Patti at the Miss Worcester Diner
We got an early morning start on the road trip up to Kennebunk for our annual month-long stay. The weather was overcast, with rain predicted. Heavy fog as we left Orient Point on the cross-sound ferry foreshadowed a slow passage with numerous blasts of the foghorn by the ferry captain. Standing on the outdoor deck dealing with the rocky discomfort, I peered into the thick mist, wondering about the potential for a collision not only with another ferry returning from Connecticut but with an unseen small boat, maybe a fisherman undaunted by the fog in the quest for his daily catch. Happily, we made it to landing without incident, and I programmed my GPS route to the Miss Worcester Diner in Worcester, Massachusetts, our regular midway lunch stopover.
Rain punched at us throughout our travel north through Connecticut. Upon reaching the Massachusetts border, the clouds parted, allowing the sun to peek through encouragingly, giving us hope that the weather would clear once we reached Maine. Four small booths and a half dozen stools make the Miss Worcester diner a bit cozier than the usual restaurants in the Hamptons, and the best pancakes and waffles in the northeast come out of its tiny kitchen. The Miss Worcester is a beloved local landmark, built in 1948 right across the street at the Worcester Lunch Car Company factory, at one point the largest manufacturer of train car-style diners in the country. The Miss Worcester conveniently served as the company’s “showroom.” The factory is closed now, and the area around the old diner is like a fading snapshot of the time when it was an industrial metropolis. The old buildings that overshadow the diner are now in the process of renovation.
Soon back on 395 North, we switched seats and I dozed off for the next couple of hours while Patti drove through Massachusetts, New Hampshire and into Maine. We arrived at our cottage midafternoon, the sky clear and the sun reflecting on the water and low tide flats. The beautiful Maine seascapes I have painted each year were still intact. We had a late dinner at Mables and dozed off early after the long travel day.
The next morning, coffee at Provisions and then on to Cape Porpoise for my New York Times read on my usual bench overlooking Goat Island. I looked up at the bright blue sky, dotted with white cotton puff clouds, above the harbor filled with dozens of moored lobster boats all dancing in place in the modest currents while the lobstermen who own them rest up for a pre-dawn hunt. A scene I will paint soon.