Like most beach towns, Ogunquit, Maine has been somewhat subsumed by an exaggerated nautical aesthetic: striped sailor shirts, lobster-emblazoned everything, shell-encrusted picture frames, “but first, coffee” posters. At least this is the overwhelming impression within the touristy shops of its compact and crowded downtown. The seaside sprawl extends along Main Street; driving along its motel- and condo-clogged length, you might not anticipate that a pristine paradise is right around the corner.
And yet, a quarter mile or so from the main drag, you enter an insulated idyll, where it feels as if you have stepped back in time. The brisk sound of traffic is overtaken by the gentle roar of the sea; a broad sweep of tidal estuary, bordered on the far side by sand dunes, encompasses almost the entire horizon—as stunning a landscape as any painted by the artist Charles Woodbury at the start of the 20th century, when he established Ogunquit’s first art colony, quite rightly recognizing that this combination of air, light, and seaside landscape formed something truly special. (The glorious art Ogunquit Museum of American Art, with its perfectly curated collection of treasures inspired and related to the area, is an excellent introduction to the artistic heritage of the region; it also offers stunning sculpture gardens to wander around.)
The history of The Dunes on the Waterfront, a resort that opened earlier this summer after an extensive renovation, is baked into the land and architecture of the property. Originally purchased as farmland in the 1930s, the 12-acre property was converted into guest cottages and run by the same family as a small resort for three generations. In 2023, the Maine-based entrepreneur and hotelier Tim Harrington purchased the property and spent the off-season giving it a thorough overhaul. (The Salt Cottages in Bar Harbor and The Claremont Hotel in Southwest Harbor are also under his purview.)
Now, each of the 24 cabins has been immaculately restored and updated, with only the most tasteful deployment of seashells permitted. (The cabins range from one- to three-bedroom set-ups; in a three-bedroom, my family of six was very comfortable.) Sisal rugs and painted beadboard-covered walls offered a warm, neutral backdrop for seafoam-colored chests of drawers, tomato-bisque-colored cushions, and quilted throws. On the screened-in porch, white wicker rockers are lined with plush cushions, and on the patio of our cabin, with perfect views of the estuary, sat four white Adirondack chairs. On shelves in the lobby, I spotted monographs from designers like David Netto and Rose Uniake, betraying the elevated sensibility un-ostentatiously incorporated in every corner. It’s hard to say what kind of landscaping Harrington inherited, but he has augmented it with bushy banks of hydrangea, lush pots overflowing with flowering thyme and Mandevilla, honeysuckle vines trained over the trellises and fences, and bright roses that pop against the gleaming white walls of the cottages.
As charming as this setup is, you don’t come to Maine in the summer to spend time indoors. Though The Dunes is just a few hundred feet from the Atlantic Ocean, the depth of the estuary means that, at high tide, you can’t reach it without wading through water up to your waist (not really an option when you have a toddler in tow, as we did). The hotel offers kayaks or rowboats guests can use to paddle across the bay, a pontoon boat that shuttles guests back and forth, or a golf cart that drives passengers about a half mile down the road to a pedestrian bridge and public access point framed by swathes of beach rose.
Once you’re across, you’re met with one of the loveliest stretches of shoreline in Maine. If you think of the Maine coast as mostly consisting of pebbly shores in shades of charcoal and slate, Ogunquit will be a pleasing surprise. Here the sand is soft and white, with such a dramatic tidal pattern that you can park your umbrella close to the shore in the morning, and then be several hundred feet from the ocean’s edge by lunch. The gradient was long and gentle, so that the kids could splash and play without any overpowering waves. Come lunch, my crew was about ready to retire, and—like magic!—the waters had receded so dramatically that we were able to walk across the now muddy but waterless estuary back to our room.
In the evening, a fire was lit in the pit just a hundred feet from our front door, the flames glowing against the reflected hues of the sunset, and packets of s’mores materials had been placed temptingly in a basket nearby. Approximately 17 smores later, we had happily ruined our dinners, but nonetheless made the very brief trek along the crushed-shell path to the Ogunquit Lobster Pound, an almost 100-year-old institution, where a small-swimming-pool-sized tank of the crustaceans await their fate, terrifying toddlers in the process. “Monster!” my two-year-old shouted when one of the aproned fishermen lifted a particularly hefty fellow from the murky pool and offered it up for someone s supper. Minimal lobster was consumed (at least by the children), but never mind: We had created a veritable fairy tale of an evening, complete with fire, marshmallows, and mysterious creatures from the deep for them to enshrine in their memories.
This is the kind of place that lends itself to memory-making, my family agreed. The property is not large, but in a way that lends itself to the magic: You can feel as though you’ve discovered your own private camp-like kingdom, and as though it’s always been waiting for you. “Can we come back?” my kids asked almost as soon as we’d arrived, the highest form of compliment. They wanted it to be waiting for them all over again.
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