Back in Maine

It’s safe to say that I was never a Mainer.  True, my father and grandfather were born and raised in Maine, but my mother comes from Massachuesetts and, by my definition, a Mainer must have two parents that were born in that state. The next level up is the Mainah, whose parents were born and educated in Maine, and who was also educated in Maine, preferably at the University of Maine. A REAL Mainah is someone who meets all qualifications for Mainah, remains in the state for the majority of their working life, and has some experience lobster fishing, in the lumber industry, or driving eighteen-wheelers.

While I don’t meet any of these qualifications I was lucky enough to spend the first eighteen years (and three following summers) in Maine, and have returned for the next month. I’m based out of my father and stepmother’s home in Trevett, which lies roughly a third of the way up the coast and houses a year round population of three hundred.

Like most Mainahs, the town of Trevett has an interesting story. First, there is no such t own. Instead, Trevett was a name that an early 20^th Century postmaster invented for three closely grouped islands (Barter’s, Hopson, Sawyer). My family’s house lies on the east side of Barter’s Island and is a magnificent place to relax. In the summer there are boats, gardens, lobster bakes, and warm summer nights. In the winter the fireplace and sunroom command the bulk of my attention.

The house on Barter's Island.

Orchids make winter better.

Lots of orchids.

Going from bustling California to slow, rural New England has been a culture shock that I never anticipated. Before coming to Maine I had Thanksgiving in Williamsville, VT and spent five days visiting a friend, Zeb Enberg, in graduate school at Dartmouth College. I welcome the sight of old buildings, deciduous trees, and a glaciated landscaped.

Thanksgiving drinks.

Post office in Williamsville, VT.

Zeb at Dartmouth.