Before he declined to the point where he couldn’t travel, Dad had often joined us for our autumn trip to Ogunquit, Maine. He and Mom would sometimes go up a day or two early to explore a nearby town, or simply enjoy the benefits of retirement. Andy and I would join them for the remainder of the stay, and we’d establish a tradition of breakfasting together, doing our own thing during the day, then coming back for dinner and discussing what adventures we’d each had. This was our first trip anywhere without Dad being here – either in person or back home – and I expected it to be somewhat emotional. I hoped it would also be healing. Happily, there is no better place than Ogunquit to aid with both.
Upon our arrival, we were greeted with the comforting visage of Anthony at the Scotch Hill Inn, who showed us to our usual room, and Mom to her accommodations in the room next door. Our parents usually stayed at the Anchorage, a bit of a walk from our previous guesthouse, so this was a convenient change, and a nice new tradition having us all together under one roof.
While the weather was good – coastal Maine cannot be counted on for that in mid-October – we decided to make an early walk to the Marginal Way, just to get a quick ocean fix before dinner. Passing the plants that were at the end of their season, Mom and I looked for the amaranthus and castor bean plants that always intrigued Dad. He once harvested some seeds and grew a stand of magnificent amaranthus one year. On this visit, there were no signs of those plants, and I didn’t realize until that moment how much I was counting on them, hoping they would provide a reminder of him.
Instead, we found an open bench on the Marginal Way, and paused to take in the view. Seagulls and water birds usually kept their distance from this section – we’d encounter them on the beach or further along the way, but they were usually not this close, so when one sauntered over to our bench, it was a surprise.
This gull came right up to us, not in the least frightened or timid, simply studying each of us with wide-eyed interest and imploring actions, as if trying to get our attention and communicate something. It walked around the legs and feet of Mom and Andy, within inches of them. I’d seen such actions in pigeons seeking out crumbs, or the tamed birds and squirrels at the Boston Public Garden – I’d never seen a seagull do this, and definitely not on the Marginal Way. It felt like Dad was saying hello.
One of the things that Dad always noticed wherever we went was the actions of the animals. He’d be the first to describe what a squirrel or bird was doing on the side porch, or the ducks at the Public Garden, or the seagulls by the shore. He also took an interest in unusual plants, or unusual vegetable specimens, such as the giant pumpkins near the Anchorage.
On one of our last visits, we were there as they started carving one of the pumpkins – Dad stayed there and watched them do it, conversing with the carvers and finding out the history of the pumpkin and how it was transported, as well as what they did with the seeds and pulp. He reported what he learned later at dinner. On this day, passing the great pumpkins at the Anchorage brought me back to that moment, and brought Dad back to our minds for this trip.
Later on in our weekend, we made the full walk along the Marginal Way, winding our way along the coast and down to Perkins Cove. For Mom, there were memories of Gram there as well, and we paused in a few key places, taking in the calm water and the sunny weather, as if they were a gift from those we had lost.
Andy and I have memories here as well, and being in this place has always brought us peace.
This was a trip of healing, and we did our best to bring comfort to Mom, and to ourselves. Cozy dinners at Walker’s and Roberto’s proved to be delicious choices, and our breakfasts on the wrap-around porch of the Scotch Hill Inn were sumptuous delights. They were the very best way to start the day, and I’m a fan of any scenario that allows you to remain in a robe and bed slippers while eating delectable food.
Throughout the long weekend, I found myself drawn back to the sea, and I know Mom did too. We felt closer to Dad and Gram there, where they whispered to us through gulls and sea breezes, on the white foamy crests of incoming waves, and in the perfume of the sea roses that bloomed in defiance of the cold fall nights.
There was beauty all around us, highlighted by the sun which deigned to shine on every day we were there – one of the only times that has happened to us during two decades of visiting Ogunquit.
On the eve of our last morning in Maine, I took a solitary walk to the Ogunquit river. Reflecting the clouds beneath a blue sky, the water was calm – a broad expanse of beauty that provided the perfect landing pad for a seagull.
I stayed there and watched the bird float along, a happy and healing reminder of how our trip began.
