Summer, gone for only a few short weeks and bracketed by our semi-annual trips to Ogunquit for Memorial Day in May and Indigenous People’s Day in October, held on for most of our recent weekend in Maine – some years being kinder when it comes to fall weather, and not rushing summer sun out the door. I write this during our first day back in Ogunquit since May, while the sun is out and the breeze is warm – by night there is a good chance fall will assert her dominance, casting summer aside once and for all. Seasons don’t much care about each other in that way. But right now, seated outside a little café and soaking in the glorious day, I am making the most of the moment by making a memory and immortalizing it in these words.
As is tradition Mom is joining us for this fall weekend in Maine, where we’ll be enjoying the warmth, hospitality, and delicious food of the Scotch Hill Inn – Anthony greeted us earlier and tomorrow will begin a stretch of breakfast days that will be filled with everything from Eggs Florentine to Pecan Waffles, each starting with a baked fruit, granola and yogurt dish. It has become a favorite part of our visits, and if you’re looking for an amazing place to stay check out the Scotch Hill Inn.
The weekend would prove beautiful in every way – from the weather to the food to the down-time of just relaxing in bed and watching ‘The Great British Bake Off’ and re-runs of Martha Stewart. Vacations have changed a bit in the twenty-six years we’ve been visiting this wonderful town.
One thing that hasn’t changed is my favored haunt of a secluded little park slightly off the beaten path, which most people just bypass, allowing me privacy and solitude for contemplation (or in this year’s case, a daily run-through of a work presentation I had to give in the week following this vacation). This was the site of this spring’s trio of trillium posts – a magical space where I made regular visits to see the ephemerals in wondrous bloom and contemplate the beauty and fleeting nature of life.
In fall, fiery leaves took the place of blooms, even if a blanket of asters floated small white stars in the place where the trillium once bloomed. The world had changed in just a few short months.
