If you follow TWT, you'll know that there's a certain island in a certain harbor in a certain northern state, with a certain lighthouse on it, that is my favorite place in the world. That place would be Indian Island, the small bit of land that sits off of Beauchamp Point and gaurds the entrance to Rockport Harbor. You can see the lighthouse from my family's house that sits on a hill above the harbor; some days it's crisp against the sky, and others it's shrouded in fog, with only a slight silhouette of its trees visible (much more after the jump).
This fourth of July I was a lucky girl--I got to spend the evening out on the island. Friends of mine are staying there for a few weeks, and were kind enough to have me out to dinner; we ate delicious food, drank good white wine, and had wonderful conversation (it doesn't get better than that, in my opinion). We were going to watch the fireworks from the island as well, but in true Maine fashion, the fog rolled in and the show was cancelled. Come to think of it, I can't remember a year in Maine when the 4th of July fireworks actually took place on the 4th of July. This year they got set off yesterday, and the year before that maybe even on the 6th of July. But I guess it keeps the celebration alive. Prolonging festivities isn't such a bad thing.
I took some iPhone photos while I was out there and thought I'd share them with you (post-instagraming them, duh). It's a magical place, with pathways that snake through the woods and end abruptly at rocky beaches that slope to the sea. The rooms of the house smell salty and slightly musty from years of sea spray, and the floorboards creak as you walk across the worn-in rugs. It's a place suspended in time.
The boat ride out to the island.
Foggy evening.
The Peapod tied up at the shore.
No trespassing.
The kerosene for the light used to be kept in this shed, before it was shut down in 1930 or so. Now it holds a generator.
Living room.
Again.
Evening boat ride back.
