Paint the Town: Quoddy Head State Park
On a whim, I decided to drive to Quoddy Head State Park today. As I drove down 189 and neared the coast I was greeted with glimpses of the water line that, truly, made me clutch my chest with heartache. I arrived, parked, and walked down a slope to the lighthouse, the whole time wrapped in a damp fog blanket.
Peering through the thick vapor in the direction of the horizon I was reminded of the last time I stood surrounded by ocean sounds and fog: a rocky coast two and a half days away, and the warm arms I wrapped myself in that came with that place.
The coast here is made of rocks upon rocks. Not dull rocks, greyed by the surrounding mist, but rocks of emerald, rust, violet, ebony. Colors set aflame by their constant bathing in sea water.
Each one was so independently unique that I wanted to put the beach in entirety into my jacket pocket, name each stone, and attach some significance to it. So as an old woman sitting on a porch rocking chair, recalling my adventures to neighborhood youngsters, I could hold them up one by one and say, “This rock, this very rock from the coast of Maine, is the rock I held in my hand when I had the revelation. And THIS rock, this is the one that…” and so on. They’re treasures deserving of a history… and a secret hiding place.
There’s a beauty to things here that continues to catch me off guard. Regretfully, pictures don’t quite capture it.