A Seaside Cottage, A Woodsy Walk , St. George, Maine | A Quiet Escape in Coastal New England

Dearest Kindred Spirit,

I write to you today with the memory of morning light glinting off cobwebbed pine trees and the scent of salt air fresh in my mind. Not long ago, we packed the truck to the brim, Willow was nestled amongst the bags, and we set off for a quiet retreat to a village called St. George, a coastal corner of Maine I had only driven through, but never truly lingered in. Until now.

As we pulled into the gravel drive of our cottage, I knew this place would suit us just fine. The cottage was simple, but lovely: wide-planked floors, reclaimed wood counters, and a kitchen so cozy I immediately envisioned cooking and baking while overlooking the ocean.

There’s something about a rental cottage that awakens a different kind of creativity, when drawers hold unfamiliar dishes and spice racks are a surprise. I searched for the coffee maker with the urgency only a travel-weary woman knows. At last, tucked in a corner, I found it, along with a French press, just right for the pumpkin spice brew I packed for the trip. With the sunrise pouring golden through the kitchen window, my mug quite literally glowed.

Mornings began slowly. Lobster boats hummed their way out of the harbor, while I sipped my coffee and sketched with my colored pencils. My sketches are not to impress, just to delight and awaken the child within in me. One drawing, simple and imperfect, now marks a page in my journal as a memory of this coastal getaway to Maine. Willow, my sweet companion, explored the woods while I gathered pinecones and ideas for future craft days at Sugarwood.

Ben, my husband, and I wandered through the village, discovering tucked-away harbors, a widow’s walk atop an old sea captain’s home, and even a curious structure that may have once been a folly or a gardener’s retreat. I do love a place that keeps its secrets.

One evening, after dinner at a local tavern tucked beneath a weathered inn, we sat by a fire and enjoyed the evening before we headed back to the cottage. It was nothing grand, just cocktails in hand as we listened to the waves of the ocean and waited for the rain to start; I felt something stir inside me. A reminder that the finest living is often the simplest.

With love from New England,
Linda