In September, we go to Maine. This enables us to see the peak of both New England’s autumn colors and Virginia’s. Our vacation ritual starts about a month before we leave. We take out our Maine mascots and ensconce them on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. There is a lobster named Red, a loon that calls when squished, and last year we added a moose whose head always nods in agreement, “yup, yup.” The night before we leave our mascots take up residence on the dashboard of the truck.
The journey to Maine has its markers. First, there's the crossing from New York into Connecticut, official New England territory. Then I have to wait for Massachusetts. Somewhere an hour or so from the Maine border, a miracle occurs. A certain fast food restaurant suddenly has lobster rolls on the menu. We stop to get a couple, starved for even just a taste of Maine after a year away.
After that, we look for THE sign: "Welcome to Maine, The Way Life Should Be." We grin at each other, amazed that we get to be in this wonderful place again. The air is a mixture of pine scent and ocean and the water is incredibly clear.
Next are signs for Freeport, first known for L.L. Bean and now many up scale discount stores. My husband remembers the L.L.Bean of his childhood, a much smaller, frame building. I pass on Freeport and head down my personal Mecca, Route One. Hugging the coast, Route One is Junktique paradise. One place even has a yard full of white iron and brass bed frames, all set up.
There's something exhilarating about returning to a well-known retreat. As we pass the sign for the Boothbay Harbor region, I start to scan for Edgecomb Pottery. There's no missing it, right on the road, the stands of iridescent blue, red and yellow pottery on the gray deck, bright against the barn red buildings. It's like a ceramic garden.
The next stop is downtown Boothbay Harbor. Our first Maine meal is always bowls of Lobster Stew at Gray's Wharf. Gray’s isn’t the nicest place in the world, but it’s where we ate on our first trip. We walk through the dark, cement floored pool hall and bar out to the deck. Out there we watch the sailboats, the moored ones all pointed in the same direction, the others weaving in and out of them in the harbor.
Our next stop is in Belfast at the natural food co-op to stock up on food.
Then we drive to a little mid-coast town where we stay. Our anticipation mounts as we drive through the quiet streets lined with colorful maples and evergreens, over bridges with racing streams below. Then we turn into a camp which was founded almost a hundred years ago. We park on the grass behind our cabin which is right on the water. Our cabin has a screened in porch facing the water. Paul, the current owner’s father who used to run the camp, has his lobster boat moored near the dock. Other than that and a couple of sushi wedge islands, the water in the reach is clear for as far as we can see.
The first full day we hike the Coastal Fog Trail at Crockett’s Cove. The trail is through a cathedral of Frasier Fir and Spruce trees with their gray trunks. Lush moss and ferns hug the ground and the evergreen needle strewn path is springy under foot. At one point is a rock formed like the front half of a fossilized alligator. Further along, long, soft grasses bend beside a stream crossed on wood arranged like railroad tracks.
After the hike we drive into the town of Stonington on Deer Isle. We drive past the Fisherman’s Friend restaurant, which we’ll save for dinner one night, and alight at the Harborside Café. Inside the white clapboard building the walls are covered with Terrell Lester photographs of ethereal local landscapes. We eschew the wooden booths for the little square table in the bay window overlooking the water. The lobster rolls are first class and the warm blueberry pie will fill your mouth with joy.
Having had our fill, we stroll down the street to Evelyn’s small wooden dome shaped building. From the weathered front, you can see through the back window to the water. Inside is a junktique paradise, but none of it is for sale. We go to see Evelyn, who sells long rectangular cards with her line paintings/watercolors of local wooden sailboats that take passengers out from the local dock. Evelyn is a tiny, white haired woman sporting a hand knitted tunic, an artist and musician to the core. Her bright blue eyes take in everything. She sits there and paints all day, holding court. Sometimes her husband sits by the back window looking out at the water and plays the cello. One year I mentioned I was interested in learning the recorder, which they both play. She advised me what kind to buy and said to come back for a lesson. I went back with my new recorder and not only was given a lesson, but we were treated to an impromptu concert by both of them!
Many days we will go to the quintessential Maine town of Blue Hill. Driving down the hill of the main street we park at the curb across from the Northern Light book store. The store has a little room with art supplies, too, and in the back is a small bakery and café with great pizza. We can spend hours in there perusing the books and having lunch, then back to the books. Blue Hill also has a wonderful gallery with gorgeous big nature wreaths I’m never willing to spend over a hundred dollars on. A little further up the hill is a weaving shop, and on the other side of the street is a library in which I could happy live. When you go inside the main room has a soaring white ceiling and living room furniture in front of a ornate working wood burning fireplace. The walls are covered with books and there is no place I’d rather be on a rainy fall afternoon.
On another day we will hit the Blue Hill food Co-op and cafe. It’s an old-fashioned, tightly packed hippie co-op complete with bulletin boards with everything from notices about guru’s giving talks to dog sitters to people looking for roommates. I always scan the latter. What if I started my life over right now? I could move in with Bethany…take the job at the Co-op….get a Great Dane puppy or a Maine coon cat...
While in Maine I know we will do all of our favorite things. Hit the Shore Acres and Caterpillar Hill trails with the red fall leaves of the blueberry bogs. We’ll get Lobster Rolls at the Fishnet and eat them by the water in East Blue Hill, go to Beal’s Lobster Pound in Southwest Harbor and eat a lobster and corn on the docks. We’ll go for a sail aboard the Pinky Schooner, a wooden boat, and Captain Bill will let me steer for as long as I want. We’ll hike Rockefeller’s carriage trails with their beautiful stone bridges in Acadia National Park and check out all of the shops and galleries in Bar Harbor. I’ll go see Edna at the Blue Hill Knit Shop. She taught me how to knit and I always bring something new I’ve knitted to show her. Then there will be days when we sit in the Adirondack chairs by our cabin and just enjoy the ever-changing scenery of the water, or take the little sailboat out even though I’ve mostly forgotten how to sail. In the early mornings we will slip our canoe into the water and be amazed at how you can see clear to the bottom. Or we’ll paddle the canoe at night and be surprised to see a trail of phosphorescence behind us.
On the last day we’ll make reservations for another two weeks next year and as soon as we get home we’ll start dreaming of Maine.
