Dad-venture: A Father’s Day Drive to Jasper Beach
- 1 day ago
- 2 min read
Every Dad-venture thus far had begun with a plan, a packed cooler, and Dad in the driver’s seat.
This one began a little differently.
For the first time, our youngest daughter took the reins. She decided where we were going, made turkey sandwiches, bought cookies, and poured lemonade into mason jars. It was simple, thoughtful, and somehow exactly right for Father’s Day.
We left the house around 1:00 and headed Downeast toward Machiasport and Jasper Beach. The roads became twisty and turny in that very Maine way where the drive itself starts to feel like part of the adventure. By the time we reached Machiasport, the scenery had changed completely. Beach roses were blooming everywhere. Lupines stood in drifts along the road. It felt like the whole town had dressed up for June.
Then we reached Jasper Beach.
It is not a sandy beach. It is better than that.
The beach is covered in large, smooth, colorful stones, rounded and polished by the waves. At low tide, we set up our folding camp chairs near the top of the beach, unwrapped the sandwiches, poured the lemonade, and just sat there listening.
And the sound.
I wish I had the right words for it. When the waves pull back over all those rocks, the whole beach seems to whisper and rattle and breathe at once. It is not like waves on sand. It is not like waves against a dock. It is a shushing, rolling, clattering music, as if the ocean is sifting through a thousand smooth stones with every breath.
There were only a handful of other people there, mostly walking near the waterline and looking down at the rocks. Searching for tumbled sea glass. No crowds. No noise. Just the ocean, the stones, and enough space to feel like we had stumbled onto something rare.
Even the paths from the parking lot to the beach were beautiful. Raspberry plants grew thick alongside, full of small green berries not ready yet but full of promise. The whole place felt wild without feeling hard to reach.
Jasper Beach is the kind of place that reminds you a family outing does not need to be complicated. A few sandwiches. Cookies. Lemonade in jars. Chairs in the back of the car. A daughter old enough to plan the day. A dad willing to let her.
After the beach, we stopped at Fort O'Brien, where we looked at the cannon and stood for a few minutes taking in the view across the water. From there, the day had that wonderful mix of history, curiosity, and family chatter that makes a drive feel bigger than the miles on the map.
We also looked out toward the communications towers used for Navy submarine communication, and we spotted the old radar station with its enormous white dome that looked like a giant golf ball on a tee.
In one afternoon, we had gone from church to winding coastal roads, from beach roses and lupines to an old fort, from submarine towers to a singing stone beach, and then back home again in time for supper.
That is a very Maine kind of magic.
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