Memorial Day
Ah, Memorial Day. The angry sounds of burning rubber. The twang of Conway Twitty on a portable radio. Tiny dogs with fearsome names yap and their deft masters control them with stern shouts ("Bullet! Bandit! Shut the f@#& up!").
As tempers flared with the rising heat of the day, we quickly packed our bags with water, snacks, books and our tattered volume of NY Times "Easy" Crosswords for our first beach trip of the year. Popham, take me away!
Popham Beach is a convenient one hour drive from our fair city, located on a thumb of land on Maine's mid-coast. Just south of Bath, the drive is pleasant, quintessential Maine. Rambling homes formerly occupied by captains and shipping magnates give way to more modest sized cottages, farmhouses, general stores and bait shops decorated with buoys and lobster traps.
The peninsula is bordered on one side by the Kennebec River which ebbs and flows with the tides, and empties into the frigid Atlantic. Popham Beach and Popham Beach State Park are located on a little hook of land at the end of the peninsula, carved out by Spirit Pond and the Morse River on the western edge, Atkins Bay at the mouth of the Kennebec, and the icy Atlantic on the south. A tributary of Morse River cuts through the beach itself. At high tide, ocean and river merge, save for a few spits of sand that provide a barrier between the two. At low tide, one must wade through the sometime swift channel across to another stretch of beach to get to the ocean.
Tiny islands dot the waters and a trek to Fox Island is a favorite pastime for many beach-goers. The first souls wade waist deep through the channel to the island, who pave the way for throngs of people who stroll to the island at low tide, like ants scurrying on an anthill.
An ocean breeze kept temperatures in the low 70s. The only people that braved the 60 degree waters were the well-insulated children (of which there were many, accompanied by their well-insulated parents), screaming and yelling happily as kids do. Despite the joy of having a picture perfect day to usher in the unofficial start of summer, I couldn't help but feel a little sad on Memorial Day. What is to become of these overstuffed cherubs? I mean, a 5 year-old with plumbers crack? Sad, indeed.
As tempers flared with the rising heat of the day, we quickly packed our bags with water, snacks, books and our tattered volume of NY Times "Easy" Crosswords for our first beach trip of the year. Popham, take me away!
Popham Beach is a convenient one hour drive from our fair city, located on a thumb of land on Maine's mid-coast. Just south of Bath, the drive is pleasant, quintessential Maine. Rambling homes formerly occupied by captains and shipping magnates give way to more modest sized cottages, farmhouses, general stores and bait shops decorated with buoys and lobster traps.
The peninsula is bordered on one side by the Kennebec River which ebbs and flows with the tides, and empties into the frigid Atlantic. Popham Beach and Popham Beach State Park are located on a little hook of land at the end of the peninsula, carved out by Spirit Pond and the Morse River on the western edge, Atkins Bay at the mouth of the Kennebec, and the icy Atlantic on the south. A tributary of Morse River cuts through the beach itself. At high tide, ocean and river merge, save for a few spits of sand that provide a barrier between the two. At low tide, one must wade through the sometime swift channel across to another stretch of beach to get to the ocean.
Tiny islands dot the waters and a trek to Fox Island is a favorite pastime for many beach-goers. The first souls wade waist deep through the channel to the island, who pave the way for throngs of people who stroll to the island at low tide, like ants scurrying on an anthill.
An ocean breeze kept temperatures in the low 70s. The only people that braved the 60 degree waters were the well-insulated children (of which there were many, accompanied by their well-insulated parents), screaming and yelling happily as kids do. Despite the joy of having a picture perfect day to usher in the unofficial start of summer, I couldn't help but feel a little sad on Memorial Day. What is to become of these overstuffed cherubs? I mean, a 5 year-old with plumbers crack? Sad, indeed.
posted by Julie at 3:12 PM
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