Category Archives: Ogunquit

Blush Off An Ogunquit Rose

Our fall Ogunquit trip was barely in the rearview window when the rain arrived, and the work week that followed served to bring me back to life, back to reality, back to the here and now. Not that I wanted to come back to any of that, and not that I had any other choice. The rain was almost welcome, as it was at the end of this summer, mirroring the mood, lowering the expectations of happiness and cheer. The memory is where most of the sun shines these days, and mine was rich with all that our time near the Beautiful Place By the Sea afforded. 

Peering through waving grasses that weren’t quite amber, the sea winked at me from a sacred memory palace. I could almost conjure the scent on that wind, the faint wisps of sea roses sprinkling their sweet pockets of perfume along the way. In deep breaths and closed eyes, I can feel myself there, and I can feel there inside myself. May the mind work such wonders for as long as I am here. 

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Our First Trip to Ogunquit Without Dad

Before he declined to the point where he couldn’t travel, Dad had often joined us for our autumn trip to Ogunquit, Maine. He and Mom would sometimes go up a day or two early to explore a nearby town, or simply enjoy the benefits of retirement. Andy and I would join them for the remainder of the stay, and we’d establish a tradition of breakfasting together, doing our own thing during the day, then coming back for dinner and discussing what adventures we’d each had. This was our first trip anywhere without Dad being here – either in person or back home – and I expected it to be somewhat emotional. I hoped it would also be healing. Happily, there is no better place than Ogunquit to aid with both. 

Upon our arrival, we were greeted with the comforting visage of Anthony at the Scotch Hill Inn, who showed us to our usual room, and Mom to her accommodations in the room next door. Our parents usually stayed at the Anchorage, a bit of a walk from our previous guesthouse, so this was a convenient change, and a nice new tradition having us all together under one roof.

While the weather was good – coastal Maine  cannot be counted on for that in mid-October – we decided to make an early walk to the Marginal Way, just to get a quick ocean fix before dinner. Passing the plants that were at the end of their season, Mom and I looked for the amaranthus and castor bean plants that always intrigued Dad. He once harvested some seeds and grew a stand of magnificent amaranthus one year. On this visit, there were no signs of those plants, and I didn’t realize until that moment how much I was counting on them, hoping they would provide a reminder of him. 

Instead, we found an open bench on the Marginal Way, and paused to take in the view. Seagulls and water birds usually kept their distance from this section – we’d encounter them on the beach or further along the way, but they were usually not this close, so when one sauntered over to our bench, it was a surprise. 

This gull came right up to us, not in the least frightened or timid, simply studying each of us with wide-eyed interest and imploring actions, as if trying to get our attention and communicate something. It walked around the legs and feet of Mom and Andy, within inches of them. I’d seen such actions in pigeons seeking out crumbs, or the tamed birds and squirrels at the Boston Public Garden – I’d never seen a seagull do this, and definitely not on the Marginal Way. It felt like Dad was saying hello. 

One of the things that Dad always noticed wherever we went was the actions of the animals. He’d be the first to describe what a squirrel or bird was doing on the side porch, or the ducks at the Public Garden, or the seagulls by the shore. He also took an interest in unusual plants, or unusual vegetable specimens, such as the giant pumpkins near the Anchorage. 

On one of our last visits, we were there as they started carving one of the pumpkins – Dad stayed there and watched them do it, conversing with the carvers and finding out the history of the pumpkin and how it was transported, as well as what they did with the seeds and pulp. He reported what he learned later at dinner. On this day, passing the great pumpkins at the Anchorage brought me back to that moment, and brought Dad back to our minds for this trip. 

Later on in our weekend, we made the full walk along the Marginal Way, winding our way along the coast and down to Perkins Cove. For Mom, there were memories of Gram there as well, and we paused in a few key places, taking in the calm water and the sunny weather, as if they were a gift from those we had lost

Andy and I have memories here as well, and being in this place has always brought us peace. 

This was a trip of healing, and we did our best to bring comfort to Mom, and to ourselves. Cozy dinners at Walker’s and Roberto’s proved to be delicious choices, and our breakfasts on the wrap-around porch of the Scotch Hill Inn were sumptuous delights. They were the very best way to start the day, and I’m a fan of any scenario that allows you to remain in a robe and bed slippers while eating delectable food. 

Throughout the long weekend, I found myself drawn back to the sea, and I know Mom did too. We felt closer to Dad and Gram there, where they whispered to us through gulls and sea breezes, on the white foamy crests of incoming waves, and in the perfume of the sea roses that bloomed in defiance of the cold fall nights. 

There was beauty all around us, highlighted by the sun which deigned to shine on every day we were there – one of the only times that has happened to us during two decades of visiting Ogunquit. 

On the eve of our last morning in Maine, I took a solitary walk to the Ogunquit river. Reflecting the clouds beneath a blue sky, the water was calm – a broad expanse of beauty that provided the perfect landing pad for a seagull. 

I stayed there and watched the bird float along, a happy and healing reminder of how our trip began. 

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The Rain in Maine Falls Vainly On Our Vacations – Pt. 2

For the first decade or so of our spring visits to Ogunquit, it invariably rained and produced dismal weather for the unofficial start of the summer season, yet for all of those rainy times we never once let it get us down. Maybe it was the giddiness of being on vacation, or the beauty that surfaced even in the subdued grays and wet leaves all around us, or the delicious food that tasted even better when it was the highlight of the day – whatever the reason, we always embraced our time in Ogunquit

When the downturn in weather happened three days into this year’s summer kick-off, we simply pulled out a couple of umbrellas, slipped on an extra jacket, and went about the business of relaxing. On the cozy porch of the Scotch Hill Inn, we began with a glorious breakfast, setting the deliciously-languid tone for a lazy couple of days. 

Rainy weather does not make for a comfortable walk along the Marginal Way, so the only way to get to Perkins Cove for a lunch was by car. At our ever-advancing ages, the two-mile hike wasn’t missed. We found a place that looked over the cranky ocean, tumultuously throwing one of its spring tantrums and rocking several groups of water birds and their little offspring dangerously close to the shore. When faced with such a chill and a possible dampening of spirits, a platter of fried whole belly clams is an ideal antidote. Comfort food at its most simple and sublime. 

In the way that the universe will occasionally throw us a bone, the skies lightened a little by the time we finished lunch. After driving back to the Inn, I went for a walk while Andy napped, finding this little pocket of beauty and solitude following the rain. 

Rain does lend its own beauty to things, such as these forget-me-nots cradled among some rose-hued pansies. If I wasn’t on vacation, I’d likely be too preoccupied cursing the gray skies or cruel temperatures to notice them, but here I pause at each patch of flowers along my path, culminating at a stand of beach roses beside the outlet of the Ogunquit River.

The sun was still valiantly attempting to show itself before we departed (it always does so on our last morning in town – always) but on this afternoon it didn’t make much progress, and that evening’s dinner at Walker’s looked to be a fall-like affair. A June night that recalls the air of October is not something to be celebrated, yet our first experience at this restaurant was one of those happy twists of fate that worked out perfectly.

A roaring fire heated the main dining room, while a line of wood-fired ovens emanated more lovely heat. It was the coziest restaurant we’d been in for quite some time, and its warmth was the ideal setting for a chilly night. The food was as lovely as the atmosphere, and the service was even lovelier. (I’d remarked how much I liked the soap they used in the bathroom and our server managed to sneak a container of it to us at the end of the meal). We wished they had been open the next day as we would have made an unprecedented return to try them again (the menu was filled with too many options to test in a single sitting). 

It was a new restaurant for us, a happy surprise that rescued a rainy day, and the perfect ending to a spring trip that felt more like a tease than a promise fulfilled. That might be what fall is for, when Walker’s may be the newest jewel in Ogunquit’s culinary crown. That is how we will close this pair of vacation posts – with the idea of a fall return – ending on a note of cozy warmth to greet the summer yet to come. 

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The Rain in Maine Falls Vainly On Our Vacations – Pt. 1

Andy and I have been visiting Ogunquit, Maine regularly since 2000. It was the first place to which we traveled together, and will always hold special significance for me because of that. It has also provided the bookends of our summers – with the first trip usually taking place over Memorial Day weekend and the last closing things out in October. This year we were off by a week, which worked out in that we avoided most of the crowds, even if it was Pride Weekend. I overheard one of the servers telling their table that the best time to visit if you wanted something quiet was in the weekend following a holiday weekend, so our timing was fortuitous, and something to keep in mind going forward. 

We arrived on a sunny day, the kind that has often proved elusive on our Ogunquit visits. Home-base was once again the Scotch Hill Inn, which provides the best breakfast in town (and is reason alone to book this place, if the accompanying hospitality and comfort isn’t already more than enough). 

Our host Anthony graciously let us settle in, and after a quick unpacking we immediately headed to the beach and it seemed like there might only be two decent beach days. If there is one lesson we have learned over the decades of visiting Ogunquit, it is to make the most of the sun when it’s out. 

The ocean water was as cold as Maine ocean water usually is, but Andy reveled in it, planting his feet solidly on the shore and letting it surround him for the first time since last year; a year is a long time to be away from the healing power of the sea. 

Around dinner time, we walked a bit of the Marginal Way, which was resplendent with beach roses in pink and white (Rosa rugosa), sprinkling their perfumed magic along our path. I have yet to find a Tom Ford Private Blend that is as glorious as the scent of beach roses mingled with the ocean. 

The bench where I officially proposed to Andy was happily free, so we took a moment to pause and enjoy the view and the company. After twenty-three years of visiting this place, our gratitude took an easier and more relaxed form. Thinking back over all those years, it was both a marvel and exactly what I’d hoped for and envisioned when we first started coming here. The constancy of all that was before us was a comfort, as was the idea of all that was behind us. (And on cue Andy posed for just a couple of shots before tickling me and making it impossible to capture a non-blurry picture of us together.)

The next day was even warmer, the sun was shining in splendid glory, and we made it to the beach to make the most of it. Standing at the crux of land and water, I felt the frigid water roll past my feet, watching the reflection of the sun on the rippling little waves, sparkling like hundreds of white cranes fluttering back toward the sea. The beach has been casting the same spell over me since I was a child, and here I was at 47 years of age feeling its magic all over again

Joining Andy on a towel in a dry section of sand, I sat down and closed my eyes to do my daily meditation. To do so in such a location was a luxury and a treat, one that allowed for a deeper mindfulness and appreciation of where we were. One of the best things about mediation is that you can bring it with you wherever you go. 

As the tide began to roll in, we rolled our towels up and walked back to dress for dinner. Something about being at the beach always makes me extra-hungry. It had been a good two days of sun and fun, but the weather was about to turn, as it tends to do when we are in town… 

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The Eyes of Nostalgia

“Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful and Damned

Celebrating the 20th year of this website has ushered me into a room of nostalgia and deeply-buried remembrances. Even our recent visit to Ogunquit had me revisiting our very first trips there, and as a preamble to those new posts, I dug up these photos from way back in 2003. The world was very different then. At that point in time, the post-9/11 atmosphere felt dark and tense, but looking back at it now feels so much more innocent and kind. Maybe the natural progression of life is toward a dimmer, darker place – or maybe that’s just my perception as I look back over the last twenty years of this blog and compare the world today as it was back then.

Taking more cues from Fitzgerald, who wrote in ‘The Great Gatsby that “life is much more successfully looked at from a single window” I am looking through a window that peers out onto the beach of Ogunquit, where my 28-year-old self is posing for pictures that Andy so graciously agreed to take, back when pictures of myself were a priority, and a way, I now see, of documenting the youth that we would all yearn for in some way.

While I’m glad to have had those youthful, mirthful days, I’m one of the more uncommon people in my circle of friends who doesn’t quite dread getting older as much as others seem to be doing. The wisdom gained is worth more than the svelte figure and thick, dark hair given in exchange for it. That may change a bit as our health concerns grow ever graver, but for now I’m ok with embracing the advance of age. The other option would be bitterness, and I’m bitter enough without adding something over which I have no control. 

Twenty years ago, our Ogunquit trips were usually made over Memorial Day weekend, and the vast majority were filled with rain and cold, dreary weather. Somehow we didn’t mind. It was enough being near the sea, listening to its calming rhythmic spell, even when it was wild and destructive. There was also something comforting about all the rain – it forced an appreciation for all else that was good and enjoyable – the delicious food (oodles of lobster and fish), the musical enchantment of a piano bar (back before bridal showers were such an obnoxious thing), and the simple hunkering down in bed with a then-new-boyfriend while outside the weather raged. That magic was something we would retain throughout the ensuing years, and no matter how much we cursed the rain when we were at home, we made our peace with it whenever we were in Maine. 

Our time in Ogunquit was often imbued with a warm, sepia tone of contentment and calm, and some bit of prescient understanding in those early days had me writing it all down in whatever notebook I brought with me. My favorite memories were not the fancy dinners at Five-O or the current show at Ogunquit Playhouse, but the simple moments of sitting at a cafe along Shore Road and notating our adventures as tourists and fellow-vacationers ambled by in the happy haze that being on vacation affords. 

“It was too late – everything was too late. For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions unstable as water.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful and Damned’

For all of the changes that have come over the past twenty years, and the restaurant turnover alone would make your head spin if I tried to go through everything that has opened and closed in all that time, some things have remained surprisingly, and pleasantly, the same. While the lines that furrow the brow and frame the eyes don’t go away when we are out of the sunlight as they once did, the feeling of calm and tranquility that comes from any stretch of time on the beach has stayed constant. The water still goes in and out quicker and more dramatically than you think it will, the sun rises over the sea every morning even when it’s disguised by cloud cover, and thanks to some manipulation and care by local officials, the sand shifts and swirls but never completely disappears. 

Indulging in nostalgia is a trap I do my best to avoid – I find it hinders appreciation of the present moment – and my mind has typically focused on what is to come, living in the imaginary and hopeful world of future possibility rather than the still stagnant pictures of the past. There are benefits and drawbacks to both, and so I try to find a balance, reconciling the past and incorporating the lessons learned into some better future. Sometimes that helps in making more informed choices – sometimes it’s enough just being happy in the remembrance of beach days long past. 

“I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Beautiful and Damned’

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Autumn In Ogunquit – Part 3

Closing out our autumnal trip to Ogunquit is always more difficult than ending our Memorial Day weekend in that Beautiful Place by the Sea. This will be the last time we set foot here until next year, and next spring. The whole rest of fall lies in the way, along with the entirety of winter, and so it is sally with heavy hearts that we say goodbye. This year, however, there was a certain peace to it, and a certain sense of hope as we talked over returning sometime in the winter, as well as our definite rendezvous come May. 

Maybe we’re just more resigned and accepting of the winter, and it doesn’t hold the same fright and sorrow as it once did. Maybe we are just resigned to life. And maybe we soaked all the calming beauty and wonder of Ogunquit into our souls so that we know we can bring some of it back to see us through the months until our next visit. I’m going with the latter. 

One thing that we already miss is the daily breakfast by Anthony, which is easily the best part of the Scotch Hill Inn (and there are more than several great parts). Every day brings another masterpiece, culminating with this decadent butternut squash risotto. I was in absolute heaven.

Andy is entirely enamored with Anthony’s mother Rita, who is sometimes on hand to help out when things get hectic – she is also a highlight of staying at the Inn. Good company makes for a great vacation. 

As the weekend wound down – and a full Harvest moon shone all her beauty over sea and shore – we soaked in every last minute of being in Ogunquit together. 

The looks back will be fond ones, and the looks ahead will be hopeful. 

After all these years, Ogunquit remains a treasured sanctuary for us, a little place where we are at our best and most content, and when you realize you can access that here, in some small way we can bring a little bit of it everywhere. 

Until the return of spring…

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Autumn in Ogunquit – Part 2

Most good vacations blend into one happy amalgamation of bonhomie and giddy memories, and I wouldn’t give you a hour-by-hour playback of our time in Ogunquit anyway – no one likes looking at someone else’s vacation photos. Of course, that is precisely what I’m showing there, but it’s my blog, and it makes me happy, and that’s the whole point of this place. Come back tomorrow if you don’t want to see the majesty of our favorite seaside town. No offense taken. For those who remain, come along for the sunny days of a fall weekend in Maine, touched by beautiful scenes, delicious food, and the best company a husband could ask for. 

One of the grounding mainstays of any trip to Ogunquit is the Marginal Way. Come rain or shine, we usually find our way to this rightfully celebrated stretch of shoreline, where a two-plus-mile path meanders along the Atlantic Ocean, lending beautiful vistas and calming places to pause and take it all in. 

This year we walked in through the back door, starting from the Perkins Cove end as we’d driven down. Normally we walk the whole thing, stop for lunch, then walk back again. That was in our youth. We aren’t that young anymore, and so we did about three quarters of it, then turned back to return to the car and pick up some pottery for Mom from Perkins Cove. It was a lovely twist on a tradition that lasted for twenty years, and we are at the point where we must celebrate departures from tradition as much as tradition itself. 

Ogunquit is a small town, and after visiting for over two decades there isn’t always that much new under the sun. Sometimes simply starting a journey at what was usually the back end lends a new jolt and a new perspective. The last part of the Marginal Way is our favorite section anyway, and this isn’t the time to delay gratification. 

Enough talk from me. Enjoy the views… one more post on Ogunquit to come… 

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Autumn in Ogunquit – Part 1

Last May marked our first time back in Ogunquit after a few years away, and we so thoroughly enjoyed our bed and breakfast that we went back for a fall encore over a long weekend, the way we did before COVID derailed things and life got in the way. It was good to be back, and I’ll do my best to keep the writing to a minimum and let the photos speak for themselves. 

Ogunquit in fall was just as I remembered it, if slightly more crowded. The weather was stellar (which isn’t always the case) and when we arrived the temperatures were in the mid-70’s while the sun was shining brightly. It was the perfect re-entry for the place that always brings us such peace.

Innkeeper Anthony checked us in to the Scotch Hill Inn, and we settled into our favorite room. Ogunquit works its magic quickly and efficiently, and by the time we were all unpacked, we’d left the concerns of daily living behind and instantly ingratiated ourselves into vacation mode. 

Andy took a nap to make up for the drive (on which I mostly slept) while I took a re-introductory lap around some favorite haunts. The town was decked out for the season, and the afternoon light played its illuminating part.

Though it’s an invasive bane to some habitats, the vining bittersweet provides fall interest and color, so I can’t be entirely mad at it – nor could I pull it all out even if I wanted to. 

More gentle and welcome were all the asters, at the height of their bloom and taking their pride of place as the finale to the flowering season. 

As I wound my way back to the guest house, past the crux where river met ocean, I paused on a little bridge to give gratitude for being back in this Beautiful Place by the Sea, thankful that I was still mostly intact, still mostly at peace. Ogunquit brings that out in a person…

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Muted Vacation Visions

Fall in Ogunquit is always more muted than spring or summer, and we’ve always appreciated that sort of somber beauty, especially after a sensational summer of sun and adventure. Fall in Ogunquit is quieter and softer too. There may be storms and rain and fiery outburst of riotous weather from time to time, but the overall feeling is one of gentle calm and subdued celebration

Andy just booked our fall return to the Beautiful Place by the Sea, and a long weekend at the magnificent Scotch Hill Inn. We are already eagerly anticipating the breakfasts and happy ease of a fall visit. Ogunquit has a way of re-establishing everything that makes this world beautiful. Maybe it’s how a state of calm and relaxation allows us to see things differently than when we are hustling and bustling our usual way through life. Whatever the case, we can’t wait to return. 

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Our Long-Awaited Return to Ogunquit – Part 3

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…

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Our Long-Awaited Return to Ogunquit – Part 2

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…

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Our Long-Awaited Return to Ogunquit – Part 1

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…

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Scotch Hill Inn: A Lovely Way to Return to Ogunquit

Innkeeping is an art form. It takes talent, timing, and an intuitive understanding of people – and the infinite variety of them. For almost two decades, Andy and I made the Ogunquit Beach Inn our home-away-from-home whenever we stayed in Ogunquit. Greg and Mike started off as innkeepers and became friends through the years, so when they sold their place and completed their inn keeping journey, we skipped going to Ogunquit for a few years. Then Covid hit, life events got in the way, and soon it had been half a decade since we’d been to the Beautiful Place By the Sea. After missing the calm and enchantment that always formed the core of our Ogunquit trips, we decided to return, and I reached out to Greg who recommended the Scotch Hill Inn, promising that Innkeeper Anthony would take good care of us. As is often the case in Greg’s Ogunquit advice, this was a resoundingly happy success

Originally built in 1898, the building became an inn in 1908 and since then has had several renovations, including a new porch that went in a few years ago and now grandly looks out over Main Street. We saw the sign from the street, accented by a brilliant lemon-hued azalea in full bloom, all of it resplendent against the blue sky. Beds of bearded Iris in gold and purple signaled the arrival of the transition from spring to summer.

Inside the house, delights of music and art quietly spread their charm – a dulcimer sat beside a screen of birds and flowers, mirrored by hanging glasswork in the windows. A charming woman named Rita greeted us and brought us around inside, explaining how breakfast worked each day then letting us make our way to Room #3. 

There, a high four-poster king bed took center stage in a beautiful room filled with light and windows. A spacious bathroom was bright with white tiles accented by black, and one could look down Main Street toward town. The setting was idyllic on this sunny late-spring day, and marked a happy return to our favorite vacation place. Any trepidation I may have had about trying out a new inn dissipated the moment we set our bags down; this was a place of calm and respite, just as Ogunquit had always been to us on a grander scale, and we instantly felt at home.

Breakfast at the Scotch Hill Inn is served daily from 8:30 to 9:30, and this is where the real enchantment is conjured. Innkeeper Anthony is a chef with a quarter of a century of experience, and it shows from the first course of honey roasted pears with yogurt and granola. If this dish alone was all one ever got, it would be worth extolling its virtues. As it was, this was merely the preamble to the hearty dishes available. Each day brought one savory and one sweet, which was ideal for Andy and I as I usually went savory and he always went sweet. These breakfasts would come to be our favorite part of this trip, a delicious start to the day that made lunch all but obsolete and unnecessary, fortifying the hours to come with sensational offerings. There were eggs, roasted vegetables, pancakes of almond and banana, a wondrous breakfast casserole/soufflé (seen below), pecan waffles, slow-cooked beef hash, pancakes of lemon and blueberry, and a finale of Eggs Benedict with a homemade hollandaise. Yes, the Scotch Hill Inn should be on your list of places to stay for the breakfast alone. 

If it’s relaxation and comfort you’re seeking, there are places to indulge in whatever passion or practice you are looking to enjoy. A pair of tables for dining or chatting inhabit the inside rooms, while more tables and rocking chairs line the front and side porch. This proved the perfect place for passing a sunny afternoon, and I set up shop reading and sipping tea on our last Sunday there. A garden path leads to a fire pit space, and a pair of Adirondack chairs in the front. Aquilegia, viburnum, and several species of ferns lent their grace and elegance to the surroundings, giving a sense of bucolic charm and beauty. Maine again reaffirmed its place as the way life should be. 

Anthony and Rita provided guidance when needed, masterfully navigating the whims and wishes of each guest, and they clearly know how to run an inn and make everyone comfortable. As sad as we were to say goodbye to the inn at which we previously stayed, this no longer felt like a substitute, but a lovely destination, and a new home-away-from-home in its own right. Credit Anthony’s years in the hospitality and restaurant business for the knowledge and experience to back up such charm and ease. 

Be sure to check out the Scotch Hill Inn’s website for room and reservation info, and make this one of your vacation destinations. It perfectly complements the relaxing escape that has always been Ogunquit to us. 

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Our Long-Awaited Return to the Beautiful Place By the Sea

As far as I can tell, the fall of 2017 was the very last time Andy and I set foot in Ogunquit. Since that time, we missed visiting at the start and close of the season – such happy bookends that once delineated our summer season. This year, we are set to return to the Beautiful Place by the Sea, trying out some new digs (Scotch Hill Inn) and with a renewed appreciation for travel. 

Memorial Day weekend always kicked off our Ogunquit adventures for the year, and it was often filled with the anticipatory excitement that this happy time of the year brings. The world feels very different now, and I’m hopeful that Ogunquit brings a new balm to everything we have all been through. 

Every trip to Ogunquit felt like a return home, a return to a place of sanctuary, where the beauty and majesty of the Marginal Way brought about a clearing sense of calm and centering, and stepping into the Atlantic Ocean, no matter how bracingly cold, felt like an instant cure to whatever ailed us. 

While things have decidedly changed, and Ogunquit may not look or feel like it once did, there is a grace and healing in nostalgia, and more importantly, there are new memories to be made. It is time. 

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Memorial Days in Maine, Remembered

Crossing the bridge into The Way Life Should Be was both a figurative and literal entry into Maine for many Memorial Days. The past couple of years we’ve switched things up, and part of me is sad for that, especially given this year’s entire derailment of travel, but we have a treasure trove of memories that I’ll unfurl in this post. A moment of nostalgia feels good right now. It is a moment of comfort. A reassurance. Let’s look back…

Our very first trip to Ogunquit was in 2000, right after we met, and it was actually our very first trip anywhere together. It was late summer, and the town was getting ready to shut down for the season. It was just waking up to extending things through the end of fall, but back then it was the end of summer and almost the end of the vacation season. It turned out to be the start of something wonderful, in many ways, and the next year we came back for Memorial Day weekend, where we would return for almost two decades. 

The first dozen years are well-documented in photographs, but I won’t bore you with that kind of slideshow. Instead, I’ll post the more recent links that are still up after the big website revamping after 2012. It will good to remember, especially since we haven’t been there in a few years, and, the state of the world being what it is, since we may not be there in the near future. 

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2013

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2014

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2015

Memorial Day in Ogunquit, Maine ~ May 2016

There would also be more visits to the Beautiful Place By The Sea, such as this fall visit in 2017. But for a more comprehensive look, check out this post which included some of the summer and fall journeys we’ve taken there. 

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