Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Lobster Shack at Two Lights

Who knows where it starts.  An early episode of Murder, She Wrote?  Maybe.  Maybe it was just growing up under the cloudless California sun.  I've always wanted to go to Maine.  Well, go to as in have a beach house on a rocky shore where I sometimes man the lighthouse.  You get the picture.  It just felt classic to me.  Like a crisp oxford shirt.  Like a wicker picnic basket.  Like America.

It's funny how lots of things say America.  California says it, but in a sunny, smiley, sandy, Beach-Boys-summer-sun-roller-skating-on-the-pier-in-your-bathing-suit kind of way.  New York says it, in a Brooklyn-accented, we-got-this kind of way.  Maine says it with lighthouses, and men wearing salmon colored shorts, and everyone hailing from somewhere.

We were just there a weekend, and I didn't get a chance to tend any lighthouses, but it was still everything I wanted.

The beginning.

The end.


  1. I LOVE the picture of you and Edie! My sister has told me that Maine calls my name, and I believe it! Utah is just plain too far away, but some day....(I may disappear and just begin driving til I arrive.) Thanks for sharing-the photos and the sentiment.

    Nancy (One of James' "other mothers")

  2. OH MY. So this post is ancient but I've been blog-stalking you lately and then, LOBSTERS. I've always wanted to go to Maine, too (I had a massive girl-crush on Jessica Fletcher as a ten-year-old). Lobsters-in-fry-baskets is a big part of the appeal, and now this post of yours has made it seem attainable, instead of like some sort of mythic food fantasy only people like Guy Fieri get to actually fulfill. Thanks!