So apparently, for lo these five-plus years, I’ve been spending my working days not three miles from the mighty Atlantic. Who knew? For some reason my mind thinks inland when I think Scarborough. But of course, Scarborough is home to Prout’s Neck, which is where a rather fine painter, fella named Homer, lived and worked from 1883 to 1910.

“Weatherbeaten.” I rest my case.

Well, why not? Gorgeous night, one of the last nights with temps in the 80s for a while. In spite of the mercury reading tonight, the light carries the unmistakably brilliant glint of the autumn. There would likely be a few late-season sunbathers on the beach, but I was sure that I would find that solemn feel of a resort town starting to shut down for the year. I eagerly awaited my first look, as Mrs. Tourist and I flew down Rt. 77.

We didn’t get too far.

The autumn is here, and the light reflects. Mrs. Tourist and I occasionally veer off 95 on the way home and take Rt. 1 through Yarmouth to Freeport. We always meant to hit Mackworth Island, but never did. Until...

Welcome to installment one of a new feature: You Are Here. The idea? Simple. Visit places. Take pictures. Write about it.

I think I can handle that.

I’m hitting the road and dropping in on Maine places that are off my path, beaten or otherwise. Most of the places in this series I’ll have never been to. Some will be quite familiar to me, but everything is new in the eyes of the Native Tourist. I am somewhat limited by the day job and the price of gas, but I think I can cover a fair amount of territory and get an accurate snapshot of life in Maine. There’s a lot of adventure to be had on the open Maine road, even within a tight radius. I’m going for it.