Each month, Down East editors select our favorite response to “Where in Maine?” Here is our favorite letter from December.
My Grammy Blanche’s camp was on Spruce Head Island, where summer mornings in the ’70s meant waking to the “glug-glug-glug” of engines and waiting for fog to lift. The hours before and after lunch were spent climbing over chunks of granite in search of starfish and other sea creatures, and every afternoon we’d walk down the dirt road to the wharf where my dad bought whatever the fresh catch was. And lobster. Lots of lobster. This summer, I was lucky to see the island from a new perspective; on a cruise of the midcoast, my dear captain motored close enough to shore so I could snap photos of McLoons, the home of my favorite lobster roll, and Grammy’s camp (now out of the family), the place where I learned to love Maine.