Summer is over and the world is certainly showing it. My hydrangeas and daisies are withered, there's a carpet of leaves waiting to be raked, and our tired, spent garden is cleaned out. Days are finally growing cooler and the nights are downright chilly. As autumn finally takes the stage, I bid adieu to summer and one particularly magical day from this past season of sunshine.
This year we traveled to Maine again. Summer in Maine is magical. The sun, the coast, the hiking trails, the islands anchored off the shore.
We took the ferry over to Monhegan Island, just for the day though I would have gladly missed the ferry back to the mainland. Picture this: A charming, weathered artist colony, a small village comprised of saltbox cottages and sleepy summer bungalows. Intricate trails (sometimes footpaths) meander through dense, New England woods, a trail system curated by numbers that you follow on the tiny island map given to you on the ferry ride over.
We hike through the underbrush, stepping over rocks and around brambles, shaded by tall pines that filter in only the perfect amount of golden sunlight. You can hear the ocean but you can’t see it just yet. If you found and followed all of the correct trail markers on the trees, you know the ocean is your end goal. You are journeying to Pebble Beach.
Over a downed tree, the footpath slopes upward and through a bright opening in the trees you find a rocky coastline with a churning ocean. No sand but stones, big and small, smooth and on their way to being made so by the waves. Sun glints off bright specks of sea glass – sapphire blue and emerald green. My pockets rattle with a few smooth specimens of blue and green as we trek onward down the path. Perhaps these colorful bits of glass will be turned into jewelry. Most likely, I will find them in a few months and be reminded of this day.
Back in the village, we stop at The Island Inn for lunch before blazing more trails. This time, the cliff trail. It’s Maine so you will either get blue skies or misty fog, usually one shortly after the other. Even with the mist and fog, there is a sense of immensity. An angry, thrashing ocean batters the cliff side below. The mist, the faint sea spray, and the rare glimpses of open ocean make our six-mile hike worth every step.
At the end of the six miles lies the rusted corpse of a ship, a wreck in Christmas Cove, now red brown and hollowed out. Children climb over rocks, peer in the empty cavity of the wreck, their imagination running wild.
It’s Maine so at the end of the six miles a brewery awaits… even 11 miles out to sea. We stop at Monhegan Brewing Company to enjoy a flight, and joke that this is the longest we’ve ever walked for a beer.
This is Maine and on this day, I only want to be right here. For the first time in a long time I am fully present, not ruminating over yesterday or worrying over tomorrow. I am simply enjoying this moment, knowing that I will savor it for many years to come.
Monhegan Island (Maine for that matter!) is one of my happy places. Where do you feel the most at peace, the most alive, the most present?
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