This year's adventure we are encamped at a hippy tree house cabin in the woods. Two miles off the road into the woods perched on a hill with the water just visible through the trees. A tease. One deer. One bigass fox. A hummingbird. And mosquitoes at dusk. Camp Barkley. Thanks Pat and Bill.
So many little towns all within thirty minutes of camp. All connected to the sea. I'm intrigued by the art of fishing. The life of fishing. Living within the sea life.
The towns have the essentials plus something they can call their own. Whether it is an ice cream stand, a lobster shack, or a firehouse. Each town, and every shack, claims to have the best lobster rolls in town. Red's Eats in Topsham wins all around. Be prepared to stand in line and do not give into the temptation of going across the street to the shacks with the shorter lines.
Everyone in Maine is trying to be their best. Whatever their "regular" job does to fill time, everyone runs some sort of business out of their home. It seems they all have several occupations and interests. Maybe it's seasonal, living by the sea, and having to deal with tourists.
A friendly lot with an almost southern hospitality to them. An accent that's distinct and hard. Like Boston but these guys are Mainers. Assuming you are natives, they assume you know all the streets and people in town. They like their firehouses and they are usually the centerpiece in all the towns. The homes are attached to the barns, every town has an abundance of churches, and they honor dead boats with an open and public burial.
The sounds, smells and tastes are all distinctively Maine. And because of all the land fingers and inlets you can always find a good sunrise and a good sunset.