I saw the ocean again this year. Traveling by plane for the first time since the COVID-19 pandemic, I went to New England. My last vacation up to this point was at a resort in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, which is nestled between the Sierra Madre mountains and the Pacific coast. It felt appropriate to bookend years of travel restrictions with a visit to the other side of the continent.
I’ve previously written here about some highlights of my New England trip, including camping near the White Mountains range. But another memory that I’ve been revisiting lately is my day in Ogunquit, a somewhat touristy resort town in southern Maine.
The town is built on rolling hills overlooking the Atlantic Ocean with quaint shops and many restaurants. They all serve lobster. In fact, the essence of Ogunquit was distilled in an expensive-looking house that I saw, which was built in the colonial vernacular style and had a dozen empty lobster traps stacked up by the curb.
But my favorite part of the town was a winding, one-mile-long paved walkway on the north side of a bay connecting the Atlantic Ocean to the Josias River, where sailboats came in and out. The path went along the ocean through brown cliffs and brushes, and if someone starts walking on this trail at the south end of town, they’ll round a corner and see a sandy beach stretching north for miles.
When I walked down stone steps to the beach, I noticed the sand was firm and densely packed, much different from the softer stuff in the Sleeping Bear Dunes. While the dune climb is difficult partly because every step up causes you to sink back downwards, this oceanside sand had enough traction for a tire.
I had been to New England once before with my family when I was about 5 years-old. Did this place seem familiar because it reactivated some old childhood memories? Or did it just happen to look exactly like how I imagine beach towns in my dreams?
While I was there in Ogunquit several months ago now, we sat down on the rocks along this path and faced the ocean to watch the tide come in during the evening. I don’t often make time to do this. I imagined the water rising with each wave to be a slow process, like watching paint dry.
But the change sometimes happens more quickly; after watching for just five minutes, some contour lines that were clearly visible in the massive rock formations were completely submerged. The washing sounds and faint salt taste in the air were extremely soothing.
Maybe it’s too late in the year for a visit to the beach, but perhaps you can still catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights, or at least see a sunrise or sunset. Continue to go outside before the winter makes it too inhospitable and don’t let the election news cycle monopolize all your time and attention. Your physical and mental health will be grateful for it!
