The Smell of Nostalgia Seguin #5

“Smell that!” The Houston sailor stopped in her tracks amid the expanse of white and lavender clover covering the camping field. “That’s the smell of my childhood!”

The sweetness of the clover patches blends with the sea air and the bright pink roses emerging everywhere now on the island. Add to it the aroma of my 75-year-old EB White library book, the metal of the lighthouse staircase, and the museum shop -reminiscent of every old-Maine grandma’s house- and you have the smell of Seguin. Proust had his madeleines dipped in tea conjuring memories, but here, it is the flowers, the cut grass, the constant wind and breakers, and the isolation that stops time for folks. “I’ve come here every year since I was a baby”, “I used to bring Coast Guard guys out for shift changes.” “This is the spot I always come to; I’ll let others go to Boothbay.”

For the first time this week, we had overnight guests other than campers. David Zapatka labored through the evening to take stunning photos on behalf of the United States Lighthouse Society (correction made). The images are part of his nocturnal series documenting the country’s lighthouses and starry skies. In addition to David, volunteer Sarah from Kodiak, Alaska and Nashville, who labored all day with Steve, decided to stay the night. My daughter Quilla and two colleagues made it out of their Boston basement laboratory, where they study the neuroscience of emotions and memory, to first help David with his gear and then to swim, talk, and take in the beauty. All the young women were undeterred by the 53-degree water temps and bravely dove into the cove both the evening they arrived and the next day after sunrise just before their departure. As much as solitude characterizes the island, sharing the space with others who are taking in its beauty made for a dearer memory.

Aside from volunteers Sarah, Steve, Fred, Tom and Chris and transportation thanks to Dave and his grandson Liam, we had visitors from Chesapeake Bay sailing north to Greenland and more locally from Friendship, Stockton Springs, Phippsburg, and Bay Point to name just a few. Children filled the tower more than once with bellowing echoes and purposeful step counting. One youngster generously offered to stay the summer and help us out. Twenty-somethings lay on the grass delighted to be out of big cities where the climbing mercury makes life harder than it should be. Peter and I moved enormous brush piles to try to obscure them, and Peter is reveling in the new electric weed whacker that hums like a dragonfly through the grass. Rumor has it that Po encountered a seal who was his swimming doppelgänger. I continue my attempt to stave off aging with walks up and down the flowering hill and chats with our temporary neighbors. One doesn’t even need to stop the smell the roses- here, they come to you.