June 26, 2014--Midcoast: Change

I asked the previous owners of our cottage, who live in Sarasota, why they had a place so far north. If it was to be a getaway from the heat and humidity of Florida summers, why not have a place much closer, say, in the mountains of North Carolina.

"Well," he said, "we came to the Midcoast of Maine right after we got married--that was more than 40 years ago--and liked what we saw. There is of course the natural beauty but then there is also the slowed-down lifestyle and all the local history which people respect and remain true to. We thought about how nice it would be to be able to visit regularly, but we had various obligations and a business in Florida that we needed to tend to and didn't get back here for many years."

"I understand," I said, "This really is a special place. But how . . ."

"I'm getting to that. About 15 years ago we came back for a vacation and loved it all over again. You know what especially appealed to us? The fact that so little had changed. There were no new houses, many of the businesses were owned by the same people from 30 years before, and we even recognized some we had met during our first visit. And amazingly, so did they! I mean, remember us. So we impulsively bought a place and never looked back."

Rona and I have been here now for only five years and like some of the same things. Though not much has changed during that time, it's not as if everything stands still, nor does it feel like people are stuck in place. Even those who have to struggle don't whine about it and find ways to enjoy life.

So when two Sundays ago, on the day we arrived for the season, we turned off US 1, and then drove south on Route 129, and as usual slowed down and held our breathes out of concern that some of the familiar places had been transformed or were no longer there.

We slipped through Damariscotta happy to see all the shops intact and everything seeming familiar. "That's good," Rona said, with a sigh of relief, "Nothing's changed. Just how I like it."

Ever pessimistic, I said, "Don't get too excited, we still have ten miles to go."

And we ticked them off one-by-one, now on the Bristol Road, feeling assured, as we crept along, that things were as we had left them six months ago.

"That's what I love about this place," Rona said, "They know what to value. It's not all churn, churn, churn or getting, getting, getting. Back in the city after being away for only a few months our shoe repair shop was gone as was our dry cleaners and a lot of restaurants."

"And don't forget all the new banks, drug stores, and coffee places. But here . . ."

Rona cut me off, "Slow down, stop, look, look over there."

I hit the breaks afraid there was an animal in the road. "At what?"

At that." She was pointing at something on her side of the car.

I pulled over onto the margin. "I don't see what you're seeing."

"Over there. By Farmhouse Lane."

"It looks the same to me. Just like in November."

"You're not looking at the right place. Bend down so you can see out my window. Next to the street sign."

"Oh my, I see what you mean."

"That's different, right? That wasn't there last year."

"I think you're right."

"It's a little tacky, don't you think?"

"I agree," I said, "Very."

"I know people like to name their houses. Like our place is called the Lilac Cottage because of all the lilac bushes. So I'm OK with them calling this place The Nuthatch's Nest. Nice alliterative name. But the sign!"

"That's my point," Rona said.  "The name's fine, the sign's fine, but the little painting on it is another story."

"Yeah, of the nest with three cute little eggs in it."

"At least there's no mother nuthatch."

"You know," I said, "to me we're sounding a little spoiled. This is a live-and-let-live place so who are we to complain about something like this."

"It's just that we were talking about how we like the changelessness here and how something this innocuous stands out and . . . but," she caught herself, "But I think you're right. Actually, we're sounding more than a little spoiled."

"I think we need to calm down," I said, swinging back onto the road, "and count our many blessings."

Rona reached over, smiled, and kissed me softly. "Many."