Summer Siesta

This past week in mid-coast Maine has been sweltering! Temperatures have stayed in the 90's, while the days have been muggy and humid, two words that are rarely mentioned in coastal Maine weather forecasts. It is July though, and this is the time for the dreaded dog days of summer. Unless you are lucky enough to be perched on the ocean's edge, the air comes to a complete standstill around you, and the heat of the ground rises to envelop your body. The sea breeze is nowhere to be found, and the sun beats down on the coast, from sunrise to sunset, and all the hours in between. Thankfully, the heat broke this past Saturday night, and Sunday morning brought with it the customary cool breezes that come sweeping off Penobscot Bay. The temperature backed off into the mid 70's and the sun felt just right on my skin, a perfect day indeed. I meandered down the dusty back roads of Aldermere farm in Rockport, hoping to catch glimpse off the town's famous belted Galloway cows. The swaying grass was as green as it could be, and the winding fields and meadows of the venerable old farm stretched out in front of me like a giant sea of green. I found three young belties, and snapped my faithful Nikon. I left the farm after a while, and headed down to Beauchamp Point, a gorgeous stretch of land that borders Rockport Harbor. I hopped from rock to rock, until I found a sunny spot to sit down and dangle my feet in the cool water. Beautiful sailboats rocked back and forth in the morning breeze, while sleek powerboats raced off in the distance. Puffy white clouds moved across the bright blue sky, and that glorious breeze off Penobscot Bay swirled all around me. I leaned back against a warm rock, and closed my eyes. I nodded off for about 20 minutes or so, not a care in the world, just me and the ocean in front of me. Summer days are meant for discovery. They are meant for playing in the fields, and swimming in the ocean, but sometimes they are simply made for taking a nap in one of your favorite spots. I chose Rockport Harbor for my summer siesta, a small slice of heaven in Mid-Coast Maine.

Day Of Rest

In the world of lobstering, Sundays will always be known as a day of rest. Hauling traps will commence early Monday morning, but come Sunday, a boat and her occupants will most certainly not be found on the water. Any fisherman worth his salt, will usually spend his off day repairing traps, or tending to his gear, with some choosing instead to drink beer and watch the Red Sox game. These Sundays offer a great chance for a photographer to poke around a lobster pound, without having to worry about getting in the way of anyone. I stopped down to Atwood's Lobster Pound yesterday to explore the old wooden docks and check out the many different boats that operate out of this old weathered wharf. The weather was downright gorgeous! The temperature must have been in the upper 70's and there was not a cloud in the sky. The water was that classic deep blue that you get when summer rolls around on the coast of Maine, and the air was dry as a bone. The tall grass that grows on the side of old buildings like Atwood's, swayed in the afternoon breeze. Lobster traps were thrown about every which way you looked. Ropes, gloves, and plastic containers lined the main dock, where six old wooden skiffs sat, just waiting for their owners to ride off in them the following morning. Out in the bay, a dozen lobster boats rocked back in forth on their moorings. The white of their hulls glimmered in the late afternoon sun, as the green spruce trees towered beyond them in the distance. I snapped my faithful Nikon, walking the docks and exploring the old structure. Like most seaside business' in Maine, the Atwood's building had seen it's better days. Grey paint peeled off the sides of the doors, and dirt was everywhere. The smell of lobster filled the air, and it's a good thing that I don't mind the smell of Lobster! Old wooden traps were stacked up against the backside of the building, along with all sorts of rubbish. I spotted a washing machine, old beach chairs, an old ironing board, and strangely enough, rows and rows of old hubcaps. It was obvious that Atwood's had become more than just a place to buy and sell lobsters. The business and it's surrounding environs had seemed to morph into one giant town dump, where pretty much anything could be found, if one looked hard enough. There is something so fascinating about he clear and not so subtle juxtaposition of the the beautiful rocky Maine coastline, and the old beat up structures that hold fort on it's shores. The ocean appears untouched, but the shore seems to have been trampled on by the harsh hands of time. The past is always present on the coast of Maine, you just have to search for it sometimes. My search led me down a dusty old road in Tenants Harbor, where an old Lobster Pound was still running after all these years, just not on Sundays of course.

Hot Fun In The Summertime

To live in the town of Camden is to live in two different worlds. In the winter months, the town is quiet and cold, filled mostly with hardy New Englanders, many of whom have lived here their entire lives. In the summer months, the town is filled to the brim with tourists, summer people and all kinds of events and concerts. From early June until Mid-September, the streets are bustling, the restaurants are packed, and the harbor is jammed with every kind of boat you can imagine. The inner portion of Camden's famed harbor can resemble a jigsaw puzzles with moving pieces at times. At least six windjammers operate out of the town, and the yacht club holds races almost every day. Downtown is a mob scene, especially on the weekends. Liscence plates from all over the east coast occupy parking spots, and accents from all over the world can be heard above the din of noon time traffic. Yet, for all the commotion that blankets the area, there are times when the town is dead silent. This morning, around 5:30, I walked down my street to the waterfront, to watch the sun rise over Penobscot Bay. Already inching into the atmosphere, the sun was bright orange and sweltering! They don't call July the hottest month of the year for nothing. The street was silent, and the morning was still. Not a trace of wind was in the air, only the sweet smell of the flowers that lined the gardens to the left and the right of me. A lone jogger passed me by as I made my way down to the end of of the town dock. Mount Battie and Mount Megunticook were already getting hazy in the distance. The air was thick with the smell of the the sea, and the prospect of a hot, humid day was steadily gaining traction. I snapped my faithful Nikon for a few minutes, before I headed back home to have some breakfast. The sun was now baking the sidewalks, and the temperature must have been in the upper 70's. Pretty soon, the streets would be filled with people, and the day would be off to a roaring start. I prefer the quiet times in this town, because those are the times when the town really is a town, not just a summer destination for the city dwellers of the east coast. It is those quiet times, when you can feel the natural beauty all around you, taste the winds of the magnificent Penobscot Bay, and sense the overwhelming history of this beautiful town, the self proclaimed "Jewel of the Maine Coast."

A Foggy Fourth

I was sitting by the water, eating a peach flavored ice cream cone, when the fog began to roll in. Slowly but surely, a wide blanket of mist descended on Port Clyde harbor, shrouding every lobster boat, sailboat, and skiff in a ghostly haze that lingered for hours. The sun was hot in the middle of the day, before the fog came. It was the fourth of July, and this small fishing village was alive with the sounds of laughing children, bustling tourists, and chattering locals, all of whom seemed to congregate around the town dock in a not so subtle show of patriotic pride. Men wore red, white and blue shirts, while women wore straw boaters, adorned with American flags. Children rode their bikes down the streets with miniature flags attatched to the handlebars. The Stars and Stripes were presented all over town, draped over white porches, flown off balcony's, and perched atop masts of sailboats. The respective flags danced around in the splendid summer wind, rising and falling with each heavenly gust. As the afternoon began to fade into evening, and the fog settled in for the foreseeable future, the air turned cool and the temperature dropped into the low 60's. I walked along the shore, down Horse Point Road, my faithful Nikon at the ready. I explored a trap strewn dock towards the end of the road, that from the looks off it, had at least 10-15 boats operating off of it. All around me, skiffs glistened in the foggy light, while rows and rows of spruce trees revealed only their tops, above the fog and the piles of lobster traps that sat below their rugged branches. I watched as the fog would lift for a what seemed like a few minutes, then just as the sun would appear, it would roll right back in. The fog played this game of hide and seek for the better part of an hour, before finally settling in for the evening. In that lovely hour of sun and fog, the light on the water was nothing short of brilliant. I snapped away as it continued to change with every passing minute. I could see a boat twenty feet in front of me, and then all of a sudden, the boat would disappear, only to reappear a few moments later. The wind off the ocean was light now, just right. Sweet smells of salt water and spruce trees wafted through the early evening air. Today I was proud to call myself an American, but more importantly, I was pround to call myself a Mainer. To live in this beautiful state is a privilege that I do not take for granted. Everyday on the Maine coast is a different day. Some are filled with dreary rain, while some are filled with sublime sunshine. Whatever the case, these days are magical and if these short but sweet days of summer are here for the taking, then take I will.

Here Too Soon

Summer in Maine is so fleeting! The first of July fell yesterday, and with it came the cold reality that fall is only 8 weeks away. In other regions of the country, summer begins in May and stretches well into October. Here in Mid Coast Maine, Summer appears in mid-June and disappears in mid- September, with only a few precious weeks of hot, sticky weather in between. Once the third week of August hits, the night become cool and the days become shorter, the light begins to fade fast, and the thoughts of another summer gone by are fresh in your mind. While downtown Camden bustled with activity last night, Rockport Harbor was as still as glass, as a certain quiet blanketed the boat strewn inlet. I watched as the sun began to fade from view, and the beautiful blue of dusk covered the sky and illuminated the water. The final minutes of daylight ticked away. A lone sailboat slowly returned to its mooring. A few people strolled in the grass, down by the town dock. Eiders and Terns swooped by, their wings flapping furiously in the late evening air. As I drove home, I pulled my car over to the side of the road , down by the Aldermere Farm. Across the buttercup filled pasture, above the lily pond, the sky turned pink and the clouds slowly drifted by. The farms main inhabitants, the majestic Belted Galloways had all turned in for the night, their giant black and white striped bodies resting comfortably in the swaying grass. The air was warm. It was summer night, that's for sure. July had certainly arrived, but just like the winter winds that blow across the coast, July seemed to have arrived to soon.