Day 4: A Northern Countryside

We wake up the next morning in our guesthouse in Danville; it’s a dark and frosty morning outside of our bedroom windows, which are built up with condensation.. Putting on our cold-weather layers, Jane and I head outside and scrape the ice off our windshield before setting off west toward Marshfield. We return along the old railroad path to the edge of Turtlehead Pond, where a group of photographers has gathered for a sunrise shoot; Jane and I join the tripod line. It’s calm and cloudless, and the mist is rising from the lake surface into the frigid air. The photographers present appear to be part of some sort of workshop group (a guide walks down the line calling out shutter speeds and settings to everyone, which I find bizarre - a creativity-free, assembly-line vision of landscape photography). My tripod neighbors on the crowded, reedy shoreline, for their part, are friendly enough; we carefully work around each other to set up our shots. I set a timelapse of the dissipating morning fog, while using my main camera to scout for other compositions. With time, the sun comes peeking over the forest to our east, casting the nearby granite cliff in sidelight and casting a perfect golden glow on the silver birch and maple trees along the nearby shore. The light, paired with the rising mist, leads to one of my favorite shots from the entire trip (the one above).

After we have our fill of Turtlehead Pond, Jane and I get back in the car and continue southeast along the railroad bed, paralleling Marshfield Brook. This dirt road enters Groton State Forest and meets up with Hwy 232 just across the entrance from Owls Head Mountain, which Jane and I drove up one year ago. This time, we turn onto the highway and return south past Ricker Pond. In the town of Groton, we continue south along Powder Springs Road. For the morning, we will be doing a brief driving loop through several small parishes in rural Orange County, photographing some of the village-and-church scenes made famous by Arnold Kaplan, a prodigious and beloved New England photographer who pioneered many of the Vermont “scenics” that are indelibly linked to the Northeast Kingdom. After a brief stop on a hillside in East Topsham (the light is harsh and morose and the foliage past peak, so nothing emerged from this stop), we proceed a few minutes south to East Corinth. We hike up the frost-covered field to the east of the village, and I turn back to take a photograph of Jane climbing above the village and steeple. Finally, we turn west and pass through Waits River, stopping to photograph another iconic steeple composition. The foliage conditions in Waits River are more favorable, but the shot, admittedly, needed heavy clone-stamping to eliminate foreground telephone poles and wires that have been installed since Kaplan’s day.

Back on Hwy 302, we return east and then north toward the rolling farmlands of Peacham. It is mid-morning now, though the mist in the valleys is just beginning to dissipate. We take a different series of farm roads to return toward our base in Danville, stopping to photograph some beautiful country lanes lined by tall oaks and golden maples. I also scout for additional views from the vicinity of East Peacham back toward the farms and hillsides to the south, finding a beautiful spot up on East Hill. Back in Danville, we make a stop at the guesthouse before heading east to St. Johnsbury for lunch. We have a relaxed afternoon, taking a nap before heading out for a late afternoon / sunset shoot on Ricker Pond. Back on the narrow peninsula at the pond’s southern end, I have Jane pose with the foliage for some maternity shots; we take some selfies in our matching flannel shirts before calling it a night and returning to Danville.

On our final morning in Vermont, we head just a few minutes south of our guesthouse, to an overlook of Peacham that we had previously scouted on Monday afternoon. This proves to be a fruitful sunrise location; I take a mix of panoramas, distant shots of the misty hillsides overlooking the village and its iconic steeple, and a timelapse of the light suffusing the landscape in a warm, golden glow. Returning home, we pack our bags and hit the highway, following the 93S through Franconia Notch, down through New Hampshire, and back into Massachusetts. We are home in Boston before noon.

Our last trip as a traveling couple; four beautiful days of autumn light in the NEK.

Music:
”Into Dust” - Mazzy Star

Maine: Visiting Rachel Carson

Despite living for the past two years in Boston, Jane and I haven’t been to Maine since October 2015, when we took a brief but long-awaited autumn excursion to Mount Desert Island, spending four days living in a Bar Harbor bed-and-breakfast (alas, the Yankee Lady Inn is now gone) and exploring Acadia National Park and its environs. This past weekend, we finally returned to the rocky shores and pine-clad islands of Midcoast Maine, spending two days and two nights on Southport Island. Growing up, both of us admired the writings of Rachel Carson. Jane and I actually became friends in high school while competing together on our school’s Ocean Sciences Bowl team and in the Ecology and Oceanography competitions for the Science Olympiad; our present-day interest in the natural world (and my pursuit of landscape and nature photography) are in some ways the long after-ripples of those youthful, nerdy afternoons during which I sat in a public library in sunny suburban California and first read Carson’s beautifully poetic books, The Edge of the Sea and The Sea Around Us. In some ways, our paths have paralleled Carson’s, who lived in Maryland and studied at Johns Hopkins before establishing a seasonal home here in New England; I have long wanted to visit the coastal Maine island where she fell in love with the ocean and wrote some of her most influential works. In addition, after some vacation schedule changes (due in part to my new responsiblities at work, but in larger part to expecting our first child), Jane and I were in search of a more relaxing getaway than the rugged fall hiking trip that was originally planned in the Canadian Rockies. So it was that we wound up taking a weekend drive “down” the coast, making our way up from Boston, through New Hampshire, and to the coast of Maine.

After setting off from the city on a Saturday morning, we arrive at the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge in Wells, Maine, a small but lovely parcel of coastal wetlands and woodlands which is encircled by a flat walking trail. We explore the refuge for a few hours, taking photos of the lovely trees, late summer wildflowers, andpastel-pink and red viburnum berries growing all along the path at eye level. In the distant estuarine meanders, Jane spots waterfowl with her binoculars, while I take pictures of Canada geese and great egrets in flight. Afterward (having sustained more than a few mosquito bites), we return to the car and spend the rest of morning browsing a local antiquarian book store (I pick up two titles from my wishlist) and eating a two-foot (!) lobster roll at a local restaurant, Bull and Claw.

In the afternoon, we continue our drive, passing through Portland and encountering weekend traffic as we head east down the coast. Turning off Highway 1, we reach Southport Island, an archipelago sandwiched between Sheepscot Bay and Booth Bay. We stop in Boothbay Harbor to check out the waterfront, which even in September has all the air of a summer carnival - pizza joints, ice cream parlours, touristy gift shops, and boat charters being advertised up and down the dock. We sit outside and enjoy a giant banana split with strawberry, peach and crushed orange-pineapple ice cream. After picking up a Boothbay magnet for our fridge collection, we’re back on the road, making the brief drive to Cape Newagen at the very tip of the island. Here, we’ll be staying for two nights at the Newagen Seaside Inn, which Rachel Carson frequented during her summer sojourns in Southport. After checking in and showering, we eat an early dinner (burger for Jane, chowder for me) in the pub downstairs.

On the advice of the inn’s concierge, we close out our first day of travel by walking down a short path leading from the inn down to the waters of Sheepscot Bay. We join a few other inn guests who have gathered here to watch sunset, and to pay their respects to Carson at the spot where her ashes were scattered by some of her closest friends and neighbors here in Southport. It’s an absolutely beautiful place - a rocky, kelp-covered shoreline battered by the waters of the Atlantic; pine trees dotting the coast and outlying islands as far as the eye can see; the sunset gleaming, its warm golden light reflected in the tidal pools. We watch monarch butterflies gliding between the wild asters, wings flapping in the evening breeze as they continue their long, multigeneration migration along the Atlantic flyway. The scene seems reassuringly timeless, unchanged from what Carson described in her personal letters and writings from Newagen. We take some photos at the water’s edge, pondering this beautiful piece of landscape, feeling all the more grateful for the incredible woman, writer, and advocate for environmental justice who inspired us to visit it.

After an early evening and a long rest in our room at the inn, we wake before sunrise on Sunday, and drive up to the settlement of Southport proper. In the darkness of early morning, we pass by the lane where Carson’s old cottage is located, and we park at Hendrick’s Head Beach, exploring the beach at low tide and photographing the nearby lighthouse. We take a brief, easy stroll through the woods in the nearby Hendrick’s Head Preserve and walk up the road to Carson Lane before returning to the Newagen Seaside Inn for an indulgent self-serve breakfast: big plates of bacon and eggs, potatoes, and waffles, all washed down with juice and coffee. After breakfast, Jane and I take a walk down the lawn of the inn to the harbor at the tip of the cape. It’s a completely cloudy and overcast morning, but the subtle, subdued light - the sun shining through in places like a faint halo - makes for a beautiful scene at the water’s edge. We spot more butterflies in garden, gulls in the harbor, and a short-tailed ferret foraging for its own breakfast among the kelp-covered rocks before slinking away into the water. Afterward, we return to our room to take a leisurely, mid-morning nap.

In the afternoon, we set off walking down the inn’s driveway to see the town’s tiny library and to take a tour of the nearby Cape Newagen Alpaca Farm, a home-based alpaca-raising business run by a husband-and-wife team who moved from Connecticut to coastal Maine in search of a more grounded, natural way of living. Mike tells us their story while we meet the herd of girl-alpacas and their babies, who are generally adorable, social, and oh-so-quiet. They regard us with an air of pleasantry but disinterest (indeed, the entire herd turns its butts to us when they hear something moving about in the woods behind the farm, a moment which I photographed below) - disinterest, that is, until Jane begins to offer them handfuls of their favorite dried hay. The alpacas come to the fence, happily munching away at everything we offer them. Jane and I each pick up a lovely pair of wool socks in the farm’s gift shop (along with a magnet of our favorite alpaca, Zara) at the end of the tour.

We end our day with an early dinner at Cozy’s Dockside, an eatery and seafood joint located on the water near Cozy Harbor. We split an appetizer of calamari, a bowl of chowder, a lobster roll, and a plate of fried clams, in addition to a Maine blueberry milkshake. Jane’s appetite has really taken off in this second trimester, and she is coming close to (but not quite meeting) my usual, non-pregnant level of gluttony. In the evening, we retreat to the inn. We make a failed attempt at taking a rowboat out into the harbor before spending the sunset hours playing decidedly safer lawn games (cornhole and checkers). In the morning, after breakfast, we make the long drive back to Boston and are home by noon.