Breaking news: another post about Maine! I guess the urge to write and take pictures really hits when I'm heading north. Granted, old barns and beaches basically hand you photographs, but I also think being somewhere different from where I spend most of my time inspires me. This time, however, these pictures come not from Rockport but from Kennebunk and Kennebunkport where the beaches are sandier, the land a little flatter, and the drive from Boston much shorter (more after the jump).
I love going to towns in the off-season that are hotspots for tourists in the summer. They feel like both skeletons of themselves and more alive than ever. Only the locals are left, the streets are quieter, and you can actually find a parking spot. There's something melancholy and beautiful about the emptiness, because I think there's a truth to a place when it's stripped down: You can see the cracks in the pavement more clearly, the rust on the bridges, and the people who really live there.
That's how Kennebunk and Kennebunkport felt this past weekend—the quiet matched the bare branches of the trees and felt so good after living in a city (I know Cambridge isn't huge or anything, but it's bigger than the small towns I grew up in, so will forever feel large to me).
And being in a beautiful place makes having nothing to do but wander around, take pictures, stalk seagulls, eat eggs and thick-cut bacon, watch reruns of Parks and Rec, lie in bed forever, and drink good wine with wonderful people that much better.
Barrels always remind me of the barrel of booze that King John shoves Hiss into in the Disney version of Robin Hood. Anyone with me on this one?
Can't ever have too many Messe holding snowmen on your Christmas tree.
