Nearby: Georges Island

I had high hopes of a June filled with entries of my small explorations.  Alas! 
July arrives on Tuesday and I'm waving goodbye to June of 2014 without the pleasure of truly knowing it. But there were at least a few adventures I was lucky enough to experience, some of which I shall try to write of in the coming weeks and the rest that I'll remember only in my mind. 

I met Georges Island on the first weekend of the month. One of the harbor boats led me there from the wharf and in an hour I found myself seeing Fort Warren for the first time. 
Named for the Boston revolutionary Dr. Joseph Warren, it was built in the mid-19th century and is known today for it's significance during the Civil War. This is where imprisoned Confederate soldiers and political prisoners, such as Confederate Vice President Alexander Hamilton Stephens learned of the cruel New England winter for the first time. They could direct their gazes towards the untouched city of Boston and they could long for their own homes. But this fort became their Northern home in a way, and I could wander silently through it, with only the sound of nearby families exploring at their own pace (faster or slower depending on the courage of the children). The walls are splattered with the memories of the past 150 years, memories of those who dwelt within its rooms along with the ones who have since visited them. A dark quiet lingers throughout the insides of the fort where shadows seem to reign.

But then there are the ramparts and the green pathways that cover the dark rooms and they are all beauty, as if they are rooftop gardens dating from the Civil War. 
Prisoners could take their walks and look out to the sea, to either think of places like Shiloh and Antietam and Fredericksburg or choose to forget about them entirely. As I walked, I thought of ghosts, like the Lady in Black, who is said to still haunt the Fort. 
Yet, it was a perfect June day, dominated by sunshine and blue skies, and I could only feel invigorated to be there and happy the fort still stands, to impart knowledge to anyone who is curious enough to accept it. 

A Lady Escapes: Camden, Maine

Midcoast claims my childhood summers. It claims those of my mother as well. Though she now lives in the far reaches of Downeast Maine  (where few tourists explore) and I myself used to dwell on Mount Desert Island (where most tourists go), the seaside towns of Camden, Rockland and Lincolnville speak to our comfortable youth and cherished summers, filled with the sight of the still cold sea from atop Mt. Battie and ginger from Dorman's Dairy Dream. They were filled with the color of blue from the native berries and red like the cooked lobsters eaten in all the restaurants by mainly out of towners. Camden, in particular, is a romantic vision of coastal Maine, and it's easy to forget that any other kind exists. And yet I still love that vision after all these years, and it's why I recently drove four hours north from Boston to see it alive again. In late May it was still fairly quiet, but in the next few weeks, Camden and the other midcoast towns will be filled to the brim with vacationers eager to experience what I have known my entire life, and that is a calm only towns this far north offer, in the sweet, gentle villages along the rocky coast. It is a calm that inspires the phrase, "the way life should be," which greets visitors to the state of Maine after they cross the Piscataqua River. Visit the little shops and walk the main streets, but do find a bench that overlooks the harbors, and watch as the fishermen come and go, and watch the happy visitors enjoy their first schooner ride and breathe deeply. You're in Maine.