On fall in New England, the little coastal towns we visited, Acadia and hiking in October, and why I haven't stopped baking and crafting since I got back.
I'm still thinking about October in Maine.
I've been back for a few weeks now and I still haven't fully recovered from the amazing place that is coastal Maine, if I'm being honest. Part of me is still on a trail in Acadia watching the light do something completely unreasonable through the trees and stopping far too often to take photos of the beauty. Part of me is still sitting in one of those small towns we stumbled into, the kind that feels like it exists outside of regular time, drinking something warm (most likely a latte) and looking out a window at a street that looked exactly like October is supposed to look. For my first experience of true fall, this was perfect and something I will never forget. I’d like to visit again next year!
What I did bring back was an overwhelming, inexplicable, completely uncontrollable urge to bake everything. Every single thing. All of it. Immediately.Well, and some souvenirs too, of course.
Maine did that to me and I have zero regrets.Very much gave me fall feels and cozy inspiration.
An October Kind of Place
We didn't overplan this one and I think that's why it worked as well as it did. We had Acadia on the list — that was non-negotiable, been wanting to get there because it’s known for it’s fall hiking — and beyond that we just let Maine be Maine and followed the road into small towns that looked interesting on our way there.
What looked interesting, it turns out, was everything.
We flew into Portland, Maine and then promptly rented our rental SUV. We stayed one night in Portland and got to explore the amazing food scene and then started our drive up the coast to end in Bar Harbor as our home base for Acadia. The drive up was the first sign that something good was about to happen. New England in fall is one of those things that sounds like a cliché until you're actually in it and then you understand completely why people talk about it the way they do (think Gilmore Girls fall). The colors are not subtle. They are not politely pretty. They are full and loud and completely committed to being exactly what they are — which, come to think of it, is a very high road quality and I respect it enormously.We drove to Camden, Maine the following morning and stayed in the cutest Inn. We window-shopped and had the most phenomenal farm to table meal on an actual farm in a cute little neighboring town. The next day, we hopped in the car after breakfast and drove to Bangor, Maine to take a picture in front of Stephen King’s house (very spooky) and headed to rest of the way to Bar Harbor, Maine. We also stayed in a cute Inn in town as well. Lots of hiking was had. We did 8 miles of trails plus a few extra of just walking one day and the following day we hiked the infamous Precipice trail (1000% worth the treachery and quick elevation gain) and summited Champlain Mountain.That was my favorite day of the whole trip. We celebrated with coffee and lobster rolls for lunch and of course dessert.
The trees in Maine in October look like someone turned the saturation all the way up and then decided that still wasn't enough. Amber and rust and a red so deep it doesn't look real. Everywhere. For miles. I kept making sounds that weren't quite words because words felt insufficient for what was happening out the window. I also said “This doesn’t even look real” and “ This is insane” more times than I can count.
Places That Don't Need to Prove Anything
This is the part I want to make sure I talk about because these little coastal towns were everything.
We found ourselves in these small Maine towns that had this particular quality I don't quite know how to describe except to say they felt idyllic or from a storybook. Like they had been exactly what they were for a very long time and had no interest in being anything else and were completely right about that. Old buildings and good coffee and shops that sold things actually made by the people selling them. Quiet streets that felt alive in a way that loud places rarely do.
There's something about a small town that's just being itself — not performing, not trying to be a destination, just existing with this quiet confidence — that does something to me every time. I think it's because it's so rare. And because it feels, again, like the high road version of a place. Unpretentious. Honest. Worth finding.
We walked slowly. We looked at things. We went into shops we didn't need to go into just because they felt worth going into.We got to talk to cool locals and hear what brought them to where they ended up. We ate at places because they smelled good and the menus were unique and nobody was in a hurry. We sat outside when we probably should have been too cold to sit outside (gotta enjoy the crisp air when you’re from a place that’s hot all year round) and we watched the afternoon happen and didn't feel guilty about a single minute of it.
Those towns got into us. They always do when you find the right ones.
I thought about the people who built those places. Who stayed. Who decided that this small corner of a cold beautiful state was worth their whole lives.
Earned Views and Other Good Things
Okay. Acadia.
I don't know why it took me this long to get there and I'm not going to spend too much time being upset about it because I was there in October and that is objectively the correct time to be in Acadia and maybe everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to.
The trails were everything I needed them to be and then some. We hiked until our legs had opinions about it and then we hiked a little more because the views kept getting better. Every time you thought you'd seen the best thing the trail had to offer it opened up into something else entirely and you had to stop all over again and just stand there being a human being having feelings about a landscape.
There's this thing I love about hiking in general but especially hiking a good trail. All the noise in my head — the list of things to do and the things I should have said and the things I'm worried about — it just goes quiet. Not because I made it go quiet. Just because the mountain has a way of making you feel small in the best way and you’re in awe of what nature can do. That happened on every trail we did in Acadia and I am deeply grateful for it.
We did the Beehive, Precipice,Thunder Hole, both of the bubbles, the Bowl and a few more trails. We did the Ocean Path and stood at Thunder Hole and watched the Atlantic do its thing with that particular cold grey authority the Atlantic has in October. The leaves were perfect. Everything was colorful and it wasn’t grey and rainy yet. The weather was cold but not too cold because it was gorgeously sunny.
I'll say this — if you haven't been, go. Go in the fall if you can. Go when the crowds have thinned (usually the end of October right before the fall leaves all fall off and the season is ending and some things are closed for the season but others are about to wrap up) and the air has that particular cold clean quality and the light is doing something gold through the trees. Take the long way. Stop when something looks worth stopping for. Bring layers and good shoes (I wore hiking boots for the majority of the trip) and a willingness to feel small in the best possible way.
You'll come home wanting to bake treats and home cooked meals. Fair warning.
What I Brought Back
I walked in the door and I looked at my kitchen and had so much inspiration for fall baking and cooking. This time of year with holidays approaching is always the best time to find and share new recipes and lean into things.
I made bread that first weekend I got back. A simple sourdough that took most of Saturday and made the whole house smell like the best version of itself as well as my first ever sourdough Challah loaf. I stood in my kitchen listening to music and thinking about the trail and the towns and the light through the trees and feeling genuinely, completely happy in the specific way that only comes from doing something with your hands that takes time and patience and pays you back in something warm and real.
And then I made another loaf. And then I made a pumpkin bread because it was October and it needed to happen. And then I got into cookie territory and honestly things escalated from there in the best possible way.
I ended up having to give away lots of baked goods because there was no way i’d be able to eat them all myself. Plus I love to share my baking with people I care about.
What Maine Put in the Oven
Here's what fall in Maine did to my kitchen in the weeks since we got back. I'll be sharing recipes for all of these in upcoming recipe posts because that feels like the right thing to do with something this good:
The sourdough that started it all — the one that took all of Saturday and was worth every single minute of waiting.
A pumpkin spice bread that I made twice in the same week because the first one disappeared before I could properly appreciate it.
A maple donut cooke that smelled exactly like those Maine mornings and made me miss the trip and feel completely at home at the same time — which is a strange and wonderful combination.
A brown butter pumpkin chocolate chip cookie that I made on a Sunday evening with nothing in particular to celebrate and felt like a celebration anyway.
SMores cookies that taste like sitting around a campfire when it’s chilly with friends.
There will be more. There is always more.
A Few Things Maine Reminded Me
I keep coming back to those quaint towns. Those trails. That light.
I keep thinking about the people who built those places and stayed in them and made them worth finding. Who did it slowly and with care and without needing anyone to tell them they were doing it right.
I think about that when I'm baking. The patience of a sourdough. The way bread requires you to slow down and pay attention and trust the process even when nothing visible is happening yet. The way the best things always seem to work like that — quietly, on their own schedule, asking only that you show up and be present and do your part without rushing.
Sometimes it’s nice to have a vacation where you just slow down. That is exactly what we did and just what we needed. Helps to put things into perspective and allows you to slow down and appreciate all that life has to offer and all that is happening.
There's Always More
I'll be posting recipes from the fall baking season over the next few weeks — starting with the sourdough, because that's where everything began and it deserves to go first. If you make any of them I genuinely want to hear about it. Show me your loaves. Tell me about your own trips that lit something in your kitchen. That's what this space is for.
And if you haven't been to Maine in the fall — I mean this with my whole heart — go. Take someone you love. Take the long way. Stay in one of the small towns. Hike until your legs have nothing left to give. Watch the sunrise from somewhere high enough to earn it.
You won't be the same when you come back. And that's entirely the point.
Take the high road. Always.
— The High Road Company
