July 23, 2012--Mi Ladder, Su Ladder; Mi Garden, Su Garden

We had heard that Mainers can be exclusive. That those whose families have been here for generations--born locally or coming here forever--do not readily welcome "flat-landers" or "cottage people."

"Be ready for one syllable grunts as responses to 'Good morning,'" we were alerted, "Or, for that matter as one side of a really one-way conversation."

We were told that if we said, "Nice day, isn't it?" we should expect to hear back, "Uh."

Or, "Yesterday's rain was good for our garden," would at best get us an "Umm."

Trying to show respect for local livelihoods, if we were to say, "Read in the paper other day [meaning the Lincoln County News] that the wholesale price of lobster's down below three dollars. Terrible thing," we probably wouldn't even elicit a disdainful grunt.

But we found quite the opposite. Not that we're entirely welcome at the lobstermen's shed in Pemaquid Harbor, but long-term residents--descendants of the town's founders as well as summer people whose families have been coming here for more than 150 years--have been quite welcoming.

Ken, who is indigenous, keeps us supplied with kindling. He drives by and if he sees our wood pile more than half depleted he drops off a couple of old milk crates full, leaving them for us on our front deck.

If we need an extension ladder, we are told about the "community ladder" by Anne and Boyce and to just come by and borrow it.

Then an evening or two ago another up-the-road neighbor, Jill, cut some lettuce from her garden and brought it over so it could accompany the steak we were grilling for dinner. It was both delicious and beautiful--a virtual salad bouquet--and, since she needs to be away for a couple of weeks, Rona took a picture of it and emailed it to her.

This is what Jill wrote back--

Thanks for the really beautiful picture of your dinner.  Please, please go to my garden and take more.  My brother is there, but I've told him that the garden is open territory.  Pretty soon cucumbers will come, and then beans galore. I will tell my brother to expect that you may come.  Boyce will water things, and he and Anne plan to use the garden as their own.  

I miss Maine.  We got back to torrid Kentucky yesterday, and now I'm effectively held hostage indoors by the crushing heat.   I'll try not to think about the sounds of gulls and of lobster boats, borne shoreward by fresh sea breezes.  

I loved that you came in for a visit last week, and I hope that you will grace my little house again with your cheerful and interesting selves.  

Cherish the cool.  

We will do that and cherish her as well.