Alan Ilagan

No trip to Ogunquit would be complete without a walk along the Marginal Way, and no matter how many times we’ve done it, there’s always some nook we never noticed, or a view we hadn’t fully appreciated. This year the joy was in the roses. To be honest, I’ve had a love-apathy relationship with roses all my life. I appreciate the flower itself, but there are thorns to every other aspect of the plant. They’re difficult to grow properly, they draw diseases and pests, and it just seemed like too much work for too little payoff.

When I met Andy he was a rose enthusiast, and he managed to make a few bushes grow quite nicely. I remember sitting in his house next to a vase of several tea roses, breathing in their delicious aroma and marveling at his hand with their tricky care and maintenance. When we moved into our current home, he planted a few bushes, but the fenced-in location didn’t provide enough air circulation, and the soil was too depleted in nutrients for them to gain a foothold. We have a few Knockout bushes which are doing well, and he put in a climbing variety along the fence that has survived, but I stand by my assessment that they are too hard to grow without constant care.

That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate their beauty and fragrance when done correctly, and it seems the happiest place for Rosa rugosa is along the shore. I’ve even seen these growing in sand dunes in Cape Cod, their orange and red hips held aloft by densely-thorned stems.

In Ogunquit they line portions of the Marginal Way, as well as throughout the town, but we’ve never had the benefit to be around when they were in full bloom – until this year.

Despite their rugged countenance and thorny ways (many even consider their single blossoms on the plain side), the single scent that dominated our walk along the ocean was the sweet fragrance of the rose, mingling with the spray of the sea. Even in the most wind-swept turns of the Way, the perfume permeated our walk, adding an exhilarating aspect to an already-sensory-overloaded experience.

At the end of the journey, we rewarded ourselves with lunch at Jackie’s Too, where Andy got this picturesque glass of iced tea.

We crossed the bridge in Perkins Cove – in all of our years of coming to Ogunquit, I don’t think we had ever been to the other side – and stood looking over the way at Bette Davis’ former home.

There’s an art museum in the area, but we decided to save that for another visit.We returned along the Marginal Way, walking off the lunch and working up an appetite for dinner at Five-O.

It is one of our favorite restaurants – not just in Ogunquit, but out of all the places we’ve been – and they make the most of local ingredients, so you can feel good about eating there too. There is a new chef in residence, but owners Jeff Porter and Donato Tramuto have ensured that the same level of culinary expertise remains.

On this evening they let us try two appetizers that were easily the best thing I have eaten in years. I’m a sucker for anything with truffle oil (potatoes, mac and cheese, scrambled eggs, you name it). Add the word “fried” to that and we’re approaching gastronomic heaven. This was called Arancini, and it was amazing. Like died-and-gone-to-food-heaven amazing. Fried risotto cakes with truffle honey. If you think it sounds good, it tastes even better. They were little drops of truffle-tinged bliss that we quickly devoured and didn’t want to end.

Even better may have been the simple Peppers agro dolce – sweet and sour peppers on grilled bread. It sounds deceptively simple, but the taste was anything but. On these two dishes alone I could dine for life and be a happy man. Seriously.

Being that it was only the beginning, we were in for greater treats. I ordered the scallops, which were cooked to perfection and served with a  parsnip puree (the reason I chose the dish was for my love of parsnips) kale, and blood orange sauce – all of which combined for a wondrous alchemy of complementary flavor. Andy went his usual route and ordered a pasta dish – the Bolognese which looked, smelled, and, according to his solemn word, tasted just as good as mine. There’s something about being seaside that sparks the appetite, and Five-O more than satiated it this evening.

Walking back to our room, the moon hovers behind the clouds, surrounded by a hazy halo. It feels like a summer night – the breeze is warm, and at odds from what we’ve come to expect from Maine, where days in the 80’s are often followed by nights in the 50’s.

I step out onto the roof-deck and see if I can capture any of it on film, but the magic and enchantment are elusive bits of ephemera – gone before the camera can focus, like the moon falling behind the clouds and trees.

After breakfast, we decide to walk off our bursting bellies with a trek along the Marginal Way. It is my first time visiting the magnificent path, and it instantly impresses with its sublime views, dramatic rock outcroppings, and engaging wildlife. Seagulls and other sea birds dive and fly above the ocean while chipmunks squeak among the brush. Seed pods of winding vines flutter their feathery cargo along the fence.  A few junipers stand strong in that harsh area, ragged by years of wind and sea spray, but steadfast in their survival.

The wind is wild here, though there are pockets of still and calm along the winding path, and for all the ravaging storms that threaten almost annually to wash away the shore, this piece of land has remained a beautiful beacon of what makes this earth so sublime. This is where the heart finds peace. Being here renders everything else mean and small.

We walk the entire length, pausing to take in the severe and gorgeous vista. We return the same way, (and as always the way back seems shorter than the way there.) I will try to bring the feeling of peace and perspective that I find there with me wherever I go, but I’ll never fully capture it. That’s okay though – it’s comforting that there’s only one place in the world where such magic can be found.

In one week, Andy and I will make our traditional Memorial Day weekend trek to Ogunquit, Maine. This year marks our tenth anniversary of making the pilgrimage together, and our first as a married couple. (I made the official proposal to him in Ogunquit one year ago, on the Marginal Way.) For obvious reasons, this is a special trip.

I’ve been working on a few posts that I’ll schedule for when we’re away – some memories of our very first trip there back in 2000, and what Ogunquit has come to mean for me. One would think that after ten years of vacationing to the same spot it might get boring or old, but I’ve never felt that about Ogunquit (perhaps it’s the weather, which is the traditionally-unpredictable four-seasons-in-four-days roller-coaster ride of New England that keeps us on our toes).

Ogunquit inspires tranquility and peace, two aspects largely missing from most of my weekdays. It brings contentment and comfort to our lives, as we bask in the bonhomie and beauty of this perfect little village by the sea.

It is this ocean that has called to me since I was a boy, as I built sandcastles along its shore and dove down amongst its seaweed and shells. It is this ocean that beckoned me from a Boston pier, where I’d go to cry on windy winter nights when no one else was around, and the guy I thought I loved more than anything in the world did not love me back. It is this ocean in which I buoyed and bobbed by tropical southern shores, lulling me back to myself whenever I lost the way.

I feel its pull again, the gentle tug in the direction I’m meant to be going, and I’m already looking forward to it.