Ever since our very first vacation to Ogunquit as a couple twenty five-plus years ago, Andy and I have wanted to visit when snow was on the rocks and trees, and the cozy holiday scenes of December still echoed and lit the winter nights. Mom has also wanted experience an Ogunquit snowfall, in the same way she enjoyed a Boston snowstorm – safe and at a cozy vantage point.
Thanks to a gracious invitation from our innkeeper Anthony of the Scotch Hill Inn, who was generous enough to have us over for Mom’s birthday weekend, we finally managed to make that winter dream a reality, and round out every season in this Beautiful Place by the Sea. As hoped for, winter in Ogunquit holds charms no other time of the year could afford.
Back when we started staying at the Scotch Hill Inn, Anthony would tease us with tantalizing tales regaling evenings on the expansive front porch of his Inn watching as a snowstorm would barrel down the street and drop its wintry carriage, all the while warmed by blankets and a little heater, sipping on hot chocolate with or without some extra liquid heat, and it sounded like the coziest scene.
Finally, we took him up on his offer, and arrived with Mom for a long weekend. The weather forecast was all over the place, and we’d learned long ago that the most accurate weather forecast in Ogunquit was found stepping outside to see what was actually happening at that moment; everything else was guess-work, and mostly mistaken at that. On this weekend, the snow would deliver its wished-for effect, but not in such overwhelming quantities so as to derail travel or the occasional walk.
We’d never driven in Maine in the winter, and arriving to a summer town in the throes of the off-season was a welcome change from our May and October visits, when Route 1 was routinely a snarl of strangled traffic, snaking its way slowly along – so slowly that foot-traffic often passed the pace of cars. No such scene greeted us now. All was clear and quiet, and as we arrived to a gorgeous house still blessedly decked out for the holidays, we looked to extend the bonhomie of the season with a delicious dinner by Anthony himself – no small gift considering his extensive chef experience. (The breakfasts of the Scotch Hill Inn are rightfully and well-deservedly renowned.) We gathered for pre-dinner drinks on the porch and met some of Anthony’s Friday night gang – neighbors and friends who formed this happy little winter family. So good was the company and conversation that we didn’t make it to bed until midnight – and then we slept the peaceful sleep with which a night in Ogunquit contentedly concludes.
