View of the main grounds of Edgewater.  The porch of Cottage 11 is on the left, foreground.

The Edgewater Cottages at Salisbury Cove are our base camp on our visits to Acadia.  After we cross from the little town of Trenton, Maine, to Mt. Desert Island, we follow Route 3 for about eight miles until we turn off on a side road that leads to Salisbury Cove and the cottages.  This year (2003) we had reserved two places to accommodate the seven of us – my wife and I, our daughter (Kate) and her husband (David), and their three sons (Christopher, Jeremy, and Matthew, ages 7, 4, and 2 going on 3, respectively).  These are the principal players in the following narratives of "Maine 2003."

Grace and I stayed in a smaller cottage (Number 11, where we had stayed the previous summer) (pictured left) and Kate, David, and the boys stayed in a two-bedroom apartment on an inlet off the cove (second floor in the house pictured on the right).  Our lodgings were both on the Edgewater property and within a few minutes' walking distance of each other, giving Grandma and Grandpa an opportunity to have some respite from grandchildren, who are best taken in small doses.  Grace and I had the advantage of being away from the road, while Kate and David had a second-floor screened porch.

After a tense and dreary drive through heavy rain – with an overnight stay in Portsmouth, NH – we arrived at the Edgewater Cottages early on a cloudy Sunday afternoon.  One look at Salisbury Cove was enough to raise our spirits (and excite the grandchildren), despite the dark skies.  We unpacked, did some grocery shopping, and went to the Main Street Restaurant for an early supper.  When we had finished eating, the sky had cleared a little – a good omen.

Salisbury Cove, calm as usual on our arrival, had whitecaps later in the week. 

As it turned out, we were blessed by good weather – fair and in the seventies, dropping into the fifties at night – for most of the two weeks, encouraging us to make many forays into the Park, the entrance to which is less than five miles from Edgewater.  Other pages describe these outings, but this one and the one about "Holy Rock" focus on our base camp.  It is so pleasant and peaceful that we always spend a lot of time there, and, besides, this is an opportunity to show off some of the better photos of the grandchildren.

One of the main activities at "base camp," at least for Kate and the boys, was exploring the tide pools and disturbing whatever creepy-crawlies they could find under rocks.  Dad (David) generally assumed the role of photographer, while Grandma and Grandpa watched, either from the porch or from chairs on the lawn.  Actually, Kate and David infused these little excursions with educational footnotes, since David has been a science teacher and Kate majored in biology in college.  They would return with shells and live specimens, placing the former in egg cartons and the latter in jars.  After due educational scrutiny, the live specimens would be released back into the ocean.  Besides crabs, shrimp, sea snails, and the like, Kate this year uncovered some kind of sea worm, which Grandpa – who enjoys teasing the boys with ideas of dubious credibility – immediately identified as a "baby sea monster."

For the boys, though, and especially for the two younger ones, another pastime beloved by boys was as appealing as bothering crabs and baby sea monsters – that of throwing rocks into the water.  It is, after all, quite exciting to be allowed to throw things, and throwing rocks into water where they can make a most satisfying splash must be especially appealing to kids who have spent most or all of their short lives in arid Arizona.  Matthew, the youngest, was particularly enthusiastic about it and would select the biggest rock he could handle, usually managing to throw it only two feet, where it would land short with a thud rather than a splash.  He soon learned, however, that smaller rocks are easier to throw and still create a satisfying effect.  (On the left:  Matthew takes a break from stone-throwing to ponder what he called "The Big Water.") Unfortunately, the boys were still too young to master the fine art of skipping stones, something I had taught Kate to do when she was somewhat older than the boys are now.  But I skipped a few stones anyway, just to show them it could be done – and because we boys never outgrow the urge to throw stuff.

Flying a kite on the lawn:  Kate, Grandma Grace, and Jeremy

Because it was closer to the cove itself and also because it was where we had most of our meals when we weren't eating out, Cottage 11 was where everyone hung out.  When they weren't down at the water, the boys occupied themselves with games and coloring books.  Grandpa, of course, took naps; by the second week, he had learned how to block out the noise.  Near the beginning of our visit, Kitty, the Maine Coon cat who lives at Edgewater, came to visit Cottage 11, as is her custom, but, upon finding it inhabited by three small boys, promptly left.  She did, however, come in for a snack later when the boys weren't around – she's no fool.

Much of the time at Salisbury Cove was also spent just looking out over the cove.  We were entertained by a cormorant who spent most of the time perched on a marker about 300 yards out.  It would spread its wings for long periods of time, drying them; the dumb bird did this even when it was raining.  Great excitement arose when Kate spotted a bald eagle circling the cove, but its first appearance was too brief for anyone to photograph it.  I spotted it again, however, late one afternoon, circling the cove for at least five minutes.  The gulls tipped me off to the eagle's presence by sounding the alarm as they always do when a predator is around.  Unfortunately, Kate was back at the apartment at this time.  While Grace dashed off to alert her to the eagle's reappearance, I kept track of the eagle.  By the time Kate arrived with video and still cameras in hand, the eagle had flown off to the west.  Always the naturalist, she set out in that direction and located it perched in a large oak tree not far from the cottages but out of our line of sight.  It was too far off the ground and the light was becoming too dim for Kate to get really good pictures, but she did have the satisfaction of recording in both still and video photographs the only eagle we have ever seen at Salisbury Cove.

Although it's a tradition to go up Cadillac Mountain to view the sunsets at Acadia, they can be spectacular from the cove as well.  The cottages face north, so we often forget to look, but, if I think of it, I go out on the rocky beach, camera in hand, and look toward the western end of the cove.  Trees obscure the precise point where the sun sets, but, when there are clouds, I can watch the changing colors as the day ends.  Maybe next time, I will have the foresight to trudge westward down the beach to Holy Rock, where the westward view is better.  (Holy Rock is the subject of the next entry.)