Memorable Travel: Maine

Every morning I would wake up the same way. A slight chill would run through my body as a cool, salty breeze would dance over the cotton sheet. I would slowly open my eyes to see a the dark ringlets of my best friend’s hair on the pillow next to mine. Once my eyes were open all of my senses seemed to turn on at once. The gulls screeching outside the window, the faint taste of salt on my tongue, the soft breathing of Lauren in bed next to me, the soft, pale yellow sun peeking it’s way through the bedroom window as its rays navigated their way past the morning fog that rolled in off the harbor. I could hear music playing in the kitchen as my father, ever the early riser, cooked over the stove while we all still lay in bed, rubbing the sleep out of our eyes. I could hear eggs cracking and sizzling on the griddle, could almost taste the fatty bacon cooking in the pan. I smiled knowing I would walk downstairs to a warm cup of coffee and a view of the sailboats bobbing in the harbor.
This time away was so important to all of us. We looked toward this week with growing anticipation. It was the product of months of searching and planning, of hours of packing and driving. When the time came at the end of August eight of us packed ourselves tightly into a caravan of two cars, overflowing with essentials; swimsuits and shorts, food, coolers filled with beer and cocktail fixings, bicycles, shovels, pails, books, anything that we deemed important enough to travel with us up the coast of Maine for our seven day getaway.
Our families had been vacationing together for years. We stayed in dozens of places on the east coast but this year we had found a real treasure. The house, a large renovated farm, sat on three acres of marsh land, just across the dirt path from the wooden docks in the small town of South Bristol. The town was more like a village, populated by oyster farmers and lobster fishermen. It seemed untouched by time, traffic was dictated by the rusty draw bridge which moved up and down, up and down as the boats pulled in to the harbor, lobster traps piled high on their decks. Sailboats floated silently, tethered to the docks with thick ropes, turned green with algae. The lack of tourists, the beautiful, fragrant flower gardens bordering the house in their thick, overgrown beds, the rhythmic sound of the water sloshing against the shells of the boats, the faint ringing of the bell that signaled another up and down motion of the bridge, all of this was heaven. We breathed it all in, soaking up every sound, taste, and smell of this place, desperately trying to create vivid memories so that we could carry them with us for the rest of the year.
The week, which was filled mostly with blissful inaction, came to an end all too soon. Our last night in the house we played bluegrass music over the stereo and laughed as we danced to the fast paced fiddles and banjos that came on over the speakers. Lauren and I walked barefoot down the dirt road to the fish market which sat just across the bridge and picked out the largest lobster we could find, a five pound crustacean that a fisherman handed to us off the back of his boat. They steamed him for us (we didn’t have a pot in the house big enough for him) and gave us a bag of steamed clams for the walk home. The sun was setting in purple hues as we took the familiar path back to the house. We pried the clams out of their shells and popped the warm fleshy meat into our mouths as we talked about how much we would miss this place. The lobster meat was so fresh and savory we didn’t need any butter. We had to crack his claws open with a hammer and we all used our fingers to pick up the meat. At this point there was no need for manners, we were all used to each others habits by now, and we fought for the best parts of the lobster. But there was more than enough to go around. My mother had lit candles for the dinner table and in the dim light we all sat around the table, our bellies full, our minds at ease, all content with life. We had been to Maine many times before this, but never had we felt so at home.