mingle with the sea-spray along the Marginal Way – on this trip, it was lilacs and sea salt – and it beat all the cologne bottles I brought along for the journey. 

In the quickly-closing window of time before an anticipated spell of rain, Andy and I made a short walk to have a snack and take in the sea. The instant its blue-green shade comes into view, and its intoxicating marine perfume delightfully tickles the nose, a calm invariably comes over our countenance. It’s immediate and visceral, and something that is most powerfully effected by our approximation to the sea. 

After our first trip here in September, we started returning in May – and for about a decade every single Memorial Day weekend ended up being cold and gray and rainy – and still we fell in love with Ogunquit. So on our first afternoon here this year, a little spell of rain didn’t dampen our spirits, even as we had to rush back to our bed and breakfast to stay dry. 

It was a quick spell, and would be the only bout of bad weather until our day of departure, so our meteorological fortune had finally turned. The clouds moved off for the remainder of the weekend, and after dinner at the Crooked Pine, we made another walk to the shore. 

It’s a view that never gets old, and that we never take for granted. Another spring seaside retreat had begun, and the lilacs lent their magic to the festivities…