You Were Here

so, we went to Paris

For our honeymoon, we, not typically 'on the fly' sort of people, booked a flight to Paris with just three days until our wedding. Then, when trying to book a hotel for our five nights in Paris, realized (somewhat tearfully and worriedly on my part) that our impulsiveness might result in a few nights spent on a Paris park bench as neon "no availability" signs kept flashing across the screen for each hotel we looked at. The next morning, we rushed around the house doing laundry and packing, ignoring a not-so-impressed Boomer and each other (and rushed to clean up the surprise left for us by our not-so-impressed dog before the three of us headed out on the highway to get to our hometown for our wedding.) On the highway, somewhere between here and there, a "ting" from the iPhone confirmed that we had found a place to stay. Relief. Like I've never known it.

Two days later we were in Paris. And while ours has been a relationship built on arrivals' gates, this was the first flight we ever took together. We spent five days there, speaking embarrassingly rudimentary French; meandering around narrow cobblestone streets; climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower; drinking wine (it's cheaper than water, don't you know); cruising down the Seine (thanks to his patience); picnicking with a baguette, cheese, and bottle of rosé, on the lawn of the Sacré Cœur; and just being happy and together.

J'aime Paris.

to portland

After spending a couple of days in Bar Harbor, we took the coastal route to Portland. We stopped for clam chowder and fresh air in Camden, and took turns gazing out the window at some of the prettiest little towns I've ever seen. If we had had more time, I would've loved to stop in each and every one - to browse markets, sit down for a coffee, wander to the shore, and act as though we have nowhere else to be.

But, a quick trip to Portland awaited. So we drove. We had just the evening to wander about in Old Port. We caught the tail end of a huge street festival, bought some local brew to take home, meandered about the port and in and out of stores, ate the most amazing fish that either of us have ever had, and saw a way-cool lighthouse. (You see, I have a bit of a thing for lighthouses.)

And then… onward and upward, as we had someone very important waiting for us a bit further north...

in bar harbor, in pictures

I preface this post by saying that all the photographs in the world couldn't convey just how wonderful Bar Harbor was. Neither photos nor words can do justice to how perfect the weather was; how gracious our hosts were; how wonderful the food was; or how peacefully pretty the entire town was.

I take my camera everywhere and photograph life endlessly knowing just how precious small reminders of a journey can be once that part of a life is long gone. All too often, time and memory pass quickly over parts of our life so worth remembering, and tokens of these moments become invaluable in stirring up stronger, more vivid memories.

In looking at a photograph of a loved one long gone, I find my eye catching sight of a hand-sewn shirt and suddenly I am five years old, sitting on the floor, picking favourites out of a jar of buttons I have dumped on the floor - the sewing machine whirling in time to my mother's slippered foot going up and down on the pedal on the floor beside me. To travel back like that through a simple glimpse at a photograph is a remarkable gift - one that keeps me clicking.

Someday, I hope that one of the many (four hundred plus!) pictures I took of our weekend in Maine will bring me right back to that weekend and all of the love and promise that came with it.

      

acadia national park

From sitting atop Cadillac Mountain at sunset, to walking the sandbar in Bar Harbour at low-tide, Mount Desert Island was b e a u t i f u l. We spent Saturday in Acadia National Park and tried to fit as much as we could into our short time there. We really could have spent days in the park - hiking some of the interior trails or just letting time pass with our selves planted firmly on some rocky spot facing the water. 

Highlights: the serenity of watching waves crash into the shore, the hilarious (albeit tame) performance of Thunder Hole (I'm sure the show gets really raucus on very windy days), the subtle soundtrack of the day provided by some far-off lighthouse horn, and the popovers at Jordan Pond House. Did you know? Popovers are all the rage.

  

long way around

We took the long way to Maine. Through two provinces and one state we travelled two countries. We sped along major expressways and slowed down on two-lane highways dotted with American flags and smalltown USA. We circled a city twice for one smokey non-smoking room. We talked and laughed and even argued together. We stumbled over crosswords, and worked out uber-confusing directions. We ordered our Tim Horton's en francais and in another country. We fulfilled a silly goal of mine from childhood and stopped for pictures of whatever, wherever. We waved to dogs and saw humans wave back. 

We've been taking the long way to Maine for more than six years now, and I'm so glad that's the route we chose. Because getting there, to that rocky shoreline, bellies full of lobster and blueberry pie, lungs full of wonderous fresh ocean air, could not have been nearly as sweet had our jouney been any shorter.