I remember the first time I stepped onto Monhegan Island.
Not as a child. Not even as a decades-long visitor.
I came to the island for the first time about 10 years ago with my dog Patrick.
He sat next to me in the dappled sun of the cedar woods as I read The Alchemist.
He waited patiently for the last bite of my cardamom-Earl-Grey scone on the deck of the Barnacle.
He paced along the north shore beach as I paddled my kayak amongst mama seals and their pups.
He begged for lobster bits as I picnicked on Fish Beach, juice and butter dribbling down my wrist.
He napped in my room when I attended the play at the one-room school house.
And the sing-along at the church.
I felt myself unwind as we sat on the breezy cliffs mesmerized by the ocean to the east,
And I looked forward to those peachy sunsets that closed each day to the west.
I fell in love with Monhegan Island.
So it was no surprise that when I was looking for the perfect spot for my new guesthouse in 2019 –
Monhegan showed up.
I am honored to welcome you to the island!
Its magic will reveal itself to you. It doesn’t need me for that.
But having been a Superhost with AirBnB for the past 8 years, you can trust me to keep you warm,
well fed, and in a happy spot while the island works its magic.
Welcome to the Cracked Mug!
It’s Monhegan’s newest waterview guesthouse, and I’m so glad you’re here.
*2022 Rates for Two Guests:
All Rooms $220/night includes 5* 3-course breakfast
3rd guest surcharge: $30/night
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Fish houses were built during the 1800’s to support the island’s cod fishing industry, and heavily salted cod fish were spread on lobster traps to “cure” in the sun. Cured fish was sold at markets in Portland, or stored to eat in the winter.
William Studley built a fish house in 1845, and Andrew Peterson used it as a fish market in the early 1900s. By 1930 the building had fallen into disrepair and the owner had it torn down.
The Cracked Mug proudly sits today in what is locally known as “Studley Field”.
My love of travel all began the summer I was seven. That summer my Dad bought a Shasta camper. He hooked it up to our Rambler station wagon and road-tripped us around the West. We did just ordinary things (I remember the Tang that my Mom mixed up each morning) but I came home with extraordinary memories.
As a young adult, fate deposited me in Tiananmen Square the very day they declared martial law. I saw my first cobra in Marrakech and I rode the Orient Express.