Thirty years. Been coming here for thirty years. I remember pre-season trips with a chill in the air. The wife and I the only patrons. The staff not yet burned by the influx of pink golf shirts with the collar up. Friendly, curious about the interlopers. Time on the dock in the late afternoon sun. Beers in a paper bag. Locals waving hello. Summer projects not yet started. Quiet roads, garden supplies piling up in anticipation of the short but vibrant season. The star hotel $99 per night. Canadians galore. Not one person walking with phone in hand.
Now is different.
The star hotel is $650 per night. The town void of Canadians, but busier than ever. Pink, yellow, sky blue golf shirts forming lines on the sidewalk. No more lobster three meals a day. Clams with bellies rare as a cowboy steak. Vast swaths of forest cut for new mega mansions. Qaint replaced by excess and show. But this is the story elsewhere, too. Some call it progress while others refer to it as the end of days. More coastline than California, but almost all private behind locked gates and no trespassing signs.
But the allure is powerful. Coming from the high and dry of New Mexico, greens and browns and dust, to the glove of the Maine woods is so wonderful. Density, darkness, and a fire in the sky, muted by something we can quite put our finger on. Birdsong, dump trucks, and the black on black secret service caravan taking Jr. to the beach. Adults flying their college flags. East Coast landmarks, legends, and legacy. Inheritance of opportunity.
I leave the room at 5:30 AM, walking in the rain toward Gooches. I am alone. Local cops cruising for nonexistent crime. Half an hour to get there, run for half an hour, walk back. Spanish lessons in my ears. Quiero comprar algo, y quiero tomar un cafe con leche, pendejo! Dogs running free. The sun fighting against dense smoke from Canada, which can still cross the border without risk of detainment. A line of fire across the sand. Wind at my back. Clothing soaked with sweat. Unlike home, I have ample oxygen. Can run for days. The sea is magnificent. I take stock of my fortune.
Comments 8
Ah, Maine summers!
Author
Yes. And you are there, not here! We reversed on each other.
Welcome back to Maine, Dan. As you’ve noticed, lots of changes here in my State but it’s still a great place to live.
Author
It’s awesome here. Those changes are happening everywhere.
Unfortunately yes everywhere there is a coastline – I find your comment on “almost all private behind locked gates and no trespassing signs” most telling. Beaches I used to roam as a kid are mostly all not accessable as whole communities have locked it all out – with no access except in my memory.
Author
And out west it’s the same. During C19, major city folks moved to the country and immediately put up electric fences, security signs, cutting off natural pathways, all because they were terrified of home invasions. Our public lands are being sold off. Mike Lee in Utah is a madman. Donny pulling back protections to sell to extraction.
I miss the days of old and have seen this happen in many places including the small town I grew up in along the MN-WI border. Main street, an apothecary, and an italian restaurant amongs many things. Now replaced by towering housing structures up and down and the streets flooded with people. Doubt they even have the old log rolling competition during Lumberjack Days. Even the upper peninsula in WI Door County has become so overrun with people, devices, and the modern world. Funny how they all seek that which we had but is now just a silver streak that you have to look for in most places.
Brings back a lot of good memories.
Maine too, Acadia NP and Bangor.
Fun times…
Author
It feels unstoppable, until something catastrophic happens.