Ft. Williams Park, Cape Elizabeth

Maine fits me like a glove. It’s a warm and cozy fit. I would never have been acquitted at the OJ trial if I had to put on the Maine glove. But please acquit me of my undying love of this state, exuberant descriptions, and a plethora of positive adjectives. 

Kettle Cove, Cape Elizabeth

I’ve been going to Maine since I was four. They say you can’t go home again, but you can go back to the feelings of a place. And Maine serves up a bucket of feelings. The feel of the salty damp air that makes everyday a bad hair day, the ocean spray, the fog, the endless ocean, the righteousness of a rainy day when the water says “I’m the ruling element here, so back off earth, wind, and fire.” The unflappable Maine natives, who aren’t going to operate at your speed no matter how hard you try to make them. And of course, that crazy crustacean and its friend the bivalve. 

Old Orchard Beach from the Pier

We were staying in Cape Elizabeth but headed first to Old Orchard Beach, where I was greeted with the familiar odors of grease from Bill’s Pizza, and vinegar from Pier Fries. We went out on the creaky old year Pier, celebrating its 175th  birthday, and walked through the Palace Playland amusement park where everything stays the same. 

First lobster roll, Johnny Shucks, Old Orchard Beach

Palace Playland, Old Orchard Beach

I had a business agenda for the week. Visits to Bowdoin College Museum of Art and the Library, tour of Westbrook, Maine, the Maine Historical Society, the Maine Irish Heritage Center, and meeting new cousins. 

Bowdoin College looks like the prototype of an East Coast liberal arts school. My father and grandfather went there, as did Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Nathaniel Hawthorne, US President Franklin Pierce, and Admiral Robert E. Peary. Our famous, eccentric, openly gay cousin Edward Perry Warren donated a collection of Greek and Roman antiquities to the Walker Art Museum, and was bestowed with an honorary degree from Bowdoin in 1926. 

Edward Perry Warren Collection Walker Art Museum, Brunswick with David and Pamela

That’s where we met our terrific new cousins David and Pamela. We've known about each other for years but had never met. They are also Warren history devotees, so we teamed up on this trip. The only staff member on hand knew slightly less than nothing, but we found our way. The next day  Bowdoin Hawthorne Longfellow Library hosted us for a look through the Warren archives.

From the Edward Perry Warren collection

Class Standings 1896  from Bowdoin College Hawthorne Longfellow Library 

On a rainy Maine day we went to Westbrook, Maine, the paper mill town that the Warren family owned for most of a century. The SD Warren Paper Mill employed 3000 people and produced the finest paper in the country, favored by all publishers. Samuel Dennis Warren was known as a compassionate boss who provided housing, a ball field, a pool, tennis courts, and an ice rink for his employees. 

Memorial for John E. Warren, my great grandfather, modeled by his grandson Peter Warren, my father
 Cornelia Warren Park, Westbrook

We knocked on the door of The Elms, an elegant riverfront mansion once owned by the paper mill, now an inn. We were greeted by the surprised owner Greg wearing PJ bottoms (“sorry about my work at home wardrobe”) who gave us a full tour and history of the house, which he is lovingly restoring. 

The Elms, Westport

Darr and I fortified ourselves for a fourth day of research with a hearty breakfast at Becky’s Diner, chugging down thick-lipped mugs of black coffee, Maine blueberry pancakes, and Seafood Benedict. David and I met at Maine Historical Society where the librarians presented us with another harvest of historical riches on the Warrens, from 1915 to 1974. 

My father Peter Warren, Bowdoin Class of 1938

Thursday morning three first cousins walked into a bar…I mean a Starbucks. Sounds like a set up for a joke, and it might as well have been with all the laughing we did. We had never met, but these women were immediately warm, friendly and funny. 

My cousins Susan and Janice, South Portland

But wait, who are these people? After my parents died, I found out that my mother was not my biological mother, she had adopted me as a baby. My birthmother was Margaret Rita Foley (Peggy) from Portland, Maine. It’s a big story, it’s big enough for a book, so stay tuned, because I am writing one. But for now, among other surprises, just know that I have gone from an only child to one of six siblings, from having no first cousins to a band of eleven. And this was the first time we Foley cousins met.

Peggy's Senior Photo 1941 Portland High School

DNA research angels, Margaret, Maureen, Helen, Maine Irish Heritage Center 

Also thanks to Peggy my DNA is 50% Irish. Portland Maine is filled with descendents of Irish immigrants from the Galway region where my ancestors are from.  I had learned about Maine Irish Heritage Center through a Facebook group called  Galway Irish of Maine, New England and Everywhere Genealogy and History. I have them to thank for finding me the first photo of my birthmother from a 1941 Portland High School yearbook. In Portland we met with volunteers who showed me my 12,000 Irish DNA connections. 

With fellow U of A Wildcat alum Anne

We capped off the week with lunch at C Salt with Anne, a friend from the University of Arizona Journalism Department, class of 1976. We hadn’t seen her in 47 years, but thanks to Facebook we had followed each other’s lives. We compared our favorite professors and had a bunch in common. 

Sea Glass Restaurant at the Inn by the Sea

We define local dining as any restaurant under five minutes away from our house  Our first dinner was two minutes away at the beautiful Sea Glass Restaurant at the Inn by the Sea, where waiters described the meal in excessive detail. Something about the salmon marinating for three hours in yogurt and pomegranate before blah, blah. So tasty. We went a half  mile away to The Good Table Restaurant, which was filled with homey goodness, serving real clam chowder, brothy instead of starchy. A couple of times we ventured slightly farther (6 miles) to South Portland to eat at Saltwater Grill, best view and best fries. There was no choice but to go nightly to the Kettle Cove Creamery was a one minute walk from our house. 

 Lupines 

I have never rented a house in Maine that didn’t have a lobster pot. Until now. It’s like having a house without a roof as far as we’re concerned. We cook lobster at home, a decades-long tradition. One night we brought home cooked hard-shell lobsters only to find ourselves without nutcrackers or picks. Undeterred, we smashed the shells with a can opener. We decided we could try to fit two small lobsters into the inadequate pot that was provided. We bought our live lobsters at the local nursery. When the nursery employee heard about the great injustice being done to us at our rental, he ran to the back and gave us a lobster pot to borrow. 

Japanese orchids

Our rental cottage, an apartment adjacent to a 200-year-old Victorian was a bit like a railroad car, long and narrow with a former exterior door serving as the “headboard” in the master bedroom. Another former exterior door led to a windowless bedroom in the barn. But hey, the place was sparkling clean and there were fresh flowers, a bottle of wine, and the location was top notch, just a half mile from the beach. I went on beautiful springtime morning runs on Kettle Cove and Crescent Beach, and got my plunge into the Atlantic Ocean. Talk about a perfect fit.

To boot, we went to LL Bean, Freeport