I arrived at home, finally, at 5:43 yesterday evening. I’ve been gone for a long time and been to a lot of places—to Manchester, Liverpool, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Edinburgh, Fife, and then home through Reykjavik and Boston. From there I went to Albany, NY, where I saw my family and collected my dog.
“Why don’t you move to Vermont?” my daughter asked me. (She knows I won’t return to New York.) I’m extremely touched that my kids want me nearby, but I love my life here in Rockport.
When I was in Fife, I could feel my sinuses open with the sea air; I felt as if I were home again, for at least a few hours.
It was unbearably hot and humid on Wednesday in the Hudson Valley, reminding me powerfully of one reason I left New York. It’s just as cold in upstate New York as in Maine in the winter, but summers here are so much nicer. It’s that sea air, which moderates temperatures.
Yesterday morning, however, I hiked to a waterfall along Hannacroix Creek, where I let the dogs romp in the stream while I swatted mosquitoes. That reminded me of just how beautiful New York is. It’s a study in contrasts and always leaves me feeling conflicted.
I arrived home to a beautiful thick fog and mizzle. It was 59° F. and I could feel my dry skin relax and ease back into its usual healthy state. If you want to escape the heat of summer, I recommend Maine. (And if you paint, you can take one of my workshops.) If you have allergies, sea air is a balm.
I like Home Port for its view, but I also like its neighbor, a lovely lady whose house has figured in several of my paintings, including Forsythia at Three Chimneys. She’s what I aspire to be at her age: self-reliant and forthright.
