Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

One of my favorite spots at the Scotch Hill Inn was the front porch, which wrapped around the front and side of the house, and offered a vantage point that looked over the street and town below. It was where the inn’s magnificent breakfasts were served each morning, and provided a place to rest and relax. On our last afternoon I found it happily vacant, and I set up shop reading a book and watching the day go by. From behind the shade of a viburnum about to reveal its blooms, I looked out at the steady stream of dedicated beach goers returning from their day at the shore. They simultaneously amused and impressed me – their backs strapped with packs and beach chairs and rolled towels, some with tents and surfboards and other paraphernalia that looked as ridiculous to me as it must have seemed natural to them. It reminded me of eating crab legs, which I never do – so much work and effort for such little results.

That said, I adored the beach – though never to the extent that you would see a chair on my back as I made my way very publicly through town. I’ll make a fool of myself in many other ways. Andy and I had already made our pilgrimage to Ogunquit Beach, walking there with some towels earlier in the day before the rush of the crowds, and setting up in a relatively secluded space where we could lie about in peace, listening to the ocean waves, and occasionally approach its frigid water. (There were warnings in the weather reports about how cold it was, despite the heat and sun right above its surface.) 

We don’t often get to enjoy a warm beach day this early in the season, but this year we had a whole Sunday of sun to enjoy its seductive charms. Andy loves the beach even more than I do, and I was just happy to join him there, letting the sand warm our bare feet, letting the ocean work its magic and ease any tension or worry that might have remained with us. 

We took a new route back, exploring a stretch of beautiful homes we’d never passed before, new delights that proved no matter how well you think you may know a place, there is always more to see and discover, proof that we still have more to seek and more to find. 

Back on the porch, I eased into the last afternoon of this little trip, intent on inhabiting the moment, being fully present and drinking in all of the joy and peace around me. 

After dinner, Andy suggested we walk into town one last time, and without words or plans, we both instinctively made our way to the start of the Marginal Way, back to where our first journey in Ogunquit had begun so many years ago. The gardens there were once again in full bloom, the blues and purples echoing the azure descent of dusk. We walked along for a bit, finding a place that looked back over the sunset and the water. Andy seemed to want to hold onto the moment as much as I did, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over me as we slowly started back. 

The next morning we had our final delicious breakfast – Eggs Benedict for me and a pecan waffle for Andy – then set about to finish packing. It’s strange the way sadness personifies the success of a vacation, but strange or not, there was that familiar tinge of sorrow as we loaded up the car from our first vacation in Ogunquit in five years. We didn’t want it to end, but were happy to have found our way back.

Until we return again…

It took about one full day before we found our footing again. Returning to a favored place after some time away is often slightly disconcerting. Things are never quite as one remembers them, in ways good and bad. Certain places felt smaller and less impressive, others revealed a beauty I never noticed before. One thing that remained as gorgeous and powerful as ever was the Marginal Way, and we took our time walking along its meandering seaside route. 

I still remember the first time we made this journey, on our first vacation together almost twenty-two years ago. The same rocks, and many of the same trees, remain intact. Thinking of all the waves that had broken over this space since then felt dizzying, and ruminating about all those years was equally daunting, in a good way. 

We’d seen this sea in all manners of moods: wild and thrashing about, calm and placidly gentle, violent and fiery, happy and sparkling, gray and somber, bright and invigorating – and always beautiful, always life-affirming. How something so changeable could simultaneously be so stalwart and stable remains an exquisite mystery to me. 

We’ve changed too over these last two decades, and like the gnarled and tough junipers that formed a little protected cove in our favorite part of the trail, we’ve been worn down and aged in ways that reveal our travails and our worth. 

We looked out into the Atlantic and watched a boat in the distance, wondering at the other souls on their own journeys…

After almost two decades of visiting Ogunquit, Andy and I took a break of a few years while our usual bed and breakfast was sold and a worldwide pandemic prevented travel. When I mentioned returning to a different inn, Andy was initially hesitant. He does not always deal well with change, especially if he finds something he enjoys, such as our usual guesthouse and his friendship and comfort with the innkeepers. Personally, I was ready to try something new, and I very much needed a vacation given my lack of one for about five years, so it was this or some other dramatic act of self-preservation, and luckily this one worked. 

Ogunquit had been calling to us for a while, a missing piece in our annual traditions, and it was the site of our very first vacation together back in 2000. We made about two trips a year there, starting the summer season on Memorial Day weekend and then closing things out either over Columbus Day or Halloween weekends. The last few years, that’s been missing, and I think both Andy and I realized it was time to get back to such beautiful basics. 

Given the crazed way everyone seems to be taking trips, we did our best to avoid traffic by arriving in town on Thursday, and a thankfully uneventful ride saw us checking quietly into the Scotch Hill Inn, and a gracious and friendly woman named Rita for us situated with a brief tour of the inn and the schedule for breakfast the next few days. We made our way to our room, and I instantly felt at home. 

A four-post bed, high off the floor, welcomed us into this new era, and light filled the space. The sunny weather was precisely the sort of welcome that set us at ease. The entire town seemed to be in full bloom.

While Andy settled into the newness, I did a quick walk about town, peering into old spaces and seeing how much had changed (quite a bit). Along with Covid, there had been five years of life that had run through this Beautiful Place By The Sea, changing and shifting things, like the shore itself.

We watched a Judy Garland film on that first night – ‘In the Old Summertime’ – and she sang this pretty little song. It was a perfect re-entry to our favorite vacation location, and the world, so rocked and wearied since we’d been here last, felt like it was righting itself, if just a little bit.

We entered our own little dreamland, with visions of sea roses and salty sea spray and the invigorating draw of the ocean tugging at the edge of sleep…