The clang, clang, clang of the Pemaquid Point buoy is music to me and a soothing balm for my soul. Sometimes you don't need lots of words to convey the meaning and beauty of a place. I'll let my photos speak for themselves.
We pass by islands with untold stories.
One of the joys of kayaking and boating is the accessibility to so many islands. We have a trail of islands where you can land and picnic and sometimes even spend the night.
The home of the legendary Miss Rumphius sits on the point at the end of our island.
The Miles tower above The Miles Fresh Air Camp, which is where our cottage is located. Our cottage was converted from the boy's dorm to a house in 1950. Can you see the long footbridge that leads from our island to Birch Island? We've seen the red fox trotting across this bridge. Imagine having to cart your groceries and luggage across a bridge and up a trail, past gardens, and through woods.
From our porch and my studio we look straight across John's Bay to this tiny red barn/house. It has always fascinated me.
Pemaquid Lighthouse and keeper's house. At night we can see the lighthouse's warning flash
Inside Christmas Cove a mama osprey tends her young.
Old Glory swings past our house every other day.
Patience. I am getting to know Audrey, a lovely little chipmunk.
She follows me around and nestles into my robe pocket.
Our road.
Moonrise over Pemaquid as seen from the porch.
Good night moon. Good night friends.
