In a Foggy Spruce Head Frame of Mind

Some reflections of my recent stay in Maine

As I sit here in Uncle Mac’s chair facing the picture window and bundled up against the morning chill, I recall memories of this place; of the family who once came here every summer; of the children who played among the rocks on the shore below me.

I am staying here by myself while I’m home this summer. I wake early with daily cramps in my legs and feet. I usually end up in this chair with the heating pad on my feet and legs and watch the day reveal itself to me.

Today there is fog. The fog is always “thicka” here in Spruce Head. Nevertheless, the scene before me is beautiful even in the fog. So why am I so sad today? Why do tears wash over my face as I behold God’s gift before my eyes?

So many memories. For the better part of 100 years the Herman Winchenbaugh family and his descendants have been coming here. He was my grandfather and he built himself a “cottage” empire here in Seal Cove in Spruce Head. At one time I believe he owned 6 cottages here.

My mother and her two sisters, Virginia and Eleanor, used to stay in the three shoreline cottages for periods of time in the summer when they weren’t being rented. There were times when all three were here at the same time.


My brothers carried water down from the main road. I tried to help but was probably more of a nuisance than anything. My cousin Betty, my sister Sally, and I used to run over these rocks and collect all manner of things to come and show to our parents…crabs, shells, sea glass, maybe even a lost lobster buoy.

As the years passed, my mother and father and Aunt Virginia and her husband, Constantine, or Uncle Mac as we called him, took possession of four of the cottages. They purchased them via inheritance when my grandfather died, plus giving the estate the rest of the purchase price. My Aunt Eleanor had passed away by then.

Each couple had a cottage on the shore and one further up in the woods. Ours were called Whispering Spruces and Carefree. I stayed in Carefree, up on the hill when I visited later on in my life.

Aunt Virginia and Uncle Mac had Itrenusus and Roselinda, which was up in the woods also.

Consequently, there were many visits from grandchildren and even great-grandchildren over the years. We had many a picnic of a Sunday here. Children’s laughter echoed as they too scampered over the rocks discovering amazing things.

The sisters wore down a path between the two cottages on the shore. The husbands built and maintained a garden together. The couples played cards at one cottage or the other in the summer evenings after viewing another beautiful sunset.

Now I sit here in the quiet as the tide ebbs. The further the tide recedes, the more the fog lifts. It may be a good day after all, I think.

I look to the left at the cottage my family sold several years ago. As the lights come on I can see a cottage that looks nothing like the one we owned. These are the second owners since we sold the place and they are nice people. They have completely redone the cottage so much that it doesn’t even look like the old one anymore. You could easily see this new "summer estate" featured in an interior design magazine it is so beautiful. They have also recently redone Carefree.

Something isn't right here. The only cottages the family has left are the two Aunt Virginia owns. Roselinda is completely inaccessible. The woods close in on it more and more every day. This cottage, Itrenusus, needs a lot of work. What will happen to this place? Will the Winchenbaugh line finally become part of its history and simply fade away?

My Sister and I seem to be the only two left who enjoy coming to stay here for awhile. Sally has brought her daughter, who also ran around these rocks, and her grandson, Nicholas, who is three, down here to stay for awhile for the last two years now. Will he be the last generation descended from Hermie to love this place?

I think and ponder about all of these things as I sit and rock in Uncle Mac’s chair. The islands across the way come further into my view as the tide ebbs more and the fog lifts more. The day has promise after all.

After I get my breakfast and leave the cottage for awhile to go visit with family and do “vacation” things, I hear something very familiar. It is the song of the Phoebe bird. It was one of my mother’s favorites and she always listened for the “first” Phoebe bird of the season when she came to stay here at Whispering Spruces. I like to think she’s trying to tell me something; that only good things await around the corner. After all, you can never tell what the future will bring, can you?

Thanks for listening.