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Every July the town of Yarmouth celebrates clams… and we drive south to pay homage to the humble bivalve.

Parking is difficult so we leave the car in a lot that seems like it’s 6 miles away and walk a wooded path.

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This brings us to the rear of the carnival which we try to bypass quickly.

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We’re too old for that nonsense and honestly, the smell of greasy fair food that early in the day is not my idea of ambrosia.

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We spent a pleasant hour strolling through the artists and crafters, appreciating their talent but slightly stunned at their prices. If the goal is to sell things, they may have missed the mark.

I spent considerablp less by opting for some sweet notecards.

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Please note our backyard woodchucks do not present me with flowers, they eat them…. and if our resident red squirrel brought me macarons instead of chewing holes in our walls? I might not dislike her so much.

I may not have bought framed art, but I did take full advantage of the used book tent.

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Yarmouth is a lovely village to stroll.

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Lined with beautiful old homes.

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And when you’re there?

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You have to buy a Lime Rickey.

It’s tradition.

As is the clam shucking contest…

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A highlight of the festival.

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All hale the mighty clam!

As we were leaving my husband found a Bath Iron Works display. BIW is a naval shipyard and a huge presence in our state.

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While I enjoyed reading the history? You know my husband found someone to talk to…

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And talk, and talk, and talk.

Sometimes I think this is why he likes to attend festivals. New ears to bend.

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On our way back to the car we crossed a bridge.

A bridge with attitude…

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🤣

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