Driving back into the center of Kennebunkport, we are here with nary a soul which suits us fine after last night’s crowded streets that weren’t inviting us to stop. That’s not absolutely true; we pulled in front of the Crab Shack minutes before they closed to grab a scallop sandwich. That was only possible because the 15-minute parking spots were empty. From our shared quick snack, we went back to our hotel and jumped into the photography/writing routine. But that was then, and this is now.

We were searching for the one iconic image that would scream Kennebunkport more than any other photo, but that proved elusive, so I snapped off photo after photo, and not a single one offered me what I wanted. Truth be told, I’m not enamored with this tiny enclave on the sea as there’s something that’s not us, while the Oregon Coast never seems to fail in charming us, no matter how often we return.

This rusting old anchor stuck in the mud had a certain appeal, and if I had the luxury of contemplating my words and what I’d like to say here, I might find a poetic metaphor for this representational artifact to sum up this morning in a town whose reputation seems larger than the reality of what the place is offering to my senses today.

We are moving out of town and discussing our driving plans, as deviating from my plan of no freeways might require suspension. When I was planning this trip back in April, and I saw that today would require seven hours of drive time, I likely believed or hadn’t considered that getting out at 6:00 in the morning wasn’t ever going to happen, and I admit that I’m a bit surprised at the incredibly slow pace of our travels. If we followed my original plan, we’d drive for about fourteen hours today. Leaving at 8:00 a.m., we wouldn’t be happy getting into Lubec, Maine, after 10:00 p.m., especially as we have to check in by 8:00. The dreaded freeway has become an option.

Silhouetted, the peninsula known as Walker Point appears in view. This is where the Bush family property is located and has been in the family since 1902. With the Texas and U.S. flags flying over the property, I’m quite certain we saw the former president’s entourage last night.

There’s something about their obvious human construct that cairns represent that speaks to me, and likely a lot of other people, on some deeper level and seems to transcend their utility of marking a place or guiding a trail. In an instant, we know that someone else is messaging us, but we typically can never know who. In antiquity, they could have been used as grave markers, and because we are drawn to patterns, especially ones that are natural to the environment, there must be a long history. Our earliest known references begin about 4,000 years ago in the Epic of Gilgamesh, continue with the Iliad and the Odyssey, and are also found in the Old Testament, specifically in the book of Genesis. Due to the temporary structures of cairns, nobody could ever hope one might last even 100 years, but in our imaginations, they seem to last forever and explore something instinctual.

Speaking of stone reminders, we are stopping at the German Protestant Cemetery and Church in Waldoboro, Maine, because not only is the place built by and used by the German community that settled these parts, but there’s also a famous grave on site.

This is not that grave, though it is an interesting tombstone with its off-kilter lean and lichen growing on it. The one that drew us in was that of Conrad Heyer, a Revolutionary War veteran who, at 103 years old in 1852, is one of a handful of people who vie for being the oldest person ever photographed around the time cameras were invented. While Conrad deserved a nice white spire as his gravemarker, it made it difficult to photograph and still be able to read the inscription. Plus, his grave gets photographed a lot, whereas this couple who were entombed nearby in the same plot and had the family name of Benthner are likely never photographed.

The German Protestant Church at the site, built in 1772 and still used occasionally, was locked, but the windows were clean enough that I could snap a few photos. It’s one of the three oldest churches in Maine.

The old part of the graveyard here is the final resting space for some of the area’s earliest settlers, along with soldiers from the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War.

A little farther up the road in Warren, Maine, was a fruit stand where we were hoping to find blueberries and peaches. No blueberries were found, but small plums, peaches, and red pears were on hand and soon found their way into our stomachs. I should also fess up at this point that we ended up joining the freeway for 37 miles as it promised to save us an hour compared to the slower roads through dozens of small towns, and importantly, it would help us reach our hotel in time to check in, albeit just in the nick of time.

Sure, we could have stayed on the freeway longer than 37 miles, but we had designs to make our way out to Sprucehead Island; more details about that adventure will be coming up. Meanwhile, we were tracing the coast as best we could and wasting any of the time we saved to reach Port Clyde.

This photo, the one above and the three below were all taken in the Tenants Harbor area. Maybe we should have ended the road trip part of our vacation right here and set up here in town for the next weeks.

The Oregon Coast might be our main happy place, but the Maine Coast is running a close second after we reach these more remote sections and remember what endeared us to this region 24 years ago.

These rocks at the shoreline at Marshall Point are likely from the Appalachian Orogeny and consist of schist, gneiss, and quartzite, all dating back to about 500 million years ago.

While its name is Common Rockweed, it is spectacular in my view.

The Marshall Point Lighthouse in Port Clyde was the reason for our detour and the therapy for enduring those 37 miles on the freeway.

The volunteers at the lighthouse were great. Volunteers usually are when you consider that they offer their time for free and must deal with hangry tourists in a hurry to add things to a bucket list. One particular lady from the Ithaca, New York, area who lived in North Carolina a good long time and loved it before moving to Maine in retirement spoke with us about everything under the sun while still asking everyone who passed by to sign the guest register. Because of the many volunteers at our poorly funded monuments, cities and states can afford to keep these places open.

If this kind of view looks appealing to you, too, there are rooms to rent in the Port Clyde area. We’d highly recommend a visit, especially after our next stop.

We’ve reached Sprucehead Island.

More than 60 miles away from the nearest freeway or only about 10 miles south of Highway 1, you’ll find McLoons Lobster Shack. You should go, you must go; it’s pricey, but it’s amazing.

We knew we’d ordered too much food, but when would we get a second visit? Caroline ordered the normal lobster roll, and I went for the Lobster Rolls Royce with twice the meat. We ordered some of their grilled clams, which might have been the best we’d ever had, enhanced by the most amazing herb, garlic, and butter sauce. The perfectly grilled, buttered bread that wraps the lobster also has a layer of mayo spread on its inner surface; as this is the traditional Maine way of serving a lobster roll, we went hybrid style with sides of drawn butter to slather over the lobster for that extra indulgence. Magnificent, but that perfection comes with a high price, and today, that was $106 for lunch, though it also included the world’s biggest whoopie pie, a New England favorite from the Pennsylvania Amish, which Caroline opted for.

The location on Sprucehead Island for this lobster shack couldn’t have been chosen any better. From every angle, every seat, and where we parked our car among the hundreds of people who reached this location before we did, everything is beautiful and the perfect setting for amplifying the senses to enjoy a big fat, luscious, and yummy lobster roll. Seriously, it was that GREAT!

Sometimes, the name of a place is enough to entice Caroline to investigate further, and so it was with Owls Head that we’d delay our return to Highway 1, though there was one special reason beyond the name that drew her attention.

The Owls Head Lighthouse. No time for a visit to a museum or gift store though; we needed to push on.

Approaching Stockton Springs, we spotted a rare place to safely pull over to get a good look at the Penobscot Narrows Bridge that neither of us could remember from previous visits to the area. This is one of those times when the blog truly comes in handy: our first road trip down this stretch of Highway 1 in Maine was in November when the Waldo–Hancock Bridge from 1931 still stood here. Our second visit to the area saw us crossing this new cable-stayed bridge, which had opened six months before. Upon checking that old blog post, I read this confirmation of our crossing and wondered why we didn’t include a photo. I guess I didn’t feel the quality was up to standard, but upon checking our photo archive, I saw one almost acceptable photo; more importantly, it shows the old and the new bridge still standing side-by-side. That historical relevance was enough for me to update that post this morning.

Pressed for time, there was no chance we’d be visiting the highest bridge observatory that’s part of one of the bridge towers. Maybe on a future visit, we can ride the elevator up. Until then, we can work at forgetting about this sight so it’s new again after some more years pass.

By the narrative so far, one might think we just ate lunch, but the truth was that we needed to stop the frequent pullovers for photos and work at getting up the road. Knowing how small Lubec is, we were aware that getting dinner there was increasingly unlikely, and still basking in the glow of our lobster rolls, we felt a second lobster roll would perfectly punctuate the indulgence of our coastal Maine drive. Tracy’s Seafood in Sullivan, Maine, served our needs, and as you can see from their sign, these were significantly cheaper than the lobster rolls had for lunch.

Two hours later and shortly before 8:00, we pulled into Lubec, Maine, for our stay at the Inn on the Wharf. With their day almost done, especially now that their last guests were getting checked in, the young women and I spent about 15 minutes talking about the great opportunity they’d just experienced in Maine. One was from Montenegro, one from Columbia, and the other from Bulgaria. All were college students back home and were 72 hours from finishing their obligations of fulfilling the work that brought them over for the summer.