The Maine Coast: Boothbay Harbor

I felt mentally reset after my week in Acadia National Park. I’m not normally all that jazzed about the ocean (I know, that makes me a Martian), but the landscape in Acadia was truly unique. When you’re driving through twisting park roads or hiking along a cliffside, you almost forget where you are. It feels much more “away” than I expected it to for somewhere within driving distance of home. Still, we wanted to linger along the coast a bit longer, to postpone that inevitable feeling of familiarity that I get when we get to within a few hours of the city.

We stopped for two nights in Boothbay Harbor, a small town about 3 hours south of Acadia. After turning off the major highways, hilly backroads lead you into town, rolling up and down country roads for most of the journey. There is no direct or high-speed route; it was all directions like “turn right on Martin’s Street”. We checked into the Topside Inn at the top of a steep road, a quiet and airy spot that overlooks the water, where we were greeted with a welcome cocktail and a homemade mini piece of quiche (hello, I’m yours).

That night we had dinner at Harborside 1901–beautiful plates of ceviche and tangy lemony haddock. I may have been lobster-ed out by the time I left Bar Harbor, but I could eat fresh fish like this every day.

We watched the sunset on the balcony outside our room afterward, from a pillow-covered porch couch that allowed for sufficient lounging. The panoramic orange skies were sprinkled with the persistent sounds of birds coming from all directions, almost like they were confused about whether it was morning or night. In the harbor you could hear an occasional boat or buoy and see a flicker of light. Below our room was a chicken coop, and above, I’m pretty sure was Venus lingering low in the sky. It pierced the fleeting daylight, across the pink haze. I felt the peace so deeply, in my bloodstream, the kind I’d been grasping for. An infinite sky over such a quiet space, where everybody was turning in. Out on the horizon, my soul can regulate. Like the calibration of a clock.

The next day we hopped on a quick boat tour of the harbor, which circled the water and gave us some tidbits of history, including information about small islands inhabited only by caretakers. The water was glossy and blue on this fiercely sunny day, and after we docked we wandered through town to take advantage of it. Boothbay is tiny, and all its shops and restaurants are condensed into a handful of streets. We bought a few jars of jam from an older woman who, unprompted, asked us if we had a cat at home and then proceeded to give us 3 free hand-knit cat toys. Visitors walked past us with dripping oversized ice cream cones and matching beach bags. We stopped at the Footbridge Brewery for some flights of beer and a few amazing pulled pork BBQ sandwiches (the baked beans were like a drug). Instead of ice cream, we opted for frosty beers…my preferred “hot day” accessory. In the women’s bathroom of the brewery was a changing table that was fully stocked with wipes and different sized diapers. A truly “family friendly” brewhouse.

That night I had my final lobster of the trip at the Thistle Inn, a restaurant adjacent to downtown inside an old historic home. A farewell lobster if you will. I opted for the lazy woman’s version, which was already pealed from its shell and placed daintily on top of a bed of risotto. Finally, a lobster that didn’t require me to be extra attractive at dinner by wearing a plastic bib.   

On our final morning in Boothbay the birds were intensely musical. The breeze rolled in and off the bay while I sipped coffee on the porch. The chickens in the coop below us were chasing each other aggressively through the dirt. I imagined that this is the thing that we all secretly want. I can’t envision a better way to start a day. A breezy deck where you can smell the water. Signs of life nearby, but not so much as it scares off the birds.

I remember the way the bird sounds intensified during lockdown, the only time I have ever truly heard them in the city. Mornings at home now can sometimes feel stifled and structured; it’s hard for days in NYC to feel light, even with focus. A morning walk by traffic congestion does not have the same settling effect; sunlight marred by construction dust is not as soothing. It’s harder to have patience for a moment, to avoid the need for dopamine hits. I feel it every time I’m away. And I know that we can go anywhere we want. The door is open. But something keeps us there. Maybe there are two sides to who I am. Sometimes my heart needs the vibrating energy of a million souls, and other times it only needs the birds.