Our first trip to Maine was just under a year ago and this summer weather has me longing for those icy coastal waters. We had six glorious days of sun, surf and shellfish. And one of the best hot dogs I've ever tasted... really.
I found this poem that was originally written about another town in Maine, but perfectly captures Boothbay Harbor where we stayed. It's also fitting because we stayed at a cabin called "Camp David".
"Lubec"
A small town by the sea
With the salt breeze blowing free over all.
Where the graceful gull swoops low
And the black duck rarely go in the fall.
A small town on the end
Of the coastline -- as it wends out to the sea --
Like some giant outstretched hand
Seeking Campobello land constantly.
A small town on the shore
With its people -- a few score, at the most.
All are known by their first name
And take pride in their fame as a host.
A small town on the hill
With its churches -- white and still over all.
With their spires -- heaven bent
That to many a sailor's meant 'Stand or fall.'
A small town on the bay
Where the fishes flash and play in the waves.
Where there is great ebb and flow
Of the ocean as it goes down to Dave's.
A small town on the coast
Where the weirmen yearly boast of their take.
Where the work's from spewing to fall
And the fish determine all -- make or break.
A small town by the mere
Where the sight of fog in the air brings no frown.
And the foghorn at the Head
Lulls the native in his bed snuggled down.
With the salt breeze blowing free over all.
Where the graceful gull swoops low
And the black duck rarely go in the fall.
A small town on the end
Of the coastline -- as it wends out to the sea --
Like some giant outstretched hand
Seeking Campobello land constantly.
A small town on the shore
With its people -- a few score, at the most.
All are known by their first name
And take pride in their fame as a host.
A small town on the hill
With its churches -- white and still over all.
With their spires -- heaven bent
That to many a sailor's meant 'Stand or fall.'
A small town on the bay
Where the fishes flash and play in the waves.
Where there is great ebb and flow
Of the ocean as it goes down to Dave's.
A small town on the coast
Where the weirmen yearly boast of their take.
Where the work's from spewing to fall
And the fish determine all -- make or break.
A small town by the mere
Where the sight of fog in the air brings no frown.
And the foghorn at the Head
Lulls the native in his bed snuggled down.
by Robert G. MacBride, MD
Longtime Lubec, ME resident and poet(written circa 1936)
Longtime Lubec, ME resident and poet(written circa 1936)
Post title is a quote from "Cider House Rules". Picture is the Lighthouse at Pemaquid Pt., Maine.
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