June 12, 2012--Midcoast: "It's a Tough Place"

We'd been here less than 24 hours and were reminded how a true community functions.

At dinner, we saw Alison whose husband had been seriously burned last fall when a car he was working on, welding, exploded. The gas tank, which was supposed to be empty, ignited and burned his arms and much of his face.

As terrible as that was, they had just moved into a new home--a double-wide--and he, Tom, had not had much work all season. So they had been barely getting by on her waitress salary.

When this happened, the days here in the midcoast of Maine had turned cold--very cold; lows in the 30s overnight--and they didn't have enough money to fill their oil tank. So their young girls had to wear all the sweaters they owned before going to bed. And Alison had to drive back and forth to Portland every afternoon before work to visit Tom and supervise his care in the burn unit. A hundred-twenty miles roundtrip, five gallons coming and going at $3.50 a gallon pretty much wiped her out. But she felt she had to be with him to help him overcome his understandable depression.

The good news is that his arms, though severely scarred, have healed and he is getting his strength back so he will soon be able to look for jobs; and his face, except for a small patch over his right eye, is fine. As Alison put it, "He looks like Tom again."

She couldn't help but sob softly as she told us this. "And you know how we got by?" Though we knew part of the answer we didn't respond. "The owners of this place held a benefit for us. They served everyone dinner who came and those who did contributed more than $2,000. Mainly local people who themselves don't have much."

"That's wonderful," Rona said. "We heard about it and were only sorry we couldn't be here. You and Tom are such good people."

"But we did get your check," Alison said, "And as you wrote in your note it was to help with the heating oil. Which it did. And then," more tears streamed down her cheeks, "Someone, who I think is a summer person, gave us $5,000. Can you believe it? It meant more than money to us. Though we appreciated it. All of it. Especially from those who gave us their last twenty. But that's the way people up here are."

The next morning we were in town to get the paper and do some grocery shopping. As we pulled into the parking lot Paula ran over to say hello. We knew that during the winter her husband left her with two young children. "I was devastated," she told us. "We both needed to work to make ends meet and since we worked different hours, equally important, we both had to be available to take care of the kids. Believe me it was hard. Very hard for what happened and then how to make things work."

"I can only imagine," Rona said, but quickly corrected herself, "In fact I can't imagine. I'm so fortunate that . . ."

Paula cut her off. "I know you and you are a good person and I believe you can imagine. But I know I'm not going to convince you."

"That's right," I said, looking over at Rona.

"But most important you seem good now," Rona said. "How are you managing?"

"When he walked out on me, I couldn't make myself leave the house. Though I did get the kids ready for school and a friend came by to pick them up and take them there, I lay in bed, not eating and barely able to stop crying and feeling sorry for myself."

"Terrible," I said, not knowing what to say.

"But then these people over here," she pointed to the restaurant outside of which we were standing, "both of them, the owners, came over to my house and wouldn't take no for an answer. They told me to get up, get out of bed, and pull myself together. It isn't the end of the world they said to me. In fact, we need someone to work for us. The hours are flexible. You can work when you have the time and not when you don't. Without much notice. Just give us a half hour, they said."

"That's wonderful," Rona said. "Is it working out for you?"

"Better than I would have thought. To tell you the truth, they made a job for me. Look, they can use the extra help but I know much of what I'm earning--I should say getting--is coming from them. Not forever but to tide me over. To get me going again."

"That's wonderful," I said.

"We had a little savings and he's been pretty good about sending the checks he's required to send. But, at least as important, I'm getting back on my feet. Just like they said I would."

"And the children?" Rona asked.

"Managing, managing," Paula said. "They're tough. And if they're not, this will toughen them up. You need to be tough here. It's a tough place." She paused as if to think if she had expressed herself as she intended.

"I mean to say, not tough in an unfeeling way. But times are always hard here. Not just now. Pretty much always, and that makes it tough. And . . ."

"I think I know what you're going to say," Rona said, nodding her head.

"We need to learn, they need to learn how to take care of themselves and others. Which we do. I'm not saying it's a paradise here. Every small town has its issues. I think that's because we know so much about each other's business. But we also take care of those we have issues with. That's the way we have to be."

"And," Rona said, "that's the main reason why it feels so good to be back."