Alan Ilagan

While we usually make our walk along the Marginal Way in the late morning, I actually find the light of late afternoon sometimes more dramatic. It comes from behind then, switching things up from the overhead all-encompassing light of mid-day, and creating pockets of shadow, and recesses of dim shade.

The roses glow more beautifully at the close of the day, and it is quieter now too. Most of the tourists are preparing for dinner or taking the tail end of an afternoon siesta, so the path is not crowded, and the way is not bustling.

It is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Maine. I still remember the first time I walked along its rocky edge. Andy and I were guided by his old friend Al, and we paused for a moment, looking out at the water. It was September, and the wind was cool and high. It was hard to hear above the rushing air and pounding water, but somehow in the midst of it all was stillness, and little pockets of peace between the wind-ravaged junipers and worn-wooden benches.

Gazing out across the water, we gazed across the centuries, across time itself and the enduring and ever-shifting border between land and sea. Every once in a while a scene of nature humbles me, forcing me to re-examine my place in the world – our place in the world – and the Marginal Way, in its magnificence and glory, always has that power.

From dawn to dusk, it holds a special place in my heart – in its beauty, in its restless wonder, in its endurance and in its patience.

We usually walk the Marginal Way in the morning, but the light of a Fall afternoon may change that in the future.

This time I strolled along it by myself, as Andy was taking his afternoon siesta in the room.

The bittersweet was out, as were a few straggling roses – their colors vibrant and vivid in the setting sun.

The golden hour was upon the shore, and I found the bench on which I proposed to Andy last Spring.

I also happened upon two older gentlemen sharing another bench. I took a quick photo because the image moved me. I have no idea if they were friends or partners or husbands, but the simple camaraderie of the scene was a comfort to witness.

Our final afternoon in Ogunquit was coming to an end, and soon all we would have to harvest would be memories…

We sleep the sleep of the stuffed and contented, and the next morning we walk it off along the Marginal Way. The ocean is a jewel-like aquamarine, its brilliance matched only by the bluest of sky above it. A sea breeze scatters sun-kissed ridges along the surface of the water, scooting the glittering crests like little flocks of birds.

At the end of the Marginal Way sits Perkins Cove, where Bette Davis lived many years ago, and to think of ourselves traversing the same pathways she may have once walked is its own special thrill. To replenish after the hike, we stop at Barnacle Billy’s (even after coming here for ten years, there are still places we haven’t tried, and this was one of them). I think it was the tale that Eleanor Roosevelt used to frequent its former incarnation (The Whistling Oyster) that finally brought us inside. (For more little-known tidbits like this, visit our friend Greg’s Ogunquit Beach Inn Blog.)

I got the fried clam roll and Andy had a grilled chicken sandwich as the bridge went up and down outside our cove-side window.

Being in the mindset for firsts, we crossed the bridge to the other side and ventured over for our virgin experience at the Ogunquit Museum of American Art, and it was well worth the wait. The grounds were so captivating that we toured them before setting foot inside the museum itself, drawn out to the shore by enclosed gardens and views that beckoned one closer while closing their secrets all around you.

{Don’t worry, I was never in any real danger – this bear was as docile as a tree. I wish I could say as much about the boobs below me.}

This was one of my favorite sculptures – chalk it up to my summer of Moby Dick.

Yes, the sky really was that blue.

Like all moments of enchantment, this one had to come to an end, and soon it was time to return from whence we came. Back over the bridge and up to the Village…

With all our beach time, we didn’t get a chance to walk the Marginal Way, so on Sunday morning I got up early and made the journey alone.

A sunny Sunday morning in mid-August by the sea is a gift, and I gleefully unwrapped it while traversing the Maine coastline. What can one say about such beauty? It is a balm for the most troubled soul, a respite from the most wretched ways of the world.

The first yellow light of the goldenrod was just coming into bloom. A sign of the coming Fall that always struck dread into my school-boy heart, followed by the asters and thistles beginning their late-summer glory.

On the shoreline, a city of rock towers, something we had never seen before this visit.

One of our favorite wedding gifts is a painting of these stones, and though we’ve been coming to Ogunquit for a decade, we have never seen them in evidence as they were this time – a painting come to life, a dream born into reality.

Along with the goldenrod, an abundance of Rosa rugosa rose hips, ripening into shades of orange, red, and maroon, lined the rocky coast, a few stray flowers still opening up and drifting their sweet scent in the salty ocean breeze.

I reached the last stretch of the Way far too soon, dwelling in a grove of junipers for a bit, not wanting to turn around and start the journey home.

{To Be Continued…}

Our final full day in Ogunquit began with a continuation of the good food at Five-O. This is the first year (as far as I know) when they’ve offered breakfast, so we gave it a shot. Happily, the breakfast was just as tasty as the dinner – my streak of overindulgence was unabated as I sampled the lobster benedict, while Andy enjoyed his waffles and fresh strawberries with pure Maine maple syrup.

We did a little walking and shopping in the village, pausing at one of our favorite stores – Spoiled Rotten – which is one of the best places to find a gift for anyone left behind at home. While we were there, one customer backed into a table of glass jar candles, sending one smashing onto the floor. The owners were more than kind about it, saying not to bother with paying for it, and that it happened all the time. (If I were the customer who did that, I’d have bought three candles just to make up for the clean-up, but this guy was content to offer a brief apology.) The guys who run the store are always ready with a smile and a laugh, and set all their customers at ease, even if you’re not buying anything (or smashing things to pieces).

Andy went back to the room for an afternoon siesta while I wrote and read a little in front of the Village Market. The day was perfectly sunny, with a light breeze; we would have gone to the beach if we hadn’t seen the long parade of beach-going folks, but since it looked to be crowded with tourists (and their kids) we kept away. (I’m not a sit-on-the-beach kind of guy anyway, unless there’s an umbrella covered bar, which there wasn’t.)

For dinner we headed down to Katie’s Cafe on Shore Road, a destination for their over-the-top lobster mac and cheese with truffle oil – which is pretty much my culinary trifecta (and future arterial downfall). We arrived early and sat at the bar for a cocktail and conversation with one of the owners.

After being seated on the late-afternoon-sun-filled front porch, we checked out the menu and I decided that after a weekend of stuffing myself, the lobster mac and cheese was just too much, so I settled for a lobster ravioli instead, which was the best move I’ve made in a while.

Andy got the scallops with fiddleheads.

We both cleaned our plates, and since I had been so good about the mac and cheese, I got the raspberry dessert you see here.

Nothing makes me happier than having dessert.

Unless it’s having dessert with my husband.

After dinner, we stopped briefly on the Marginal Way – the light in the afternoon was completely different from the light of the morning, and the slant of the sun made the colors of the shore much richer. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to walk the whole length, as we had a movie to catch.

The movie at the Leavitt Theater was Sex and the City 2, which I had been excited about seeing, despite some savagely unkind reviews. I’m sad to say I enjoyed the historical theater and the popcorn better than the movie (yes, I got popcorn after all that – it’s a movie for God’s sake.) I didn’t hate it, but it was even emptier than I thought it would be. Perhaps saddest of all, I wasn’t that impressed with the fashion (nothing could ever come close to the wedding couture sequence of the first film) and without the fashion, what is the point? (Carrie’s “crown” for the gay wedding was dismal at best, and she completely ruined that otherwise-promising lavender and tan full-skirted dress with that ridiculous “J’Adore Dior” t-shirt. I love Dior too (especially with Galliano at the creative helm) but I would never wear a t-shirt proclaiming such. But enough about the movie, if it’s mindless fluff you’re after, go see it.  

Crossing the street back to the main drag, we saw that Bread and Roses was still open, so for one final time Andy went in and got his coffee and dessert. When we leave Ogunquit after our Fall visits, it is with sadness and regret – on those October days it feels like we’re putting the town to rest for the winter, and starting the long, gray trudge towards a Spring that feels so far away. When we depart now, we leave with the hope of a summer laid out before us, and an Autumn trip before we say goodbye for the year.

(The best ending, if you’ve enjoyed the journey, is “To Be Continued”, and since one of my favorite musicals is at the Ogunquit Playhouse in August (Sunset Boulevard – for sentimental reasons, not musical theater genius), I’ve already informed Andy that we will be making a summer visit earlier than planned.)

That makes this act of leaving nothing more than a promise to return.

Until then, the parade of blooms goes on and on and on…