How do you spell that?
Our coastal getaway in Ogunquit, Maine, June 1-4
We needed the getaway – desperately. So the week after Memorial Day, Daniel and I rented an adorable albeit gas-guzzling Suzuki 4x4 and joined the polluting millions on the highways of America. Destination: the craggy Maine coast and a pleasant lil' ville called Ogunquit. (And you thought Oklahoma had a monopoly on wacky Indian monikers.)
Not much of a travelogue to get into here – we really just lazed about reading books, soaking in hot tubs, staring at the surf and eating fine food for four days – but some nice photos here and there. Ogunquit's a great town; it's utterly amenable to tourism without somehow being touristy. The restaurants are largely top-notch, and few of them advertise garishly on US-1. The beach is a great stretch of sand and surf, with a beautiful inlet behind the dunes. Unfortunately, the weather remained quite chilly during our visit, limiting beach exposure dramatically. We spent our final afternoon in the 4x4, parked on the beach for several hours reading books and watching three adorable albeit insane boys leap into the icy surf with their waxed boards, dude. It should be noted that this is where Daniel's Harry Potter fixation took root.
Sneer at the camera, baby. Me on the beach.
Daniel sees the light. The clouds that first evening on the beach were stunning, with lots of revelatory shafts of light.
Sunburst over the inlet.
The dunes (protected by fences and threatening signs), left, and the town of Ogunquit wrapping itself into the sea a bit.
Daniel: blue boy.
After a day of outlet shopping in Kittery, we rolled by a curious tourist attraction, Fort McClary. It wasn't open at the time, but nothing prevented us from wandering onto the grounds. Positioned for defending the United States against whatever foes threatened us in the early 1800s, the fort also seized the ultimate scenic high ground over the Kittery Point harbor. As we absorbed the beauty, a magnificent storm gathered to the south ....
... and beyond the lighthouse on the point, which, alas, you couldn't see even if these images were larger.
In which your esteemed author reclines on the rocky beach at Forrester Park, underneath a curious little temple built by previous beach dwellers.
"She's a little lighthouse when she / opens up her huge mind ..."
The storm builds, and chases us even into Forrester Park. The lighthouse in the cove is dwarfed by the thunderhead.
Sunburst No. 2: the Joshua tree?
In the balance: Keep your feet on the rocks and keep reaching for ... the rocks.
Spent lobster traps on the beach. Catch not included.
Still life, by the path at Forrester Park.