Category Archives: Ogunquit

It invariably happens, without planning or preparation, that I find myself alone on the Marginal Way before any Ogunquit vacation is over. Usually it comes toward the tail end of the trip – the night before we depart, or the very morning of departure. This time it was the day before when I took a bundled-up stroll during the wild, windy, wave-crushing window of high tide coming in.

Sometimes you have to walk a little way all by yourself. As one who has always cherished his solitude, I embraced this moment, even shedding a few unexpected tears as I passed the ocean spot where Gram’s ashes were scattered – brought on by a combination of the biting wind, the sheer stark beauty of the place, and the memories that Fall conjures.

As much as I love the spring, fall in New England carries its own inimitable mysticism, and a cozy enchantment all its own. As with most things, it is the preparatory anticipation that I love best ~ in this case the hunkering down for the impending winter. The dusk of the year is falling, and in the chill of the air, there is a frisson of excitement. Prepare the way.

A few years ago, our trusted inn-keeper Greg recommended that we tour the Wells Reserve while in town for a Fall weekend. This expansive area of coastal Maine wilderness is the perfect excursion for anyone looking to land themselves in the midst of meditative nature, where you can walk in solitude for long stretches, and not run into anyone other than chipmunks and waterfowl should you wish for such contemplative quiet.

Once the forest folds in behind you, the stillness and silence sets in, and suddenly the sound of falling leaves takes on a thunderous aspect. It’s amazing how much we can hear when the noise of our normal existence dissipates, in a place where there are no cars or cel phones. The murmurings of wind through the reeds, the startled chirps of a chipmunk, the hurried scraping of a scrambling squirrel ~ each a small part in the quiet cacophony of the forest floor.

As varied as the sounds, so too do the scents offer a wide palate of olfactory experiences. The briny musk of the marshland, the sour decay of wet leaves, and the pungent spores of moss and mushrooms, punctuated by the occasional exclamation points of various, and thankfully hidden, scat all combine to create the cologne of the earth. It is the scent of life.

There are paths here, some made of wood, some made of pine needles, some made by the simple repetition of human footfalls, but each of them leading into another. Only a few times does the trail ever come to a standstill – usually at the water’s edge. You can walk a very long time, and still never get completely lost.

The toadstools bring to mind fairy flights and wanderings of woodland nymphs.

There are hints of humans as well ~ in a broken branch, a muddy footprint, an empty bench.

Mostly though, we are here alone.

And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sadly, with his recent case of painful gout, my Dad couldn’t make it to Ogunquit on this trip. Mom made the journey though, and was our companion (and dinner ticket) for all the Autumn splendor. Dad was here in spirit – in the corned beef hash at breakfast, the duck at dinner, and the sparkling water of Perkins Cove. Gram was here too, not just in the open resting place of the ocean, but in the appearance of a Boston terrier and a long-haired dachshund. No matter where I end up, Ogunquit will always be filled with memories of ghosts living and dead, and will forever offer comfort in that realm.

Andy collected some sand from the beach to bring back his Mother’s gravesite, thereby connecting her to this special place as well. We all feel completely at home at only a few places in the world ~ this is one of them for me. Boston is another. Upstate New York, where I was born and raised, strangely holds a distant third. I don’t know why it should be so, but sometimes we don’t choose these things – they’re chosen for us. I’ve never tried to fight that, never tried to force things differently. I’ve just accepted that this is how it’s meant to work out. The only time people have problems is when they fight the universe.

On this trip we had the privilege of having lunch with two friends we met last time we were in town – Eric and Lonnie. They were kind enough to include my Mom as well, and we met up at MC Perkins after our leisurely stroll along the Marginal Way. There are some people whom you feel you’ve known far longer than you have, those who instantly insinuate themselves into the fabric of friendship as if they’ve been there all along ~ the friends who become extended family when you’re away from home. Eric and Lonnie are certainly those friends.

We enjoyed a delicious and gregarious lunch, and can’t wait to return the favor when we come back next Spring. The more time we spend in Ogunquit, the more wonderful people we meet. It makes visiting a joy, and leaving such a sorrow.

One of the perks of being a visitor in Ogunquit is that we sometimes see things that others miss (including things that we’ve missed in our dozen years frequenting the area). Case in point: the Dorothea Grant Common at the Ogunquit Heritage Museum. The museum was closed for the season, but the small stretch of grounds around the little building beckoned us to explore its leaf-strewn path, so we made a slow amble beneath the trees, walking the grounds as the sun peeked through the pines and oaks. Faded gardens, about to go to bed for another year, were still discernible beneath the blanket of wet leaves.

It’s always a thrill to discover a hidden garden. It makes the flowers that dare to remain so much more special and, in their late-hour way, more spectacular. On this particular perfectly-Fall day, more leaves had fallen in the windy night, and a hidden band of marauding squirrels threw acorns down at all trespassers. It was, in a word, idyllic ~ at least for this Hawthorne-loving Fall-o-phile. We walked around the path, hearing the occasional chirp of a chipmunk and inspecting the once-glorious gardens, now lost in their seasonal death spiral.

Andy always greets the annual slumber of a garden with sadness and despondency, but it offers a sort of welcome relief for me. When you’re the one hoisting cow manure and chopping up unruly clumps of Miscanthus, Fall can offer a gratifying perspective. (And since Andy mows the lawn, a bit of this relief is most certainly shared.)

Two roads diverged in a wood…

Upon entry into Ogunquit for our annual Columbus Day weekend visit, I promptly fell victim to a cold. That and the iffy stance of the weather would be enough to try the happiest of souls. This being Ogunquit, however, no matter how sick and no matter how dreary, it was impossible not to enjoy our time in this ‘Beautiful Place by the Sea’. Spring and Summer have their own sunny pull, but Fall is magical in an entirely different way.

Ensconced in the cozy environs of the Naughty Pine Room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn, and hosted by our favorite Inn-keepers Greg & Mike, we felt instantly at home. Venturing into that first day’s gray and misty surroundings, we met up with my Mom for a introductory lunch at the Cornerstone Restaurant – the new artisanal pizza place that functioned as a warm and welcoming port in the passing storm. With its old-fashioned incandescent light bulbs, dark vaulted wooden beam ceiling, and an open oven view, it was the ideal spot for an autumnal break.

Pumpkins, squash, and other gourds spilled abundantly across most of the entrances, while bales of hay and cornstalks added to the seasonal feel of many doorways. Fall in New England is unmatched anywhere else. We know the weather that is to come, and we hold onto Fall and celebrate that it’s still with us using every fiery trick we can muster.

The grasses have gone to seed, waving their feathery grain fronds in the cutting wind. The sun, though weakened, slants through the afternoon, eliciting a bit of warmth where it manages to take hold. For now the battle between wind and sun is evenly matched, but soon the temperature will side with the moving air – soon the sun won’t summon the heat.

That slumber has not quite begun, but we are at its doorstep, dancing the final days of Fall away with a fatalistic flourish. Nature burns itself in beauty.

Having just returned from Ogunquit, I am not quite ready to face the day at work. I was out for an entire week – the first time I’ve taken off a full week since I started working for the state almost a dozen years ago. That’s right, take it all in: I’ve never taken a whole week off from my job until now. Call me what you like, I’ve been reliably  consistent, but for Andy’s pre-birthday surprise in Ogunquit, it was worth it. Give me a chance to catch my breath (and pack for Boston) and I’ll recount some of our vacation adventures.

“Hark, now hear the sailors cry,
Smell the sea, and feel the sky
Let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic…”

~ Van Morrison

Andy and I first came to Ogunquit over twelve years ago. It was in September 2000, and we had only known each other for a couple of months. It was our first trip anywhere together, and I had no idea what to expect, or how it would work. History had proven that I did not live well with others, or at least that others did not live well with me. How might that translate to a long weekend in one single room with no escape route, hundreds of miles from home? Well, we know how it turned out, and every year since then we have been returning to this Beautiful Place By The Sea, where the magic and gratefulness I felt on that first trip a dozen years ago come flooding back the moment we step into the sea-scented clime. We’re different now than we were then – how could we not be? – but some small part of who we were remains. It is, I think, the very best part, and we hold onto it, careful to treasure it, careful to hold it closest to our hearts.