Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
For it is time that is the sole witness and arbiter of change in this ancient
landscape. Here the vagaries of climate and the arc of seasons can be dis-
cerned not just on the land but also in the faces and hands of those whose
lives and livelihoods are tied to it each day.
In Maine the story is not one of the land, or the sea, or the people but
rather of the land,
and
the sea,
and
its people. The story of one cannot be
told without the telling of the tales of the others.
While Maine has long been settled, it is not by any means an “old” state.
Its origins date back to the1600s, although it did not officially join the
Union until 1820 when it formally severed ties with Massachusetts.
While forts are many, notable armed skirmishes here were few. Still, the
first naval battle of the revolutionary war was fought off the Down East
coast near Machias.
Maine's makeup today is a study in contrasts. Cosmopolitan cities, such
as Portland, Lewiston and Bangor, jostle for attention with the trendy
tourist towns of Kennebunkport, Camden and Bar Harbor. Like a mother
wood duck, venerable L.L. Bean in Freeport sits surrounded by a brood of
factory outlets and mini-malls competing not for cracked corn but rather
the plastic nourishment lining the wallets of visitors.
Meanwhile fourth-generation, family-owned general stores from
Rangeley to Greenville stock everything from live bait to the Boston pa-
pers (each in season, of course).
Most of all, Maine is a seemingly timeless rural place. The names of fami-
lies in the oldest cemeteries can still be found in the phone books today.
Tiny villages on back roads continue on as always with little more than
late model pickup trucks in the driveways and the occasional satellite
dish in the dooryard to betray the fact they are not the exact same com-
munity you could have experienced six generations ago.
Still, even those who live in what urbanites might consider “wilderness”
cherish the wildness of the country deeper in. Many families own back
-
woods and lakeside camps or cabins to which they can retreat.
In the Great North Woods, the ghost of naturalist Henry David Thoreau
still speaks in whispers above the white froth of wild rivers sporting rap
-
ids with names like “Hulling Machine” and “The Cribworks.” Today he
would smile, undoubtedly, at the thought that a state which boasts mil
-
lions of acres of undeveloped private timberlands open to public recre
-
ation would still insist on preserving 205,000 acres in Baxter State Park;
most of which by law must remain free of the artificial cacophony of inter
-
nal combustion engines, radios or cellular phones.
From north to south, east to west, tall white pines compete with granite
spires to frame the cosmic flame and crackle of the northern lights.
