A day or two before I left Waldoboro for Wayland, I paid a final visit to my saltwater beach. A recent house guest had called reporting a lost camera, and I thought I should retrace our steps to see if perhaps the camera had been dropped. The visit proved to be a cutter of umbilical cords. Martin's Point beach was as I had never seen it. Highest tide, crashing surf, disturbingly agitated.
Yet underneath the saturnine mask, it was still my beach. A place where the sun sets behind the pines in a blaze of coral cloud. A place to float suspended in the gentle swells. A place to bring company. A place to be alone.
I climbed across the rim of rocks and ledges, just barely out of reach of the spray and remembering each spot where photos had been shot. What a beautiful day it had been. But no camera here.
Few lobster boats out today, and the sailboats of summer were gone. I knew it to be possible that this was my last visit. How to say good-bye? I got out my cellphone to report "no camera" when I remembered the phone's video function. Here was a way to take Martin's Point beach away with me. These are not pro films. Play them small. Yet I think they carry the flavor of the day. Do you like them?
