Tag: New England

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Falling in love with Rockport

Yesterday was scheduled to be another GORGEOUS Spring day, perfect for a quick adventure.  So, Friday night, I looked at Googlemaps to determine where I would head. I decided to continue my theme of cities on the Eastern shore, and somewhat randomly picked Rockport, MA from the options. I need to make a post soon that goes into my ridiculous decision making process, but suffice it to say that places called “Bearskin Neck”, “Motif #1”, and various and assorted galleries on the strip called to me.

So, I woke up Saturday and decided to forgo breakfast intending to eat after the hour long drive to get there. For some foolish reason, I also decided to listen to the message on my phone telling me to update my system and that it would only take 20 minutes! I was smart enough to glance at the directions first and so decided to head out sans GPS once I had showered and made coffee for the drive.

I hadn’t quite realized just how much of a safety net my Googlemaps lady had become, but I was confident that I could make it to Route 128 without her while she studiously updated my apps. You will be pleased to know that Highway signs still work, and so I was well on my way by the time she came back to be my navigator. This was far more thrilling than I think it should have been, but there you go.

As seems to be my norm, I decided to spend the extra 5 minutes going the route that skirts closest to the ocean, so took 127A up to Rockport. Oh man, it was so pretty. I kept finding myself wanting to turn right and go down little roads that seemed to end directly in the ocean. Finally, I could take it no more and turned, patently ignoring signs that loudly proclaimed “Residents Only. No Outlet”. The Lawful part of me fussed, but the Neutral part of me assured her that if we were quiet and respectful all would be well. Well, Ms. Neutral was right because the road ended in a “Public Way” to the beach that was clearly well trodden though it crossed in back of a few people’s lovely secluded homes. And then I found myself on the pristine rocks, with a view of the vast ocean, a few Lobster boats, a lighthouse in the distance and nothing but the sound of waves and the chatter of birds hanging out in the sunny cove. Beautiful, Wonderful, Perfect. I envy those people that live there just a little.

After spending a little time there, I went on to Rockport.  First stop, Bearskin neck. Only…what is this? This town? Oh, my God, you guys…this perfect little spot near the wharf, a maze of narrow streets flanked by all of these amazing little independent shops in lovely historic buildings. Galleries galore, quirkly metaphysical and clothing shops, potters, restaurants, Helmut’s Strudel shop with the most AMAZING cinnamon rolls (cue belated breakfast here), starfish and sand dollars and everything that I ever wanted a New England port town to be. And just like that, I am madly in love with this place.

I finish up my cinnamon roll (and take a photo of a nice couple as is my sacred duty as a single traveler) and walk out on to the breakwater that protects Rockport Harbor. The word Idyllic does not go amiss here, but neither words nor photos do it justice. There is a little red fish shack dubbed Motif #1 which claims to be the quintessential New England coastal view, more often painted than any other building in the US, and possibly the world. It was the only thing that seemed underwhelming to me in the town. I mean, it’s a cool building and all, but honestly I was a little more taken with the little sheds that seems to have just been chucked onto the boulders with little more than a concrete block here or there to level them and with the fishing boats floating beside them. I wander down side streets, take several paths down to the smaller wharfs, inlets and beaches and I feel myself relax into the life of this small working town.

When I stop for a lobster roll, I am surprised to see a fellow dragging a crate of lobsters straight off the boat and through the restaurant to chuck them in the tank of live lobsters that are being made into my lunch. The folks here are friendly and genuine. I compliment several artists on my strolls through galleries and they look legitimately appreciative that I take the time to say something nice. Everywhere I look are picturesque views of darling houses, little gardens, benches, reminders that this place isn’t just here for my entertainment…it’s here because the people who live here love it here.

My brain goes crazy imagining a life here in Rockport. A life of art, and beauty and community in this little town. A life lived in a little cottage, friends coming to visit and write novels in my guest room, the occasional trip out on a fishing boat just because…and I realize that’s one of the things that I love about finding new places that I enjoy. I love imagining the kind of life that I would have in that place and what kind of person I would be if I lived there. Having a glimpse of that “other me” gives me insight into who I am now and who I could become. For an afternoon, I can explore that other life of “what if” and that, my friends, is pure magic.

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Sunday in Portland, Maine

It’s been a dreary, muddy several weeks here in New England as Spring starts to take hold. Sunday was forecasted to be Sunny and warm, so I decided to drive up to Portland, Maine since I hadn’t been there yet. As you cross the Piscataqua River Bridge from New Hampshire, a sign joyfully proclaims “Welcome to Maine. Vacationland” Another just past the bridge says “Maine, The Way Life Should Be”.

I have a theory that you can tell a lot about a state’s people by their Welcome centers. Well, nothing against New Hampshire, but you should probably just hold it until you get into Maine. I think Maine’s Rest Stops are second only to Vermont’s in both beauty and availability of information. If you are into brochures, you are in for a treat. And the people that work there are very nice and helpful.

Your GPS is going to tell you to stay on 95 almost all the way into Portland. Trust me on this and piss that lady in your phone off by hitting Route 1 instead. You don’t have to follow it all the way up, but at least take it through Ogunquit and Wells. What are you into, Antiques? Holy cow, you have a ton of options. Miniature Golf? Well, you are in for a treat. Candy Stores? Beaches? Bakeries? All these and more are available in plenty. You cannot possibly stop at all of them and hope to ever actually make it to Portland, but you should at least stop at a couple. Expect to see houses, barns and churches from the last 300 years along the way. I’ll be honest, the drive up was probably the best part of this short trip for me. So, don’t rush it too much…enjoy the journey.

I stopped at Bread and Roses Bakery and Harbor Candy shop in Ogunquit. Both are spectacular and worth checking out! Southern Maine knows what’s up when it comes to sweets! And since you are stopping anyway, wander over to Ogunquit Beach while you are at it. It’s a beautiful spot. Say hello to the Mermaid weather vane and go for a nice stroll. Then mosey up Route 1, just keep the sea to your right shoulder. You’ll probably see some awesome Totem poles and maybe catch a glimpse of a tiny waterfall between buildings. The whole area from York to Kennebunk is beautiful. There are some great restaurants including The Maine Diner, which is right by Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge in Wells. The Wildlife Refuge is an awesome and educational stop. I’ve been there before and highly recommend it.

I thought about going down Hwy 9 to further follow the coast, but decided to pop back over to the Turnpike lest I not actually make it to Portland. So, fast forward to downtown and Old Port, which was the primary part of Portland that I actually wanted to wander through. I lucked out and parking was free on Sunday so that was a nice perk. I found a spot a couple blocks away in metered parking.

I’m going to tell you that I started at the pub, but I’m going to save that part for last because it ended up unexpectedly being the highlight of my day. So, let’s skip to the part where I tell you that Portland is full of lovely red brick buildings from the 1800s and cobblestone streets. I learned that much of the city was destroyed by fire in 1866, which is why a lot of the buildings are Victorian even though the town itself was settled in the 1630s. Make sure you walk down one or two of the wharfs and take a gander at the boats. The stroll through the area is lovely. There is a nice park where the beautiful weather had many people just hanging out on benches in the sun.

The shopping in this area is fantastic. There are several kitschy small businesses to check out like Shipwreck & Cargo (which has tons of touristy pirate themed stuff in addition to some actual really cool historic sailing finds) along with some fancy places like Portland Dry Goods. My favorite was the Maine Potters Market which held the works of several potters in the area. My wallet was sorely tempted by some gorgeous pottery there. I decided not to purchase anything just because I’m currently packing up to move, but I suspect I will not be so strong if I visit again. There are several cool looking coffee shops, restaurants and spectacular gelato.

A gem of Portland is the Eastern Promenade. This park spans the point of the peninsula on which Portland is situated. You can walk along the rocky beach, collect seashells, play on the playground, picnic at tables and benches scattered around the extensive park or just lie in the sun on the grassy hill. It was the first warm sunny weekend of the Spring in Maine, so there was a lot of sunning on the hill happening that day! There are also a few plaques with info about the old earthen fort that was on the hill. Oh, and did I mention the cannons? Because…cannons! You may also spot The Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Company & Museum. They do a historic train tour of the area that looks super fun.

As I was walking through a gazebo on the hill I noticed a package lying there and walked over to read the note attached. It was a brand new sleeping bag left with a note for anyone who might be living in the cold. “I am not lost. If you need me, please take me.” I love this. People doing concrete things to help strangers who might need it. Proof of good people in the world.

OK, now back to the pub. Remember what I said once before about being open to experiences that don’t end up how you expected? The first thing I saw when I was walking toward Old Port was the brightly painted Brian Boru Pub. Now, at this point I could use a restroom so I figured I would stop in to take care of that and maybe have a Sunday morning pint. I figured I would go on my way, find a lobster roll for lunch and wander the warf area. Well, I opened the door and was delighted to hear a jig being played by a live band right in front of me. Brunch was being served and I found myself unable to turn down cheap but delicious mimosas and a fresh Pollock sandwich. And for that hour and a half or so, this pub in Maine felt like home. My plans would wait. Right now perfection was sitting on this wooden bench, eating delicious food, drinking the best mimosa I’ve had in ages and listening to the 3 person Quebecois band, T-Acadie harmonize. An elderly gentleman in front of me proclaimed loudly on a break “I don’t understand why there aren’t hundreds of people here! You guys are the BEST!” Several of the songs they did were sung in French and just before I left, they sang a version of the Sailor’s Prayer that I had never heard before. I was enraptured. This was one of those moments of magic. In that moment, I knew these people whom I had never met and I loved them just a little. This is what I was there for…

“I will not lie me down, this rain a ragin’
I will not lie me down, in such a storm
Though this night be unblessed,
I shall not take my rest
until I reach another shore”

https://www.facebook.com/TAcadie/

https://www.facebook.com/bboru2/

https://www.facebook.com/mainepottersmarket/

https://www.facebook.com/breadandrosesbakery/

https://www.facebook.com/HarborCandy/

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April 4th, 2017

I’ve started to write my story a couple times, but the problem is in knowing where to start. Starting at the beginning makes sense, but when I try to start at the beginning, the story starts being about other people and not about me. Other people deserve to tell their own stories instead of me telling my version of their story. So, instead I think I’ll start with today. It’s a rainy April Tuesday in Boston…there have been a lot of those lately. When I moved to the Northeast, I was prepared for the Winter weather – the snow, the ice, the frigid temperatures – but no one warned me about the mud. I’m getting a little tired of mud. It’s towing season again. Technically, that’s street sweeping season, but mostly that means that even more of my energy is devoted to finding a parking space. Because once you’ve paid $200 bucks for forgetting about street sweeping once, you never want to do it again. Just one of the fun things about living in the city. Over the last 5 and a half months of living in the city I’ve learned a lot about myself. One of the main things I’ve learned is that I don’t belong in the city. That’s ok though…the whole reason why I uprooted my life and moved 1100 miles away was to experience change. I wanted to learn about myself and the world around me, and so far I’ll call it a rousing success. There are so many things that I’ve taken for granted that I won’t any more.
Your first question is going to be, “why did you move 1100 miles away?” I know this because it’s everyone’s first question. OK, possibly their second question after “where are you from?” because it’s obvious that I’m not from Boston if you have heard me say more than a few words. There is no real short answer to that question. I keep trying to answer it without telling strangers at the deli counter my life story, but I haven’t really managed it yet. So far the shortest version seems to be, “I decided to move to New England, so I did”. And yet, that’s not exactly true.
I am 43 years old and I’ve lived in Middle Tennessee for 42.5 years of that. I grew up just outside of Murfreesboro, went to college there, got all my jobs there, bought and sold 3 houses within 30 miles of there, got married there, raised my step-daughter there, got divorced there and generally know the area like the back of my hand. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable, it’s safe (for a given value of safe) and it’s home…until it wasn’t any more. At some point in the last couple years, it stopped feeling like “home”. It stopped feeling comfortable. I needed change. I needed a reboot. Call it a mid-life crisis if you want, but I needed a change of scenery like you wouldn’t believe. I had spent a lot of time travelling in the previous 2 years, but it wasn’t enough. I knew that I needed more.
So, I started thinking about where I would go. And Boston popped into my mind first. You could say I picked it out of a hat and that wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration. My ex-husband and I had spent a few days in the area visiting his cousin years ago and I loved it. Honestly, I think we spent maybe 5 hours in Boston and a little less time in Salem, but it was enough to fall in love with New England. I spent several months trying to make other places work, but my heart kept coming back to Boston. And if there is one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s to not ignore what my heart tells me to do. So, I did what any crazy wandering-hearted woman would do…I sold off or gave away about 2/3rd of my stuff, sold my house, quit my job, let a realtor pick out an apartment for me, packed my dog into my car and drove 18 hours or so to move sight unseen into a ground floor apartment in East Boston. In retrospect, maybe I should have been more firm with the realtor on my desires, but it got me here. I never expected this to be my permanent home and it’s been a fine home base from which to explore New England. When I decided to do this for sure, I figured if nothing else, it would be an extended exploratory vacation to a part of the country that I had spent little time in. If I liked it here, I would stay, or not…if I decided to go somewhere else. And I knew that if I hated it, I could always go back home to the Southeast. Moving doesn’t have to be a permanent decision.
Well, I’ve been here just a little shy of 6 months and in spite of the occasional bout of loneliness, I’m glad to be here. I love New England. It’s full of rich history. Like, seriously, you can’t go anywhere without accidentally stumbling on someplace of note. The land is beautiful. The people are utterly delightful here. They say what they mean and they mean what they say, something there is a shortage of in the world. And now I’m packing for another move…and who knows what kind of adventures. One thing I’m sure of is that it’s going to be awesome. Because I’ll make it so.

 

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Snowy Beach Magic in Nahant

I dragged myself out of the house this morning in search of donuts and cider. (They were forecasting significant snow this afternoon, so some warming beverage was in order.) I had kind of a rough start this morning, so I decided to come home from Saugus via 1a, which takes me by Revere Beach. But once I got over to the Coastal road, I decided to go north just a few miles to Nahant, which is an amazing little point/island area that I really enjoyed once before. I decided a little time walking the beach in the cold would be good for me. I was delighted to see that there was a little snow on the beach. This is something I realized a few weeks ago that I have never seen and had made it a goal to catch a little snowy beach time before Winter was over. The wind was brutal and I didn’t stay out long. As I was walking back to my car, I happened to smile at a lady wrapping up her scarf and she stopped me and we spoke for just a moment. I’ve done a lot better lately at pushing against my introvert tendencies and being open to conversations when they happen. It was a lovely, brief conversation and she suggested that I check out a place further down Nahant called 40 Steps sometime. I waffled a bit on account of leaving the house without a scarf, but decided to go check it out, fully intending on coming back another day. It started snowing on my way down the point. Turns out, I had driven past 40 Steps before and I found a parking spot about a quarter mile away. Ialked back in the snow and icy wind, a spare pair of gloves stuffed into the hood of my jacket to block the wind from my cheeks. There was a couple leaving as I got there and I walked down the aforementioned 40 steps into the little bay area. It was utterly amazing there. The wind was mostly blocked because of the bay, there was no one else there, the tide was starting to come in and it was snowing pretty good at that point. And that’s how I ended up running through my Tai Chi forms there on the beach, in that little rocky bay, with just the waves, the snowy wind, the seagulls and loons for company. It was a moment of sheer perfection. Such beauty and calming energy. Precisely what I needed. I’m so grateful that I followed where the universe decided to take me today. I’m so grateful for that sweet lady who sent me along my way. I needed the reminder to listen to my heart.