Category Archives: Travel

A Wellness Retreat in Paradise

My friend (and a previous Dazzler of the Day) Chad Putman, is currently offering a wellness retreat program – the Caribbean Winter Wellness Retreat – for three different weekends in San Juan, Puerto Rico this winter. As someone who has visited San Juan previously, it makes for a beautiful getaway, especially during the colder months. When you add a little self-improvement and wellness into it, it has the makings of something magical.  Visit the webpage here for more info, and see additional details below. 

Caribbean Winter Wellness Retreat in beautiful San Juan, Puerto Rico, 2024. Recharge YOUR heart and soul with this unique 24 & 48 hour weekend challenge which includes: Sunrise Ocean-Side Workout – Breathwork – Grounding, Opportunity Starter Kit – Sections 1-4 (self-reflection/hard copy provided), Guided Meditations – Beach Discussions, Local Culture, Art & Urban Experiences & some meals included (brunches & dinners).
Visit https://www.makeyourithappen.com/winterchallenge to learn more about the three retreat weekends being offered January 27 & 28, February 24 & 25, & March 23 & 24th. Hosted by Chad Putman, MSW, Make your it happen, LLC, (518) 225-0957 / chadputman1@gmail.com
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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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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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Waiting for the Breach – Part 4

Right before sunset, a few friends from the neighboring shacks stopped by for an import cocktail hour, spent by the shore and looking out over the ocean waiting for the whales to breach. We watched their spouts blow plumes of water spray into the air, then saw their tales curve up before disappearing below. If you watched the same space you would see them breach – rising into the air and splashing down with majestic abandon. Here, at the edge of the world, it felt like a bridge to a better place. Maybe that was God. Maybe it was grace. 

As the gathering dispersed, JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin and I made our way to the canopied area looking over the shore to watch the sun go down. This was such a special gift, and we thanked JoAnn for bringing us all this way to make it happened. Later we would do our best to thank Dave and Francois, but words and little gifts can in no way match the gratitude we felt for being brought into this wondrous circle. 

JoAnn had predicted this visit would change our souls, touching us in a way that only a brush with the sublime could do. After almost twenty-five solid years of friendship, to discover such a place of peace together will be one of the blessings and highlights when we look back at our lives together. 

We lead very different lives than we did all those years ago, and finding ourselves at this perfect place was a fitting moment of serenity after all the torture and tumult of getting through our 20’s and 30’s. In some ways, all our restless searching and substitutes for love were destined to bring us here. And boy was it worth it. 

We joined Dave and Francois in the main shack for a delicious dinner by candlelight. Breaking bread with new friends and old is surely one of the happiest ways of sharing an evening. Backed by a rising moon, and the sounds and scents of the sea, our time in such serenity was coming all-too-quickly to its close. 

We returned to our little house, retiring to bed happily spent and satiated by all the beauty we had feasted upon in a single day. Leaving the windows open, a light breeze carried the sea air through the room, while the sound of the waves lulled us into a slumber. 

“The sea-shore is a sort of neutral ground, a most advantageous point from which to contemplate this world.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

The next morning I woke before dawn, drawn by the sea to where the sun would rise. Another day would begin. Another set of eyes would survey this scene. Another group of seals would swim along the shore. 

A pocketful of sea stones would be my only amulets to return to this enchanted place. 

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Waiting for the Breach – Part 3

At the top of one of the dunes, they had set up a canopied space for four loungers looking over the ocean, and what felt like the world. The sea pulled us with a mesmerizing call, so we made our way down the dunes to the shore. Unbothered by people (thanks to the plovers and their blocked-off nesting space) we had the entire beach to ourselves – a previously unknown anomaly in all my years of visiting Cape Cod – and a treasure of tranquility. JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin walked slowly along the ocean, watching for the heads of seals to pop up and say hello, while empty exoskeletons of sea life littered the way. We paused to pick up a few select stones, and sat down to listen to the water roll in. 

There is a calm and grounding feeling that can only be elicited by a peaceful day at the ocean. It connects one to the universe in a way nothing else can approach. Perhaps it’s due to the waves, and the way the moon tugs at our waters, uniting and bonding celestial bodies as two parts in a much-grander scheme. Or maybe it’s the way that standing at the ocean’s edge literally grounds one, sinking our feet deeper into the sand, rooting us to a body of water that stretches to other continents.

Whenever I found myself in emotional trouble when I was younger and lived alone in Boston, I’d make my way to the harbor. There wasn’t a Seaport back then but it was enough just being near the dirty water and seeing the moon dance on the waves. Even in winter when the wind would whip the wires against their flagpoles, and the lonely clanging was all we could hear, it managed to be a calming influence. 

How far away such a cold scene felt from this sunny day at the shore. Stones and shells and seaweed glistened in the salty sea wash, sparkling in the sun and demanding closer inspection. We stayed there for a while, feeling like kids again, then made our way bak through the dunes to sunset and dinner…

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Waiting for the Breach – Part 2

In the happy confluence of destiny that life occasionally deigns to throw our way, this past winter what was supposed to be a quiet getaway for our friend JoAnn turned into a threesome when Andy’s cousin Tyler and his boyfriend Kevin asked if they could stop by on the same weekend. Tyler and Kevin were planning on going to a family party further north, and JoAnn was already cozily ensconced in the attic loft. Our upstate New York winter made other plans for the boys, as a snowstorm barreled down on the entire area, canceling their party plans and stranding us all indoors for the wintry weekend. It was there, amid the falling snow and winter doldrums that JoAnn proposed the idea of a summer getaway at the end of the world. She described a scene of idyllic charm and natural beauty, accentuated by a pair of friends – David and Francois – who sounded as enchanting as the pair of houses that stood in rarefied stead in the dunes of Provincetown. Entranced by her stories, we were instantly on board, and she vowed to work her magic to see if she might bring us along someday. 

And so it was that we found ourselves snaking through the early Saturday morning traffic along Route 6 on a sunny summer day, a far cry from the winter scenario that birthed the trip, and as we passed the row houses that marked the entrance to Provincetown, I felt the familiar thrill of returning to a place that had first captured my heart and imagination over a quarter of a century ago. This visit was decidedly different, as we took a turn toward the dunes and away from the town, where only a few ever get to go…

A curving tree-lined path led us to the entrance to the seashore, where JoAnn’s friend graciously arrived in a truck to bring us to the pair of shacks he inhabited for the summer. Getting to the dunes is no easy feat. Dave told us tales of hapless visitors who neglected to let enough air out of their tires to traverse the sandy, and often steep, landscape. One could easily get stuck or stranded if they ignored the requisite rules of these roads. Dave expertly guided us through the rolling hills of sand. The world we had known disappeared behind these dunes and a new one opened up before us. I wondered if others would define their lives before and after the dunes. What lessons would such beauty gift to us?

Arriving at the main shack, we were greeted by the friendly wave of Francois, already at work inside, while Dave brought us to the little house where we’d be staying. A pair of sumptuous beds was made up, and a bank of windows looked directly out to the ocean. The unobstructed view stilled my step, and a wave of gratitude overcame me as I realized we’d be sleeping right on the shore. It would be the first of many moments when I’d pause to be fully present

After settling in, we joined Dave and Francois for a lunch of burgers and various salads. As is most often the case, food simply tasted better by the shore, and when mixed with good company it made things even more delicious. Listening to the story of how Dave and Francois came to be friends, I was grateful for JoAnn for bringing us into this enchanted world, and grateful to Dave and Francois for being so graciously welcoming. To feel such kindness in the world was an antidote to all the awfulness the last few years have brought. 

We let down our guards, and allowed the sun and the sea to cast their spells…

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Waiting for the Breach – Part 1

Dew dripped from the tips of the seagrass as I quietly made my way along the dunes. Only the birds and a few ships were out at this early hour. The wind, which could be wild and relentless, had softened to a slight breeze, allowing the grass to wave and dance in gentle rhythm. Here, where we had only a few hours ago watched the sunset over one end of the ocean I found myself alone, waiting for the sun to rise over the other end. 

Only on the magical peninsula of Provincetown can you find such a view of both sunrise and sunset. Here, where the first spark of the day shown suddenly red over the sea, and the sun rose and set in a matter of seconds – the line between dusk and dawn so miraculously demarcated – I sat on the dunes trying to take it all in. Here, at the edge of a world that no longer knew how to breathe in such beauty, I paused to inhale. 

Seeking out solitude, I made my way from our little house on the dunes along the path to the main house, then meandered along to the roped-off entrance to the beach. Blessedly blocked off to the public for the plovers, the entire expanse of this bit of Cape Cod shore was empty. Seagulls soared silently through the sky, and the only sound was the hypnotic rolling of the ocean – the ocean that never quite slept the way that we did, that had no need of sleep, and that stayed implacably unbothered by all our encroachments. 

On this day of departure, after an all-too-brief brush with a sublime beauty so gorgeously accentuated by new and old friends, I sat in the dunes waiting for the sun to rise, and recollecting what felt like a full and fortunate life in a single day…

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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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A Fall Adventure with the Twins – Part 2

The beauty of Vermont enveloping us, we made our way into Manchester, where we parked the car and began our walking adventure. All I knew was that the Riverwalk was somewhere nearby, and Suzie said it looked like it was fun for kids. I did a quick internet search and found it easily enough, and when we saw its location, we decided to save it until after lunch. 

Lunch would be a sad set of pre-made sandwiches from a place ill-equipped to handle a Saturday rush (the lone worker there had twelve custom sandwich orders ahead of us, hence the selection of pre-made ones). We took them to a bench beside the waterfall near the beginning (or end) of the Riverwalk, where the setting was enough to enjoy the limited food and quell the complaints of picky kids. 

The sun was still attempting to break through the clouds, which made for an interesting and pretty sky. By the time we descended to the Riverwalk (which was really not much more than a path by a stream) slivers of sunlight scattered through the tree-tops, illuminating the little patch of woodland below the stores and cafes of Manchester. 

We wound our way along the path, crossing the stream on a questionable log at one point (I can talk about it now because we managed to survive without incident or fall), then we made our way back up into the village for a dessert of Starbucks (after I listened to Noah tell us where Ben & Jerrys was – and then it wasn’t). We made do with the hot chocolate and brownies there before getting back on the road to return home for the official treasure hunt. 

A long poem of instructions included a stop by our front door to obtain these scarves as talismans of protections against whatever coming Halloween spirits may wish us ill, and the twins gamely wound their excessive length around them for the journey. I’d crocheted them earlier this fall to brush off my rusty crochet needle, and Emi had selected the color schemes for her and Noah on their last visit here. 

(Suzie had instructed me to make them extra long, offering further evidence that I shouldn’t really listen to Suzie, or anyone dressed like this for that matter.) Luckily, folding them into fours turned them into a manageable, if slightly bulky, size. And the twins were just happy to be on another treasure hunt, which wound through the front yard, around the side, and into the backyard. They found all the required elements to result in a spell that found their Halloween goodie baskets magically appearing where we had started off, and Andy was suddenly nowhere to be found, so it couldn’t have been him…

After taking them to a quick dinner at Smashburger, we created a card for Andy and presented him with a gift of maple syrup (the same gift we’d bring their Dad and Lola). While I may have instigated this, they crafted the card on their own that read “Fall vibes coming your way… so we went all the way to Vermont to find you some syrup today!” 

More heartwarming and sweet was what happened after they gave him their present. We were heading back upstairs for a meditation session when Noah paused and went back to Andy and gave him a hug without any prompting. He then rushed back to Emi and told her to do the same – so Uncle Andy got two hugs from two little relatives who love him very much

Back in the attic, we lit three candles and I taught the twins how to do a candle meditation. I was expecting more giggles and laughs and tomfoolery, but once I set the timer for five minutes, they quieted instantly, closed their eyes, and went into their deep breathing for the full five minutes. I followed that lead and kept the breath steady and deep, and when it was over and the phone gently chimed its time up, Emi asked if we could do another two minutes, to which Noah exclaimed that was exactly what he was thinking. So we went two more minutes in silence and peace. It was the highlight of my weekend with them. I took a quick photo in the dim light, which is at the end of this post and the start of the first one – it looks like some enchanted painting rather than a phone photo, proof that some things in the world are not to be fully understood, that such enchantments can only be felt and experienced rather than explained. 

[This is apparently a drawing of me in my floral shirt.]

We watched a couple more movies, called it a very late night, and everyone went to sleep almost instantly. The next morning we moved slowly into the rainy day before heading over to dinner at Lola and Lolo’s. Another Fall Treasure Hunt weekend was in the books, and at eleven years old, the twins may not have many more in them, so I’m treasuring this one and savoring the joy and love it contained.

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A Fall Adventure with the Twins – Part 1

One of the only things that didn’t get canceled in 2020 was our annual Fall Treasure Hunt with the twins. This year may have surpassed last year’s doozy, even without the smoke machine and painted pumpkins, as we had a whole weekend of fall adventures that led us all the way to Manchester, Vermont.

It began after school on Friday, when I picked Noah and Emi up from Amsterdam and we arrived to pretzel bites and pizza, which we ate on the patio, taking advantage of the last lingering warmth and sunlight of early October. In a year in which just about every single weekend has been marred by rain and foul weather, this was a gift. The twins settled their things into their attic room and we went over the rough itinerary for the weekend (they seemed to enjoy an agenda even more than I enjoy creating one!) 

After that, we moved into the cellar, where Noah practiced his pool table skills while Emi illustrated her sewing and drawing prowess, creating some of the artwork you see here. I’d planned on reading them a few of the milder stories from the poorly-written childhood classic ‘Scary Stories to Tell Children’ which was more about the frightening illustrations than the stories themselves. 

We decided to do that early in the evening so they wouldn’t have to go to bed if there was a fright conjured, and that was wise planning. I lit candles and read to them from the chaise lounge in the corner of the attic while they huddled in the safe zone of the bed. They only wanted two – well, Emi was game for more but this was a democracy, and I wanted this to be a fun weekend, not something too traumatic this early on.

From there we went back downstairs and did a bracket to vote on which movie to watch that night. (The only way to determine such things is through a voting process because with these twins there is no such thing as compromise or agreement.) I could be the deciding vote if it was tied, and thus it was that ‘Sleepy Hollow’ was selected from a field of eight other contenders. We’d employ this process for all the movies we watched.

Once the movie was done, we ascended to the attic bedroom once more, where I sat them down to do our first meditation session. As expected, it was filled with laughter and an utter inability to focus and actually meditate, but that’s the point of the first lesson. We needed that outlet for the silliness and the novelty of the practice. Setting the timer for exactly five minutes, we did at least two in deep breath and silence, and that was about the best we could have gotten. I tucked them into bed, even though it was still rather early. I was exhausted and went right to bed.

The next morning we got up and I made them a couple of breakfast sandwiches before hitting the road to Manchester, Vermont and our planned riverwalk experience. Suzie had found it on the previous week’s outing, and it looked like the perfect destination for two young adventurers. 

On our way, we paused at the little stream behind the former Candle Mill so I could show them where their Dad and I used to dip candles when we were kids. We got as close as we could and posed for photos before the stream. Another generation touched by the beauty of Vermont in this little section of a stream, and a fall memory of mine is now infused into a fall memory of theirs. Legacies aren’t always formed from efforts of majesty or might. 

The air was chilled, but the sun was fighting its way through the high clouds, and as long as there was no rain, this would be a happy day. The twins seemed energized by the change in scenery, and I too felt invigorated by the beautiful environs surrounding us. 

We got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Manchester… [To be continued.]

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Vermont Escapade with the Bestie

One of my favorite fall memories from childhood is visiting my grandmother in Hoosick Falls. It was about an hour away – which felt like forever when you’re a kid – and it always felt like a long, winding journey with twists and turns, going beside streams and over rivers, crossing bridges and slinking through valleys – the perfect fall escapade for a kid. I would occasionally make some cinnamon apple muffins and pack them into a basket, filling the car with their cozy aroma, and more often than not eating one along the way. 

We’d arrive on a Friday and sleep on Gram’s green velvet sofas, and the next morning Mom would drive us all into Vermont, where we would make a stop at the Candle Mill, and dip candles in various colors. Behind the wooden building was a little waterfall and stream with a little area where you could watch the water rushing by. We would always pause for a long time there, and it remains one of my happiest memories

When Suzie and I were looking for a day trip, I remembered those fall weekends in Vermont. Suzie has ties to Vermont too, and though I knew the Candle Mill had long since closed I was hopeful we could at least stop by the place and see the stream, then head into Manchester for lunch and some shopping. 

We arrived in the morning, which was good because the day would soon turn to rain (as it’s been doing since May) and the old Candle Mill looked like a private residence. Two more buildings had been built down beside it (at least they looked new to me) but there was a little parking lot down the road that allowed us to amble up the stream a bit and glimpse the waterfall in the distance. It was exactly as I remembered it, and nothing like I remembered it, if that makes any sense. It had been almost four decades since I was last in this space, and Vermont holds more ghosts for me and Suzie now than it once did. Still, it felt peaceful and calm, and the quiet morning was a welcome get-away form the stresses of work and reality. 

From there we stopped for a coffee and some breakfast, the former of which Suzie mostly gave to her pants, while the latter was some banana bread I’d made the night before – another echo of childhood traditions. Yes, these were the same pants Suzie wore on our summer trip to Boston, as evidenced in this post. But they worked, and she found a Pendleton coat that matched them precisely. More on that in a separate post, as a Suzie Fashion Show is a rare occurrence that must be honored accordingly. 

We made a few shopping stops, notably at the Marimekko outlet where Suzie found part of. possible wedding outfit and I found an apron. More on that later too. The rain had arrived – heavy and annoying and seemingly only wherever we went. We chose The Copper Grouse at the Taconic Hotel for our lunch, had a cozy lunch by the window while a fireplace crackled across the room, and made a new fall memory. 

 

 

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