The Places Between 9
South Point Ocean Avenue Lands
One thing I’ve come to learn through my travels around Maine is that there are hundreds of little, beautiful public spaces. When I say little though, I really do mean little. Some of them are turnouts on roads or beaches only accessible at low tide. Some I can only visit through a driveby, and others by grasping onto nearby trees while I descend a steep trail. I’ve turned back from some, not willing to risk falling through rotting staircases or getting my car stuck on uneven roads. But a tinge of disappointment hits me every time I do turn back because even the littlest places can be breath-taking.
It took me about 15 minutes of driving up and down every neighboring street in Biddeford to find a place to park so I could visit South Point Ocean Avenue Lands. I then slid down a steep embankment to walk along the shore. The beach here was covered in smooth rocks, reminding me of when I visited Jasper Beach years ago. I picked up one that was almost perfectly circular and took it home with me. I call it my “grounding” rock. I don’t know what it is about holding a perfectly shaped rock, but all my thoughts seem to focus on its shape. I can let go of the extraneous and anxious thoughts a little easier, when I’m holding a cool rock in my hand.
At the end of a dead-end road in Kittery, I found Rice Avenue Town Lot. I don’t know if that’s what locals call it, but that’s the name that existed in my notes. A lone goose meandered along the Piscataqua River and the dirt road that overlooked one of the large bridges that connected Maine and New Hampshire. The temperature was defying seasonal normalcy, and I snapped pictures of the autumn leaves as I broke a sweat in a long sleeve shirt.
Down another Kittery road and behind Traip Academy, I discovered a boat launch with a clear view of the river and evidence of the Naval Shipyard on the other side. School was in session when I stopped by, so I had the area and the neighboring school garden all to myself. Fall leaves began to scatter across the transparent water’s surface, but the air was still and silent as I walked across the floating dock. The boards shifted with each footstep until I came to stand at the end of the dock amongst the empty dinghies and cloudless skies.
It took two tries to get to Dyer Point in Cape Elizabeth. The first time I went to visit, it was a busy hour for the restaurant next door, but the second time, I snagged a parking space. The spot is only a small overlook with a couple desire paths breaking through the low vegetation that grows upon the rocks. About a dozen other people were spread across the area, taking photos of the namesake for Two Lights State Park down the road. To my understanding, the lighthouse pictured is still active, while the other one has been converted into a private home. Regardless, the light was off when I visited, as it was midday and no storms were forecasted for at least another week, but it made me think about how many people had walked across these rocks and how many more might have crashed there without the light. All these little nooks and crannies in the world are just footholds for human curiosity, and like so many more, I can’t resist the urge to explore them.
Dyer Point