A few weeks ago, my hubby, brother, sister-in-law, and I spent a week in Maine. We learned that not far from the place where we were staying was a small fishing villiage called Port of Clyde. In Port of Clyde was one of Maine's many lighthouses and since no one in our group had been there, we decided to make the trip. It wasn't far from Rockland and we liked the idea of exploring a new place.
We arrived at dusk and spent several minutes taking photographs of both the village and the lighthouse. The lobster boats had already come in for the day so there wasn't much activity around the dock.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of picture taking, someone suggested that we look for a place to eat. We had seen a small restaurant on our way in and decided to check it out.
While my brother parked the van, my sister-in-law and I went inside to look at the menu. The owner informed us they had already served dinner, but there might be enough left-over for our group. He would check with the chef. They were serving Haddock, he'd said, and I crossed my fingers. I love Haddock.
When he returned with a 'yes', I followed him to a table. My sister-in-law said she would go outside and make sure it was okay with my brother and hubby. Probably so, I thought, since it was the only eating establishment in town.
As I sat down at the table, I looked around. I hoped my group would soon show up because the room was crowded and the table was large.
Within a few minutes after I sat down, a man wearing a dishtowel around his waist appeared and placed a basket of rolls on the table. He then poured water and brought four salads.
Where were they? I started to wonder if maybe they wanted to go back into town and eat and were waiting for me to come outside. I had not touched anything, but at that point I would have been embarrassed to leave.
Finally they came in, explaining that they had been taking more photographs. It was a beautiful little village and they wanted to take more pictures before it got dark.
The waiter was very personable and during the meal he filled us in on some of the village's history. Breakfast was served every morning, he said, but they only served dinner on Mondays. It was their first dinner of the season and most of the population had turned out. Reservations were required so we had been lucky.
Later that week, my brother talked of how much he had enjoyed our little trip to Port of Clyde. I had enjoyed it, too, and I took a lot of pictures. In fact, I took the picture at the top of this page.
Maine! 'The way life should be.'