Mars

Written in Christmas lights on a garage on Chebeague Island.

Chebeague Island

Marc and I took the 6:30am ferry out to Great Chebeague Island last weekend to observe a "weatherization workshop" that has influenced the angle of our collaborative piece. He recorded and took notes while I shot photos of the folks at the Methodist church making removable storm windows out of simple pieces of pine and plastic. They are surprisingly effective in keeping out cold.

This gave us the idea to pursue the story of what Mainers are doing to prepare for winter. We imagine there are many people getting creative (some out of necessity) with how they are going to deal with high heating oil costs on top of everything else that seems to be going up in cost this season. We're curious to what we'll find, but Chebeague was a great start.

I saw Ahab, and he was wearing cargo shorts

His wooden leg was obscured by countless useful pockets.

So today, in the interest of reminding myself that I was no longer in Kansas or Cleveland or Menlo Park, I went on a boat ride and it was grand. I popped some Dramamine (bad experience traveling to the Channel Islands), dressed in layers, grabbed my knit hat, and dropped 15 bucks on the Mailboat run. With some of my fellow Salters on the bow (see previous post for a much more factual and informative account of the trip), I merrily recounted the story of being so drugged up on a trip to Prince Edward Island, I slept through many meals and a whale sighting. Then, of course, one hour into the unbelievably smooth ride this morning, the Dramamine hit me and I started to nod off. Damn! Foiled again!

The trip was lovely, although it’s hard to take those islands seriously. They’re too picturesque. All of their chairs are made of wood and painted white. There are hammocks and swings tied to branches that hang over the ocean. You imagine everyone who lives in these houses spends time reading Thoreau and gathering moss. They apparently really enjoy soda though, as a large proportion of the freight getting dropped off on the islands was two liter bottles of Pepsi. I got a bit sun-kissed, and felt very touristy (I didn’t do a good job of dissembling: walking up the ramp to the boat I blurted, “Look at me! I’m in Maine!” Seriously.) Highlights included watching a puppy on board the boat chase its tail, taking off my hat at the behest of a man who wanted his wife to make him one just like it, and nearly talking myself into buying a $3 bar of lemon verbena soap in the “Island Treasures” gift shop. I resisted.

Although this is definitely the pinnacle of my Maine-specific activity, I have not been short on adventures since I moved to Portland. After following a couple dead-end leads for stories, last week I found myself in Alfred, Maine. You may have heard of it: in 1837, an elephant named Old Bet was shot to death there. I did not know this going down. In order to find it out, I had to embed myself in the culture. I asked myself: What would Lord Peter Wimsey do (WWLPWD)? Having forgot my monocle in London, I settled on chatting up a local hairdresser… while getting my hair cut. Good idea? No. Kim, who has a hair salon in the back of her home, had terrible allergies and was struggling with them a great deal while chopping at my formerly beautiful locks. Do I sound bitter? It’s not that big a deal. She did make a phone call for me which got me sitting in the kitchen with this amazing couple, who gave me the run down on old Alfred, including elephant story. However, I ended the day empty handed and bare headed.

Even if I didn’t end up with a story after all that, it did increase my confidence to be able to find one somewhere. After another week filled with anxiety, I may have finally landed on something...

The Mail Boat

Four Salt Students Board the Mail Boat
Exhibit A: Evidence of Human Struggle
“Early settlers,” the mail boat Captain explained, “Thought there was an island in Casco Bay for every day of the year.”

In our narrated tour, the Captain refers to Long Island as a town, seceded from Portland in 1993. Islanders are paying high property taxes that reflect real estate values paid by out of state residents – making it difficult for long-time residents to keep their homes. Long Island didn’t feel Portland was offering proportionate resources in return for the big tax payout, so they launched a revolution. For more information visit their historical society, who preserved every inch of national media coverage.

A couple people got off at each island, but most had no mail. Little Diamond Island got a package from Ethan Allen. Diamond Cove got a box of fish. Chebeague Island got hefty shipments of Pepsi products, and I wonder what establishment placed the order. I encountered no watering hole – just a craft gift shop, a few varieties of apple trees, a machine graveyard for the old and rusty in someone’s yard.

Might as well ride the mail boat and see the bay while it’s still warm enough to breathe. Barely a sense of each unique island’s character from the mail boat; just a glimpse of lobster trap buoyed waters, playful seals, clues that life still exists beyond the urban.