Weather Patterns

It was cold and damp yesterday on Spruce Head Island. Not the kind of day you want in the middle of May, but the kind of day you accept when you live on the coast of Maine. Temperatures were in the 40's, wind howled off the ocean, and sheets of rain were spitting sideways all afternoon. The ground was soggy, the air was raw, and the smell of rain was everywhere. The forecast had called for a back door cold front to stall over the state, a front that carried with it a healthy dose of low pressure. The weather was terrible, but the work of the coast had to go on. Down at Atwood's Lobster Pound, two hardy souls were loading large wooden planks onto a lobster boat. The men ignored the rain and continued to press on, even as the wind began to really blow off the water. Muscle Ridge channel, the beautiful body of water that surrounds Spruce Head Island, looked ominous in the afternoon mist. Large whitecaps formed off rolling waves, as surges of spray slammed into the shore of this small island. It was not certainly not a day to be out on the water for any reason. I asked the men where they were taking the wood, noting that the boat was out of Criehaven, a lonely and distant outpost some 27 miles out in the Penobscot Bay. "Taking her out to the island," one of the men said. "But not today, she's too rough out there." I nodded in agreement, and left the men to their task. The main dock of the pound was covered in all sorts of lobster gear. Freshly painted buoys lay strewn about, many of them resting against rows of neatly stacked traps. Large multi-colored piles of coiled rope, painted red, black, and yellow, were scattered all around, their distinctive markings giving the old grey wooden dock a brief burst of color, on an otherwise dreary day. I continued to snap my faithful Nikon, until the rain became too much for me to bear. As I walked back to my car, I glanced back at the two men who had been loading the wooden planks onto their boat, half expecting them to have taken shelter from the pounding rain. They had never left their place on the dock and were still working as hard as when I had left them, an hour before.

Blue Sky Breeze

Mothers day began with a somber feeling in the air. The sky was grey, the morning winds raw, and the temperature stalled out in the high 40's. As afternoon approached, a swirling, soupy fog formed off Muscongus Bay and rolled through Port Clyde, weaving through the spruce trees and blanketing the rugged roads of this small fishing town. The sun, however, would not give up. Penetrating the mist like a powerful yellow beam, it began to break through the fog, while a cool breeze picked up off the water and began to clear the air. As the fog slowly disappeared, a bright blue sky took over, and as the sun shimmered once again off the water, all seemed right with the world. The breeze that had pushed the fog away had also brought that wonderful and unmistakable smell of the sea to the land. Sweet and succulent to the senses, the breeze carried traces of salt water, spruce trees, and the green grass that grows alongside the rocky shores of Muscongus Bay. Potent to my nose, and uplifting to my spirit, this sublime breeze lingered all afternoon, pushing puffy fair weather clouds across the sky. The land felt warm under my feet, the sand soft under my toes. The water rippled in the distance, and the fishing boats came and went, their roaring diesel engines filling the silence of the shore. I wandered the back roads of town for the next few hours, simply letting this beautiful spring day wash over me. By dinnertime, the fog had returned, and the afternoon breeze had turned cold . It is still early May, but the coast is coming alive. I have seen it with my own eyes! Spring is here, the sweet breezes of summer will follow, and the coast of Maine will dress herself up in a seductive dress of sweet indifference, where lazy afternoons are spent strolling rocky beaches, smelling the sweet breezes that flow from the sea.

May Day

The first of May brought a bright blue sky full of white puffy clouds to the Mid-coast of Maine. These fair weather clouds raced across the Penobscot Bay all afternoon, turning pink by the dinner hour, as the sun began to cast long shadows over the quiet roads and green fields of Rockport. Down at the harbor, a stiff breeze blew off the bay and brought to the land that heavenly smell of the sea. Flowers that had just began to bloom last week, continued their growth, filling the surrounding landscape with a precious palette of blue, yellow and pink. The unmistakable curling shape of fiddle heads could be seen on the ground, in between tall pines of spruce and white dogwoods. Locals strolled up Chestnut Street, and golfers swung their irons in a joyous celebration of spring and her glorious arrival. Vintage convertibles cruised Main Street, as giggling teenagers played in the grass of the park. Frisbees soared through the air, dogs chasing them with reckless abandon. When the wind blows off Penobscot Bay, and the temperature hovers around 60, the world around me seems to come to a stop. The warmth of the sun feels so good on the skin that you never want it to go away, not even for a second. The water is lit up by the shimmer of the sun. Golden rays dance across the it, while birds swoop and sing their spring songs. The time has come, the natural world is ready to begin her rebirth. A rebirth that all coastal Mainers long for, and cherish with every beautiful day that comes our way.