Come Home to Maine:
My fascination with Maine began some twenty years ago. The beauty, grandeur, and peace among the rustic, sometimes unsettling landscape, intrigues me and draws me there like a long, lost love. It beckons me to breathe its scent and feel its sturdy ground beneath my feet. Maine lures me in with the promise of filling my soul and never disappoints….never.
Even as I write, we are traveling toward Maine. We’ve driven from Virginia through Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. The snow is still piled along the highway and dots the countryside in patches. It’s cold and dank, as some would say.
We finally arrive in Prospect Harbor Maine. The tiny village has a filling station/grocery where we make one last stop before our new home for a few days. There are houses along this long road, some boarded up from their long winter’s nap and others have a light on and smoke curling from the chimney.
Our home for the next five days is the Prospect Harbor Lighthouse. It is located on a naval base and we are met at the razor wire gate by a guard, who after checking ID’s, waves us in. We are staying in the old lightkeeper’s house just a few feet away from the lighthouse itself. The house is more than we could have hoped for; quaint, well appointed, warm and inviting. Thanks to the naval base, it has been well maintained through the years and treated with love and respect.
The light from the lighthouse cycles on every 10 seconds or so. Last night, standing out in the frigid wind, we watched as the light cast its spell onto the water and into the dark unknown ocean. The light both welcomes you and warns you of the rocky shore. The Maine coastline is littered with dark rocks and seaweed. The waves crash into the rocky shore like a rhythmic beat orchestrated by the pull of the moon. The gulls and herring are searching for food and fly low dipping in for fish or excavating clams for a delicious bite. They appear always hungry and needy and searching….constantly searching for that next meal.
It is snowing again and the flakes are large and pillowy, floating down and dancing criss-cross through the sky. The air smells fresh and as we step outside, we are in nature’s own walk-in freezer. Each branch, rock, roof top and road is sprinkled with a layer of crystals and ice.
Every time I go for a walk down a silent trail or stop to admire the occasional sea village, I am in awe of the simplistic beauty. The lobster boats and the people working the traps, both mirror a weathered look. Their outer shells creased and colored by the sun and sea. Their strong, classic lines forever changed by the wind. It is a harsh life they have chosen. At nature’s mercy, they strive each day to complete their tasks and feed their tables.
What more can I say about my Maine? It is my heart-home. My descriptions only begin to touch the surface, but it’s what my soul feels when I am here, that tells the true story. Every glorious creation is here. Everything clean, fresh, mild, harsh, bright and dark….so lovely, yet so lonely….restless yet tranquil.
Perhaps you will see for yourself. That is my solemn wish for you….take a chance, pack a bag and come home to Maine.