Two
If By Sea
Yankee Magazine
Around
the point of Wood Island in Sheepscot Bay, just below
the tiny fishing village of Five Islands (reputed
to have the finest lobsters in Maine), sunlight skipped
and flashed across the surface. Overhead, gulls wheeled
and mewed in a flawless sky. Nearby, within hailing
distance, a lobster boat pitched in the breeze, hauling
traps. Resting for a moment in my sea kayak, absorbing
the scent of sea and salt air, I watched a harbor
seal watch me, and then saw him slip silently beneath
the surface.
Beyond the heavily forested islands, I paddled across
the mouth of Harmon harbor, an entrancing fjordlike
inlet overseen by high, rocky bluffs capped with rows
of silent evergreens. A few more strokes, and a classic
gray-shingled Victorian mansion sitting high upon
the cliff came into view. There, in this setting of
exquisite natural beauty, a wedding was taking place.
The guests filed the wraparound veranda and thronged
the grassy lawn sloping down from the turreted estate.
Sounds of revelry floated across the water.
My paddling partner told me we were looking at the
Grey Havens, an inn she had visited upon several occasions.
Right then I resolved to check out the view from that
magnificent porch as soon as I possibly could.
The Grey Havens, opened in 1904, was the dream of
Walter Reid, who later bequeathed to the state of
Maine the magnificent sand beaches, forests, and freshwater
ponds that became Reid State Park, just down the road.
The last of the old shingle-style inns still in operation
on the Maine coast, the Grey Havens is a landmark
on Georgetown Island, in the heart of the mid-coast
region, where a maze of islands and peninsulas juts
boldly into the encompassing Atlantic.
Early one morning the following week, I strolled the
veranda of the Grey Havens, and decided that, yes,
the view from the inn was even better than the view
of the inn. Foamy white surf crashed upon the spruce-covered
granite islands in the blue expanse of Sheepscot Bay.
Beyond, on the eastern horizon, I could just make
out the low-lying outline of Southport Island. Captivated,
I found a comfortable chair and enjoyed my morning
coffee and hot homemade blueberry muffins while watching
the sun rise over this sumptuous view.
Inside the lounge -a bright, airy room filled with
good books, board games, and soft classical music-a
cheery fire snapped in the enormous fireplace, taking
the chill out of the cool morning air. A brace of
comfy overstuffed lounge chairs huddled close by the
fire, perfectly situated for enjoying the view through
the 12-foot picture window -in 1904 this window was
the largest piece of glass in Maine.
Later, after another day of exploring the myriad islands
and watery passages that make this part of Maine an
unsurpassed sailor's paradise, I happily retreated
to my round room in the top of the turret. Spare yet
elegant, the room had gleaming curved paneled walls,
wooden floors, a cozy bed with a wrought-iron frame,
and windows offering a 180-degree view of the sea.
Plopping myself down on the bed, I shut my eyes and
listened to the surf crash below the cliff. I felt
as if I were in the stateroom of a graceful windjammer,
riding the trade winds to adventure. The last thing
I remember is a bell buoy clanging somewhere in the
distance.
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