Wednesday, June 24, 2009
my trip Downeast
The desire had been building for this trip. At night when I closed my eyes, I would see favorite glimpses of the ocean I've come to treasure from many drives down (up???) the coast. Its been raining for weeks and we have all been shut inside our houses, mildewing and feeling cranky. I decided I had to go.
It didn't really matter that my car began to break down at Perry's House of Nuts- I was on my way to Deer Isle!
Accompanying my drive was Willy Claflin's sad old folk song about a Downeast Cafe closed for the season which sang in my head. Then I was there. The magic was waiting. I don't know what the magic is exactly. A certain energy powerful enough to choose it as the home for wonderful craft school . People find themselves unable to leave and move to what feel like the end of the world forever.
So I was blissfully pondering these things and hunting for baby mussel shells, talking to Postmistress of the Stonington post office about the dire straits of the economy, watching the tides and the fog and rain come and go and trying to take photos like John Marin's cubist watercolors of Stonington of nearly 100 years ago. Nothing important and all of it memorable. I am planning my next adventure.