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A return to the sea, part V: Wedding Days and Rainy Days

March 6, 2014

And yet again, 11 months later, I remember this blog exists! One day I’m going to reach the end of this tale…preferably while I still remember what it was like, after two and a half years.

We last left the story on the Friday evening, after my first day in Brunswick after finding out that I was in a town of writers.

I apologize in advance: this is going to be the boring entry. It doesn’t really cover journey or discovery, just tie up assorted loose bits and ends of the story from my time in Brunswick.

Little else happens that friday night. I stay in the hotel room chatting, as there isn’t actually much to do in Brunswick late at night (as I already found out the previous night). Anyway, I have to get up relatively early the next morning.

Which I manage to do, as unusual as that is for me. By eleven, I’m all ready for the wedding, dressed my best and all.

Pictured: me staring at my camera.

Pictured: me staring at my camera.

It’s a short walk from my hotel room to the church. Unlike the last wedding I went to (Ashley’s), I actually get there on time instead of being delayed by confusion as to who is supposed to pick me up. This time, nobody has to delay the ceremony to give me time to arrive, which is just as well.

The church itself is a fairly typical catholic church, much like your average catholic church in Quebec, with the grand artwork, glasswork windows, paintings, etc. In fact, it’s surprisingly like your average Catholic church in Quebec. Very surprisingly, if one looks at the glaswork windows, for example:

Yes, that's a french caption in the church

Yes, that’s a french caption in the church

Obviously, there was a sizeable population of French catholic in town at some point. Which would hardly be surprising, given how close to Quebec we are and how many Quebecers migrated to the United States late in the nineteenth and early in the twentieth century. Most Quebec families at the time had members who went south of the border to work in the great textile mills of New England, or in the lumber industry, or even to search for gold in California. Mine is no different as far as that goes: I know of relatives of my grandparents who went to America (and provoked their very own anti-immigration craze, of course).

I won’t say much about the wedding itself. Yes, yes, I can hear all your disappointed cries…but I feel its not really my story to tell or so much my pictures to post, especially after two and a half years. I won’t go in much detail, either, about events at the wedding reception (other than to say the food was fantastic, both the tasty appetizers and the actual meal). It just wasn’t my day, and it doesn’t really belong in my story. I suppose it does no harm to note that both the bridge and groom are far geekier than even I am.



I’ll say, however, that despite the bad weather, the location is fantastic (or perhaps it was; I’m given to understand there may have been some changes there). The resort sits on the shores of a great wide bay, filled with islands, some close and some barely a black line on the horizon, some a bare rock rising out of the water and others immense, their shores covered in tall dark evergreens, clawing at the sky.

The shores themselves are rocky, yellow and gray. Seabirds, of course, are everywhere, as are boats streaking across the bay from half a dozen piers. To the south, beyond the maze of island, the waters open up into the wide gray Atlantic. To the north, jagged coastlines  reach toward one another across the waters. Despite the evidence of civilization, there is a powerful sense of wilderness here.

There's a sense of untamed wilderness in this coastline.

The shores of Maine


The next day is, sadly, rainy. Like, very rainy. As I mentioned in my past entry, it felt at a point like I was having half the gulf of Maine being dumped on my head. I have very few pictures left, only stories of running away from the rain into the Bowdoin College Museum of Fine Arts (which was actually quite interesting), and of trying to survive the rain as best as I could (and still ending up with my clothes drenched from side to side), while failing to find all the other museums I had heard about (there’s one museum of arctic exploration that I would have loved to see, but like I said in the first entry, I didn’t actually find it).

The weather did improve a bit later in the day, which is when I went out to try and find the location of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s house (which I already posted a picture of in my first entry about Brunswick).

Knowing this was my last night in Maine, I of course decided to treat myself to a suitable dinner:

No instagram filters were harmed in the making of this picture.

No instagram filters were harmed in the making of this picture.

This leaves us at the end fo my stay in Brunswick and at the end of the next-to last day of my trip. It really was the least eventful day, with only a few dozen pictures compared to the 500+ I took on the first and last day each.

The next and last set of entries should be a lot more interesting. 549 pictures, covering four states, numerous cities, and changing weather.

Hopefully I’ll get around to writing it before 2016.



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