The air was heavy yesterday on Deer Isle, where a stormy morning gave way to a sleepy late afternoon. Puffy clouds raced across the sky, and the land smelled of fall and it's fast
approaching delights. Leaves were scattered all around me, the grass swayed back and forth in the sea breeze, and the hordes of weathered
lobster boats sat quietly in
Stonington harbor. It felt like fall, and it felt good! The summer tourists still remained, but the numbers were rapidly dropping like flies. I found myself walking
slowly down Main Street, my faithful Nikon at the ready, just watching the harbor, and the people strolling by. My thoughts
turned to the
beautiful but bittersweet
season of Fall, which sat tantalizingly close on every Mainers door step. It is amazing how you can sense the subtle change in
weather, when the month of
September comes along. The air really does smell different, it even tastes different. The haze and humidity of July are gone, replaced by
the cool nights and brisk mornings of September. There is a certain laziness in the air, a kid of
indifference that makes me sleepy, almost as if I am living in a dream. The majestic spruce firs of this spectacular little island stand tall against the rocky shores of it's craggy coastline. Winding streams empty into small inlets, where wooden sailboats rest at
their respective moorings. Giant apple trees tower over old white
farmhouses, where
neighboring barns look as
if they should have fallen down 50 years ago. Being on Deer Isle, at this time of year, with the sleepy air surrounding me, had me feeling more
relaxed than I can remember. I walked down a back road in
Oceanville, where a giant old quarry sat, touched only by
the harsh
hands of time. Across the quarry, Webb Cove sparkled in the afternoon sun, while the unmistakable spine like
shape of Isle a
Haut rose high in the distance. I sat down
on a big slab of rock, my feet dangling below. I lay my head down and
stretched my body out on the warm surface of
the rock. The wind swept across my face every few minutes,
reminding me that I was still awake, for I felt like drifting off at any moment. Come to Deer Isle soon, your soul with thank you!
A thick blanket of fog settled over Penobscot Bay yesterday morning, covering the streets of Camden in a ghostly haze. The visibility was close to zero, and the air was heavy, almost as if the outside world was nowhere to be found. As the afternoon progressed, the fog burned off and a lovely southwest breeze kicked up off the ocean, warming the air and providing for yet another spectacular September day. Down in Port Clyde, the Georges Islands were hazy in the distance. The sun sparkled on the harbor, and the famous pointed firs of the St. George Peninsula swayed back and forth from Hupper Island, down to Marshall Point. In the General Store, a few lobstermen chatted in front of the register. "She was choppy out there today," one of them commented. "But we got a good smoky Sou'wester kicking up today." The wind on the Maine coast tends to come from the southwest, and when it pushes off the morning fog, the horizon becomes "smoky," as the lobstermen put it. The outer islands look dreamlike when this blend of wind and fog swirls around them, and the ocean turns a deep shade of blue. The air is balmy, yet cool at the same time, as the retreating fog gives way to the approaching southwest winds. As the evening hour arrived, I walked down my road to the beach, my faithful Nikon at the ready. The path to the water was overgrown with wild flowers, sea grass and lichen. The sun appeared misty as it filtered down through the pine trees. The beach was quiet, and the tide was dead low. The breeze off the bay was heavenly, and the seagulls, terns and eiders of the beach soared in it's windy wake. I dug my feet in the cool sand and let the water wash over my feet. I took a deep breath and reveled in my surroundings. Thank god I live here, I thought, because if you ever happen to visit Maine in September, it could be dangerous. You may never leave!
