Ok So Maybe I Won't Go To Salem THIS Weekend

What was I thinking? The day before Halloween even.

I knew it was a bad sign when I got into Ipswich which is right on the coast a few miles north of Salem and there were parking lots full of cars with big signs which read:

AVOID THE PARKING MESS, TAKE THE TRAM INTO SALEM!

Then I knew it was an even worse sign when I saw a bunch of wannabe goths all decked out in black with so much white cake makeup on I could have carved a one inch swath across their faces before even hitting skin, started cramming themselves into one of the trams. I could smell the patchouli and clove cigarettes from my car, across the street by at least 50 yards. Yuck. I didn’t even know they still made clove cigarettes.

So I had an epiphany, seeing as how the parking situation is really ugly in Salem this time of year that I’d head back down there Tuesday or Wednesday when it’s once again legal to park along the city streets. All the shops are still open as is The House of Seven Gables. Well, that’s open year round. And besides, I got a late start again today because I left right after church. I came home long enough to post something to the blog I’d written out last night, change clothes and grab the camcorder and digital cam and then hit the road.

The day wasn’t a total loss though. On the way back I took the 1A and 1, which are both coastal routes. And once back in Maine I stopped at York Beach. What a gorgeous day. Later on tonight I’ll upload the pics from the cam and post a few. About 6 or 7 surfers were out enjoying the sun and surf, although dressed literally head to toe in thick wet suits. Water temp is already down to 50F. Brrrrrr. I do love to watch the surfers. Especially in the dead of winter. It’s when we get the biggest storms that produce the best surfing conditions. I just can’t fathom though, getting out in 35F-40F water, regardless of how thick those neoprene wet suits are, it’s still gotta be COLD!

Last winter I’d go out to Higgins Beach and watch the surfers after a good storm and when they’d come back to shore and get ready to head home, there wasn’t a one of them without a whacking great thing of hot water in the back of their cars that they’d dump all over themselves. Yes, yes, I did stop looking once they’d start to strip down out of their wet suits.

But today, hot water wasn’t needed after hitting the waves. Our brief visit from old man winter was all but gone this morning and we’ve hit a gorgeous high of 67. Clear blue skies with nary a cloud to be seen.

So I left York Beach and decided to head back north via a rocky cliff-side drive and I’m so glad I did. Usually when I’m on the road-less-traveled is when I find the most amazing places…and indeed I did today. Just wish Gareth had been with me. I have found the most amazing little town, Cape Neddick. I’ve been by it several times when heading out to Ogunquit or Kittery, but never headed off onto the little roads that hug the coast line and give you breathtaking views of precarious drops over the cliffs into the roiling, frothy waters of the Atlantic ocean.

Amazing.

And I found THE home of my dreams. It’s nothing enormous, or even close to what some would label a mansion. It’s called The Headlands. It’s all stone and situated on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It’s just spectacular. The way it sits on the lay of the land and looks out towards the east. The trees that surround the home are now stripped almost bare but yet still hold some lingering reminder of the spring, summer and fall…now with their nearly bare branches seem to reach towards something unknown - would look almost Hitchcock-like against the backdrop of a blustery autumn day. Everything about this home filled me with a longing to call it mine.

There were several other homes nearby that would have dwarfed The Headlands. But yet, there was just something about it that I instantly fell in love with.

I wanted to stop and take a photograph but while it seemed almost invasive to me to do so, I don’t think it would have captured the feelings it instilled in me.

Maybe less than a mile up the road I passed a beautiful little Episcopalian church that sat on a cliff overlooking the water. It was all stone and quite old. There was a little cemetery that sat not quite directly to the rear left of the church. I could see some of the headstones from the road and they were so old that the markings had all but washed away with time. The ground was covered with the vestiges of autumn as well as crab apples, pine cones and pine needles. I stopped and, well for lack of better words, day dreamed for a while.

I thought of a young wife who might happen to be buried there. Maybe she was married to a Sea Captain who was lost at sea and she pined away for him, night and day until she at last, had no more tears and joined her beloved in the great beyond. I thought about the old people, those who’d settled the area and made their lives by the sea. Probably fishermen whose wives knitted and baked and cooked while their husbands were out upon the sea, gathering up whatever livelihood could be made from her deep blue depths who would join his wife days or sometimes even weeks later. Then they’d sit by the fire in the evenings and enjoy each other’s company. They’d grow old this way until one day each one in their own time would take their last breath in this home by the sea. And now they’re buried side by side, still overlooking the place they called home so many years ago.

I imagine there must be veterans of many wars in that little cemetery by the sea. Brave men who left wives, children, mothers and fathers…families behind while they went and fought for their country. And after making the ultimate sacrifice, were brought home to rest forever, by the sea.

Leaving Cape Neddick this afternoon filled me with a sense of sadness and almost an ache. I have longed to live near the ocean my entire life, and now I do. When we first moved into this place in September I’d imagine all sorts of afternoons spent just a few short steps away from our front door, on the sandy beach – watching Gidget play in the sand, or gather sand dollars and sea shells and giggle as she waded into the water, feeling the waves tickle her toes. Gareth and I would spend sunny Saturday afternoons walking with her, hand in hand, along the shore, teaching her about the ocean and the many wonderful things which inhabit the great blue abyss. We’d instill in her the same love and respect we have for the ocean and this place we call home.

Well, those are indeed the daydreams of a pregnant woman in her mid 30’s.

Being that Gareth will now be working in Manhattan and we’ll probably settle in semi-rural northeastern PA, I’m feeling a tad bereft of dreams unfulfilled. We could, and may still decide to keep this as a summer and holiday home, although I think in the long run that might not be the most prudent financial decision. While it wouldn’t be too terribly financially straining, I can think of several other things the money could go towards.

So until the day the movers come to load this place up, along with all those unspent dreams, I’m going to make the best of it. After all, it is just a place. And what makes a place truly special to me are those with whom I share it. Gareth and our daughter. And any place we all are – will be home.