Passing Storms

When you live on the Coast of Maine, you learn to accept the weather for better or for worse. Fog, rain, wind and snow, can all appear in an instant, changing the environment around you into a whole different animal. I have seen fogs in the summer so thick that I could not see the ground from my upstairs window. Last summer, we had a two week stretch where 12 inches of rain fell in the middle of June. I have heard the wind literally whistle past my bedroom window on numerous occasions, and I have seen 26 inches of snow fall in a 24 hour period. Each season can bring it's own particular weather, but as the winter months begin to unfold, the weather intensifies, and your acceptance of it is therefore stretched to certain limits. This past week on the coast has seen 8 inches of snow, 3 inches of rain and a period of heavy, gusty, and damaging wind. What a strange week of weather it was! Right after a fresh coating of snow settled over Camden, a coastal storm brought a steady rain that wiped away any glimpse of white on the ground. The incessant rain was then followed by a blustery Sunday night, when the wind howled and gusted upwards of 60 mph. Trees were knocked down, limbs were scattered across roads, and the Penobsoct Bay rose to 8 feet, its raging waters forming whitecaps in the distance. Monday morning brought an end to the storm, and a foggy morning allowed for a close inspection of what the storm had left behind. Lucia Beach, on the eastern side of St. George Peninsula, sits about 3 miles south of Owls Head and the western entrance to Penobscot Bay. Long a favored retreat for local residents, the beach has a certain remoteness to it, which is further enhanced by its location at the end of a dirt road, which can only be accessed by a back road in South Thomaston. The beach itself is no more than a mile wide, with two rocky headlands guarding the western and eastern boundaries. On the western side of the beach a brilliant forest of spruce and moss can be explored, while the eastern side features giant boulders and rocks where waves crash and surf sprays. The beach itself offers a great view out into the Muscle Ridge Channel and up to the backside of Vinalhaven Island. I was alone this morning, not a soul in sight, as I combed the beach in search of sea glass and washed up debris from the storm. I found all kinds of colored and textured rocks, beach wood that has been blown into shore, and at least two abandoned lobster traps. As I wandered the beach, the fog began to roll in pretty heavy, blanketing the tall pines in a ghostly swirl of mist. The Spruce forest was soaked from the weekend's rain, and the smell of the trees was intoxicating. The moss on the ground was dripping with life and the crash of the ocean's waves could be heard in the distance. I love the feeling of being surrounded by spruce trees, where you can peek through the branches and see the ocean. There is a forest like this on Deer Isle, down in Crockett's Cove, and out on Schoodic Point in Winter Harbor. There is just something about the combination of the ocean and spruce that brings a feeling of calm over me and brings me back to my basic love of nature and her many offerings. As a child, I would roam the spruce filled woods of Mosquito Head in Martinsville, down the road from our summer house. I remember that feeling of being in total isolation with the ocean and with the trees. There was something so natural about it, something so pure. The fog was now what you call "pea soup," thick and I headed back to the beach entrance, picking up sea shells as I walked. Before leaving, I turned towards the ocean and took a deep breath. The towering pines were barely visible and the crash of the waves was now merely a sound in the mist that came and went every ten seconds. Seagulls flew overhead and the foghorn on Owls Head light moaned in the distance. The storm has passed. It was a Maine day indeed!