Though it’s hard to tell right now, spring officially arrived at 12:57 EDT on March 20 when the sun crossed the equator, headed north. As inevitable as the lengthening daylight, we know that our guests will be headed north to Boothbay Harbor and Spruce Point soon and enjoying a nice long summer before heading south again, with the sun by the autumnal equinox in September.
For now, we’re struck with an image one of our favorite authors, Rebecca Solnit, shared in her Field Guide to Getting Lost. It’s that in the backyards of suburbia, you’re more likely to find the tracks of wild animals in the snow, than footprints of children. The point of her book is that you won’t find many adult footprints there either. And that’s a gap that’s easily restored.
Summer camp. One of the shimmering illusions of American childhood, if the magazine covers and travel page ads popping up like dandelions have us believe. Arm in arm, around the campfire. Swinging from an inner tube out into a mountain lake. Gazing at the stars.
Stephanie Rosenbloom’s story, “Fast Forward to Summer Breezes” in The New York Times Travel section offered advice on booking summer vacation rentals in popular northeast destinations like Martha’s Vineyard, Cape Cod and the Hamptons. Precautionary tips from “book early” to “watch for hidden fees” were solid and carefully researched.
We have a better idea: book a cottage at Spruce Point Inn!
You may be aware of the sightings of snowy owls this winter – numbers of them all along the New England coast and individuals as far south as Georgia and Florida. A researcher at Logan Airport in Boston tags the birds that are caught there and has learned that they travel north each summer to Quebec and Labrador. Here in Boothbay, so close to Owl’s Head (location of the wonderful Owl’s Head Transportation Museum’s collection of working antique planes and automobiles), we are sensitive to the patrols of these mysterious birds. The Boothbay Region Land Trust and Damariscotta River Association have led ‘owl prowls’ to introduce them to more admirers.
Another round of Arctic air. More ice. More snow. But it’s times like these that remind us why we live in Boothbay Harbor year-round. We remember the first winter and the silence. The contrast when the shoreline is stripped to its bare essentials and each step seems an inhuman challenge when the wind – so welcome in August – comes arrowing in, straight in off the Atlantic.
On New Year’s Day, in East Boothbay, with an air temperature in the teens and a water temperature only 8 degrees above freezing, the 12th annual Penguin Plunge helped raise money for the second grade swim program at the Y.
What this tradition says about the obsessions of Mainers, or the rewards of the post-dip warm-up is something that perhaps only “rugged New Englanders” appreciate. (A Puritannical make-yourself-miserable-enough-and-you’ll-feel-better-later understory to the state slogan “The way life should be”?).
Out on Spruce Point winter has settled in early. The homes along Grandview Avenue peer from the snowdrifts like hibernating bears and the spruces that were draped in ermine a few days ago are now as spare and tall as the ship’s masts they once furnished for the Royal British fleet.
The spruces here on Spruce Point stand for quite a bit in defining who we are at the Inn. They are, of course, the emblem of The Pine Tree State of Maine. And at this time of year, as major cities select dramatic trees for holiday displays, the season of the spruce is upon us.
The first signs of the approaching holidays are emerging: in addition to the frosty mornings, we’re beginning to see the flyers for local holiday fairs, taped to the windows in the grocery store, tacked up in the post office, marked on hand-written signs outside the school. These fairs have to be the original and best expression of the “Shop Local” movement (before it had a name), filled with hand-crafted items of every color, taste and description.
October makes us think of things mysterious, foggy nights and the deep tradition of Maine as a threshold for the otherworldly. Certainly the silent spruce, rocky shores and dramatic ocean inspire authors like Stephen King. But the true tales of harrowing adventure are enough to keep us reading, close by a toasty fireplace, into the night.