Category: Maine

This weekend the boyfriend and I went home to Maine to attend three parties. His annual family holiday party, an ugly Christmas sweater party, and a football ‘party’ that consisted of the boyfriend and me heading to my sister and brother-in-laws for food and hangin’ all day long. Glorious.

The holiday party was a hoot, as always. I donned black lace and red lipstick, which I never, ever do, and there were more sparkles and sequins in the house than I’ve ever seen. We left the party early to head over to the 4th annual ugly Christmas sweater party which was, well ugly. And the following day with my sis and her hubby was so, so nice. Although we see each other a lot, I can’t remember the last time we spent a whole day just lounging, eating, drinking and of course: painting my nails.

What’s that saying? About a picture worth a thousand words? Well if you believe it, riddle me this. The day after Thanksgiving meant a few things for me in Portland. It meant leftovers, lots of water, Christmas shopping and witnessing what is perhaps the most talked about sunset in all of Maine’s history.

I first spotted the sky on fire while shopping downtown with the boyfriend. I ran to the car to grab my camera, snapped a few photos and then told the boyfriend to drive, fast, to the Western Promenade. I played with my settings to get a few perfect shots. And I’m still left speechless when I look back on these photos.

And I thought our Thanksgiving day sunset was brilliant. When was the last time you saw a sunset this vibrant, this alive, this on fire?

It’s hard to believe another Thanksgiving has come and gone. This year I was fortunate to spend a day and night surrounded by close friends and incredible family members. The boyfriend and I spent Thanksgiving together – spending the morning and lunch time with his family, and then traveling to my parent’s house for a late afternoon dinner. We ate, drank and gave thanks for those who are with us today while reflecting on those who are no longer with us physically. Unfortunately each year the list seems to grow, but acknowledging our past loved ones helps us remember them, their spirits and the memories we made together.

This Thanksgiving we introduced some new foods, and new traditions. Most notably, my sister brought the most delicious sweet potato casserole, topped with marshmallows (who knew). And for new traditions, I helped my mom with the centerpieces this year. We went with simple white and red candles, a few branches of red berries, and round hurricanes with a small votive surrounded by chestnuts.

In case you think they are saying grace, they are not. They’re checking football scores.

It was a perfect day and night, reminding me of how fortunate I truly am for having a happy, hilarious, loving, connected family. Highlights from this year include having my sister accompanied by her husband for this first time since her wedding, grace delivered by my youngest cousin, 16 year old James, that brought half of my family to tears, and the post dinner sunset that so powerfully set along the horizon on Thanksgiving night.

“Growing up in Maine is a privilege. It’s more than where you’re born. It’s an idea & state of mind imparted at birth. It’s more than loving red hot dogs, potatoes, lobster, Humpty Dumpty potato chips, and Whoopie Pies. It’s being hospitable, devoted to the outdoors, all the seasons, and each other. We don’t become Mainers, we’re born that way.”

I know that I don’t need to reiterate my great love for the state of Maine, but when this quote starting popping up on Facebook, I just couldn’t go without sharing it… somewhere. So thank you Maine, for giving me a life that truly is the best.

I spend a lot of my weekends in Maine.  Spring, summer, fall, winter – season doesn’t matter.  And no matter how many times I head north, there are some things about my weekends at home that just never get old.

Like driving over the Piscataqua River Bridge, crossing the border from New Hampshire to Maine.  I take a picture almost every time.  On the way north, I’m filled with joy, excitement, anticipation for the days ahead.  On the way south, sadness, exhaustion, a sense of desperation. Don’t make me leave.  Don’t make me go back to Boston. Back to work, the real world. Don’t make me leave my paradise.

The other routine that never gets old is weekend morning breakfast dates with my mom and dad. I love waking up early and heading out with mom and dad.  Ordering a cup of coffee from a diner and getting a breakfast bill of under $20.

Breakfast with my parents is just nice. It’s “me” time with my parents. Time to chat, catch up, and talk about what’s going on in our busy worlds.  It’s a weekend routine that started as a young child.  Of course back then, it was breakfast for our whole family. Now my sister is married, and weekend mornings mean time for me with my parents.

To add to the charm of this family routine, we have a few favorite spots, breakfast joints we rarely stray from. We love Bernie’s on the foreside, Porthole on the waterfront, and Steve and Renee’s by the boulevard. Mom always orders water. Dad one cup of hot coffee – but just one!  Me, I go for iced coffee almost every time. Mom and dad split a meal, typically an omelet off the special board. And I splurge when I can. Because that’s what’s so fun about being home with mom and dad. I’ll go for the lobster benedict. If not on the menu, yogurt, granola and fresh fruit.

We don’t change our routine much.  Same breakfast joints, same drinks, same meals.  But that’s what makes a routine so special. And this familiarity, the regularity of our weekend breakfast dates, just the three of us, makes me love the weekends in Maine that much more.

I spent this Columbus Day weekend in Maine, and as gorgeous as it was I couldn’t help but notice that the leaves have barely turned this fall. Something about too much rain, or not enough rain.  Maybe too many warms days, maybe something else entirely.  Sure, the leaves have started to turn, and I hear that the further inland you travel the more reds, oranges and yellows have already popped up.  But I wasn’t inland.  I was in Portland.  And normally, by this time in October, you’d see only the true colors of fall. The burnt orange, golden yellow and deep red that has always signified cooler weather, football games and homecoming dates, and the nearing holiday season.

Despite my overall disappointment in this October’s foliage, I couldn’t help but snap just a few iPhone pictures of the turning leaves. Enjoy!

I’m always thankful for long weekends, and this past holiday weekend was no exception.  However, this Columbus Day weekend brought 85 degree weather and sunny skies to Maine.  That my friends, is not a regular occurrence.  I’m tempted to say that one would be more likely to see snow falling on an October day in Maine than short shorts and beads of sweat.  Oh well.  As much as I wish away each summer to be replaced with winter weekends, I tried my darnedest to enjoy the heat.  One last time.

Sunday morning rolled around, my parents, puppy and I loaded up our totes, packed cool drinks and sandwiches, and headed off to the marina.  We took the boat out for a cruise through Casco Bay.  Moored up in Diamond Cove for lunch, a nap and a dip in the ocean. It was amazing how many fellow boaters were out on the water. I suppose everyone was taking in the last warm weekend of the year.

In case you missed it, I stayed busy this weekend with a whole lot of driving, eating and drinking. I spent the weekend:

• At the farm in Montville for Gram and Grampy’s 50th anniversary party
• Drinking Shipyard pumpkinhead beers around the campfire at night
• Eating deliciously fresh, farm grown food during an honestly Maine lobster bake
• Waiting out Hurricane Irene in Boston
• Avoiding fallen trees and debris
• Sipping homemade berry sangria and watching endless movies

I hope you all had as lovely of a weekend as I did, despite the horrendous weather!

A summer night at the farm in Maine always means a few things.  Good food, good drinks, good company… and a campfire.  Since it’s late August, and the air feels a bit like autumn, we’ve traded our Sam Adams Summer beer for a richer, fall beer.  Another sign that summer is nearing its end in Maine: someone first starts the fire before breakfast, and we tend to it all day long, putting it out only long after dinner when the crowd decides to hit the sack.

I swear, it’s days and nights like this that I live for…

This is how I spent my Saturday afternoon in Montville, ME, a teeny, tiny town 15 miles inland of beautiful Belfast: steaming fresh from the coast lobsters over a handmade slate fire pit, along with fresh picked, farm grown corn. Montville is where the grandparent’s farm is located, and no matter how teeny, tiny it is, it’s a place of immense beauty.