Category Archives: Travel

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…

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. 

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… 

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…