All It Takes Is A Little Love

We wanted to visit Portland while we were in Maine in spite of our daughter’s comment that it was not worth the effort. Instead after enjoying another yummy meal at Wild Oats we drove south and soon were walking through the downtown area and beginning to think that the critique had been somewhat accurate. There really was not much to see there so we travelled down to the the port which was buzzing with activity and way too many tourists for our tastes. It was great to see but we had become accustomed to the slow pace of Brunswick, Topsham, Freeport and other enchanting areas and somehow did not find all of the commotion to be enticing. 

We decided to instead to head over the the Portland Head Lighthouse. It was also filled with curious travelers, but the fantastic views of the ocean made the crowds more bearable. We walked around a bit and took several photos before heading over to Falmouth where Mike’s favorite professor and mentor, Dr. S. Henry Monsen, had once lived. It was a beautiful area boasting lovely homes and stunning seaside views. It was also the location of Town Landing Market where we had once enjoyed incredibly delicious crab rolls with our friends, Egon and Marita. 

The place had hardly changed and the tastiness of the crab roll was as delicious as ever. There had been a short rainfall just before we arrived but we still found an outside table protected under an overhang. We enjoyed our luscious meal in a quiet and serene atmosphere watching the people who walked or drove by. It was an idyllic scene that made me want to enquire about homes for sale in the area. 

I remembered how relaxing the evenings with Dr. Monsen had been in our previous visits when we sat outside sipping on wine and listening to Hank entertain us with his outlooks on the world. I thought of how wonderful it would be to spend just one more hour with him for old times sake. Instead we simply drove around on a tour of the little town and then headed back to Brunswick satisfied with our brief visit to days gone by, 

We agreed to meet our granddaughter a bit later than usual on our final day in Maine. She had some business to keep her busy during the morning so we instead drove to the area where we had seen an old cemetery. We have a tendency to walk around in such places to get an idea of the history of the area. This one was particularly interesting because it was in a field next to a still active church that was established in the early eighteen hundreds. Many of the folks resting for eternity there had been born before the American Revolution. Their stories engraved on weathered headstones spoke of faith and hardships. The saddest among them were those dedicated to women who died from complications in childbirth and those of babies who lived for only weeks or months before succumbing. It was quite humbling to think of how difficult the times must have been.

On this adventure we also encountered a cattle pound created out of local stones during the seventeen hundreds. The circular enclosure was used to round up stray animals that were wandering about the town. It was secured by a locked gate so that nobody would be able to help themselves to the livestock without first proving ownership and then paying fines and fees for the care and feeding of the creatures. 

A little farther down the road we saw a delightful sight. Colorful quilts were hanging on a clothesline marked with a sign that they were for sale. We only stopped long enough o take a photo of the lovely creations even though I wanted to know more about the person who had created them. I suppose that Mike was holding his breath lest I suggest finding out how much they cost and then insist on buying one. 

We picked up our granddaughter around lunchtime and headed to Harpswell again where we indulged in more seafood at The Dolphin, a restaurant with yet another amazing view of the ocean. We sat outside at a wooden table taking in the glories of the area. The scene was breathtaking and the food was outstanding. My order of haddock came with a complimentary blueberry muffin that put every other one I have eaten to shame. It was so wonderful there that I was reluctant to leave. I again found myself imagining what it would be like to live in Maine full time, but I’m not so sure I would take to the winter weather. 

Our time in Maine was coming to an end. We helped our granddaughter run a few more errands before we were scheduled to leave. A visit to Target and a late dinner at Panera Bread closed the chapter on our visit. We had hoped to try a Colombian restaurant called Maiz but unfortunately most of the locally owned places were closed on Monday. We would have to return one day to fulfill that experience. Perhaps we will be back when the time comes for her to graduate from college. I’m more than ready to put that date on my calendar and make reservations for another beautiful visit to Maine. 

One more night at our quaint motel and a good night’s rest readied us for the two thousand mile journey back home. In spite of loving my everyday life in Texas I was not yet ready to say goodbye to Maine.

We picked up our granddaughter early on a gloriously sunny and cool Saturday morning. She recommended that we start our day by visiting a local eatery called Wild Oats located in one of the many nearby towns that dotted the area. The drive through the countryside was worth the trip, so it was an added treat to find the incredible variety of food at the huge complex. 

It was difficult to decide whether to get a breakfast sandwich or just try the many enticing pastries on display. There were even huge containers of soups of every kind and salads that appeared to have been prepared straight from a garden. I felt like a kid in a candy story as I tried to decide what I wanted to eat. A conversation with a couple who were in town for the Bowdoin College International Music Festival convinced me that I had to taste “the world’s best” mushroom soup. Since they were filling several one quart containers to the rim I felt that the soup must be quite special, so I dove in without hesitation. 

At first we sat outside to enjoy the pleasant seventy degree weather, a welcome change from the unremitting heat of one hundred degree days back home. A busy bee determined to invade our space drove us back inside. I did not mind the inconvenience created by the bee because I am allergic to that insect’s stings. Besides my mushroom soup was as heavenly as the people had described. Nothing would have been able to ruin my delight. I found myself wishing that I had purchased more of the yummy concoction like the people who had recommended it to me had done. 

We made one more trip to gather more of my granddaughter’s belongings that were locked away in a storage unit. We made quick work of getting everything in her room and then headed to Freeport, the mecca for those of us who like camping and the outdoors, also known as the headquarters of LL Bean.

The town of Freeport is lovely and a kind of village has built up over the years around the LL Bean complex. We parked near a British store and then leisurely walked through the many shops leading to our main destination. Just as we were about to enter one of the many LL Bean stores we were approached by a friendly fellow who asked if we would like to be VIP guests at the concert scheduled for the evening. 

At first we were not sure if we were about to be entangled in a scam, but we soon learned that the invitation was legitimate so we registered for the event. We were presented with lanyards declaring that we were LL Bean VIPs for the day which made us mini celebrities wherever we went for the rest of our time in Freeport, especially inside the LL Bean stores 

I have been a huge fan of LL Bean for years. I get one of their live wreaths every Christmas and sometimes send them to friends as gifts. Their flannel shirts are the best and I find myself purchasing at least one of them regularly as well. In fact I had Mike take a photo of a new pattern that I would like to receive for Christams or my birthday.

Walking through their big store was like a fairyland for me. It literally took hours to see everything and I made notes of many items that will be on my shopping list this fall. I found myself wishing that it is actually cold enough to use all of the wonderful things they have to offer in the place where I live. I don’t know if the LL Bean products are of a special kind of quality that lasts forever or if they do so for me because I use most of what I purchase only a few times each year in my almost tropical town. 

Mike found a light jacket to wear when there is a chill in the air in Texas. Our granddaughter wanted a pair of soft pajamas and I found some fabulous sweatpants on sale along with an adorable pair of winter slippers. Of course we had to get some blueberry jam as well because blueberries are the special fruit of Maine. I also made a checklist of comforters and sheets that I plan to purchase once I returned home.  

We were happy with our finds but quite hungry so we found a pub that was bustling with people which is always a good sign. The food was as excellent as everything we had already sampled in Maine. As a Houston foodie I was never once disappointed by the culinary delights that we found. 

The weather was becoming chilly as the sun began to set so we made another trip back to LL Bean to purchase a warm throw to keep us from getting cold while we watched the concert. With our VIP badges we were ceremoniously led to the front of the outdoor seating where each of us received an LL Bean bag with a cap and a very nice aluminum water bottle inside. We really did feel special and continued to marvel at our good fortune. 

The event featured Shawn Colvin and Marc Cohn, two Grammy winning songwriters and performers. None of us had heard of them but as soon as they began to perform we knew that we were in the presence of incredibly talented professionals. For an hour and a half plus an encore they kept us spellbound and tapping our toes. Not even the coolness of the night could dampen our enthusiasm. We felt as special as LL Bean had hoped we would. We went back to our motel room excited about what we might see next and one hundred percent in love with Maine. Given an opportunity I do believe I would move there in a heartbeat. 

Maine was originally part of Massachusetts with settlement by colonists as early as the sixteen hundreds. The relationship with Massachusetts lasted for almost two hundred years but the citizens in the area that would become Maine often felt neglected by the state government. When Massachusetts left the coastline unprotected during the War of 1812 the citizens began to lobby for independence. That break came with the Missouri Compromise when Maine became a free state to balance the slave state of Missouri. In 1820, Maine was officially named the twenty third state in the Union.

Before meeting up with our granddaughter we struck out on our own taking in the glories of the countryside. There is water everywhere in the form of lakes, creeks, rivers and the ocean. The land itself is filled with ancient trees and lovely flowers in the spring and summer. Signs of history as far back as the beginnings of our nation abound. There is a find of unspoken reverence for the preservation of both nature and historic places in the area. 

We were stunned by the presence of so many older individuals and would eventually learn from our granddaughter that an aging population is actually a major concern of the state. The majority of residents are retired and growing older creating problems for the workforce and housing. There are not enough locals young enough to fill the jobs and those who choose to live in Maine find it difficult to find affordable housing. Leaders worry that not enough is being done to encourage younger Americans to embrace the state. 

Bowdoin College is at the center of the town of Brunswick which had been our destination. Its massive campus and student houses dominate much of the main street in the town. Founded just after the American Revolution, it has been a center of education for famous authors, politicians, and entrepreneurs. It is consistently ranked in the top five of liberal arts colleges in the nation, presently at number three. Known as a “Little Ivy” it is home to some of the top students in the country. Only five hundred young men and women are chosen to enter the freshman class each year. The competition is fierce with applicants from all fifty states and from around the world. 

When students arrive for their first year they sign a book that also contains names like Longfellow, Franklin Pierce and Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, a hero of the Union Army during the Civil War who received a Medal of Honor for his actions at the battle of Gettysburg. Chamberlain would eventually become president of the college as well. 

The time honored traditions at the school continue year after year. All two thousand of the students feast on lobster at the beginning of a new season of study. There are fall athletic competitions between other “Little Ivies” like Amherst and Colby. The faculty members make it a point to get to know each of their students and to guide them on their educational journeys. The school offers opportunities for internships, job placements, and admissions to graduate programs that are unparalleled with a near perfect graduation rate.

Once we met up with our granddaughter we spent a great deal of time exploring the buildings on campus and learning about the school followed by a quick trip to the Giant Steps in Harpswell, one of Maine’s many coastal towns. It was a quaint village nestled on ancient rocks including those that appear to be a stairway for a giant person. The waves crashed on the formations and boats dotted the water in the distance. It was a breathtaking view that I will never forget. It contrasted with the seeming serenity of the white houses on the cliffs that were festooned with summer flowers. No postcard could have better captured the essence of Maine. 

The rest of our day was dedicated to moving our granddaughter’s belongings from her internship apartment to the house in which she will live this school year. Given that we filled the back of our truck four times and made multiple trips up and down the narrow stairs, we were glad that we had decided to come help her. I can’t even imagine how she would have accomplished this alone with only a bicycle to carry her back and forth. 

With group effort we knocked out the work quickly and decided it was time for dinner. She recommended a place called the Salty Dog which was packed with hungry revelers.The menu was massive with a variety of seafood, sandwiches and burgers. I decided to try the shrimp which was quite good while Mike, chose the haddock which was out of this world. The ambiance was lively and lovely with a spectacular view of the river. We enjoyed learning all about the area from our granddaughter and watching the people as they passed by our table. We realized very quickly that the folks in Maine are incredibly friendly. 

We were all tired from the exertion of moving our granddaughter from one place to another so we departed and headed back to the motel to rest up for the coming adventures. We happened to see that one of our favorite movies, Jeremiah Johnson, was showing on television so we of course had to watch it even though Mike had viewed it so many times that he was quoting lines along with the actors throughout the film. Somehow we felt that it had been a perfect day.

We had slept in Wilmington, Delaware in a Holiday Inn. It was surely an ordinary American evening with dinner at the nearby Olive Garden. Everything was reliably good. The food was as expected and the people were friendly and helpful. We slept well in the impeccable and comfortable hotel so we had nothing to complain about. In the morning we enjoyed a good breakfast prepared by a man who was obviously proud of his post as server at the hotel. He scurried about making certain that everything was pristine and delicious. It was all in all a very good start for the final leg of our journey which would take us to Brunswick, Maine. 

We were rested and our tummys were full when we drove over the state line into New Jersey. The pace on the road picked up quickly, especially after we entered the New Jersey Turnpike which was filled with cars and trucks heading north. The tolls were enormous so we had to pull out all of our cash just to be certain that we would be prepared. Luckily we had become accustomed to toll roads back home so we knew how to react.

Very soon we saw the New York City skyline on the horizon. Because of a fog it resembled a watercolor painting. It was a mysterious site beckoning us to move forward even as we knew that we would soon be running through an unforgiving gauntlet of traffic that would not allow us to make mistakes or relax. Crossing over from New Jersey to New York on the George Washington Bridge is not for drivers who are faint of heart. Luckily on the day when we made our attempt the traffic kept moving forward and our trusty mapping program kept us in the correct lanes. After about thirty minutes we were in Yonkers and then in lovely areas of New York state filled with massive trees and a slower pace of live. 

We were getting more and more anxious to reach our destination as we rushed through Connecticut and then Massachusetts and New Hampshire. We almost shouted for joy when we saw the welcome sign for Maine. We had traveled two thousand miles from home to help our granddaughter move from the summer apartment where she had lived while completing an internship with a local city government. She had no transportation other than a bicycle and the town was still mostly devoid of the students who would soon be arriving to begin a new semester of school. There was really nobody there to assist her so we had to come do some work and enjoy a cross country vacation as well. 

We found our motel easily and checked in feeling excited and exhausted all at once. It was an old style place by the side of the road that looked as though it had been recently renovated. The paint was fresh and the bathroom had new fixtures. All in all it was clean and comfortable and the price was great compared the the name brand hotels nearby. Our five night stay there would be perfect. 

It was late and our granddaughter had one more day of work to complete her internship so we spent the evening reconnoitering. We drove around the campus of Bowdoin College and walked along main street in the downtown area that was filled with quaint shops. Soon we found a German restaurant claiming to be the only one of its kind in Maine. The owner had trained as a chef in Germany and had fallen in love with the town of Brunswick at first sight. We felt that the food would be good because the place was packed and a sign outside recommended making a reservation to be assured of getting a table. A kind woman working behind the bar pulled some strings to get us a spot and we found ourselves enjoying the people watching, the music and the food. Richard’s hit the spot for the weary travelers that we were. 

There was a leisurely pace to everything in the town and we felt our hearts beating more slowly and our minds feeling more calm than they had on the road. We fell in love with the area instantly and would have many more delightful experiences to come. 

Maine is known as the pine tree state and vacationland. I certainly witnessed its beauty right away. While the temperatures hovered in the one hundreds back home we never got higher than eighty degrees while in Maine. The nights were even cooler and there was a bit of rain on most days. Being there was a welcome relief from the lack of rain and the unrelenting heat we had experienced all summer long. 

We retired for the night looking forward to seeing our granddaughter and more of this delightful place in the morrow. I secretly began wondering how it might be possible to live in such a serene town. 

The next leg of our trip began in northern North Carolina near the border with Virginia. I was intrigued by being there because my Grandpa William Little had often told me that he was born in North Carolina near the Virginia border. His mother died from childbirth complications so his overwhelmed father took him into Virginia to ask William’s grandmother to accept the job of raising the infant. William would spend the next thirteen years of his life under the loving guidance of Sarah Reynolds. Somehow I imagined that we were somewhere near the place where my grandfather spent his boyhood. He had always described the mountains that loomed over the farm from a distance. While I will probably never find the exact spot, I now have a very good idea of how the land must have looked. 

The area just north of the Carolinas is lush and green and filled with manicured farms. Corn is often the crop of choice and fields of it are growing as far as the eye can see. Farms are nestled in a valley with views of the far away mountains making the panorama quite lovely. 

Before long we were passing near Lexington, Virginia which is the home of Washington and Lee University, one of the oldest and most prestigious liberal arts colleges in the country. Of course we had to take a look because we enjoy both history and education. The town itself was also home to Andrew Jackson at one time so the there is much to see and contemplate. All in one small area so much happened, often with individuals with very controversial views and ways of living. Nonetheless, everything about Lexington is fascinating.

We were on a fairly tight schedule so we took a walk around the campus of Washington and Lee University which is built on high ground surrounded by ancient trees and lush lawns. In the center is a chapel where Robert E. Lee is buried. Outside of the church is the grave of his horse. The buildings date back centuries and great care has been taken to keep them preserved for posterity. 

While the campus was quite still because the students and faculty had not yet returned from summer break, it had the feel of a place of great learning and seriousness dating back centuries. It appeared to be a lovely place to study history, government or even computer science. George Washington would have been an advocate of a liberal arts education that introduces students to the great ideas and ways of thinking critically, attributes that are necessary beyond just learning a trade if we are to continue to progress as humans.

The town itself is a treasure trove of old homes and edifices that bear the mark of times past. Tourists take guided tours in horse drawn carriages. Shops and quaint restaurants line the streets. Next door to Washington and Lee University is the campus of the Virginia Military Institute which is a sprawling complex of very no nonsense buildings. 

After spending time in Lexington we spent time driving in the countryside that was stunningly beautiful. We briefly crossed into West Virginia where more farms and horse ranches abounded. In the little towns there were roadside fruit and vegetable stands offering fresh produce picked right from the fields. 

From Virginia we drove through a small section of Baltimore near the sprawling port. I could not help thinking of episodes from The Wire, an extraordinary televisions series about the interplay between police and citizens heavily involved in the drug trade. While I know that the show is mostly fiction my understanding is that the story itself derived from real incidents within the city’s police department. It was enlightening to see the gritty side of Baltimore in person because my only other visit there had been in a nice area. The view from my car reminded me of a young man that I had met at a Georgetown University graduation who was planning to teach high school students in the rough part of Baltimore where he had grown up. He was determined to give back his own good fortune to people who are sometimes forgotten. I could see evidence of their plight as we sped by.

We belatedly learned that our Houston Astros were playing the Baltimore Orioles that very day. If we had known perhaps we would have decided to stay for the game. Luckily the Astros won and we got to celebrate later that evening. For the time being we drove along Maryland highways until we were ultimately in Delaware. 

Our final destination of the day was Wilmington where President Biden has a home. I joked that we should drop by to say hello, but remembered that he was out of town on a three state tour so we just kept going until we reached our hotel. It was conveniently located across a small road from several restaurants all of which were national chains.

We were as American as apple pay in staying at a Holiday Inn and eating at an Olive Garden. I thought about how I had worked for Holiday Inn one summer making reservations. I felt that I had to work extra hard because the woman who hired me mentioned that she had never before chosen a student from the University of Houston. She had felt the Rice University and The University of St. Thomas would have better candidates for summer work. I was happy to prove her wrong by winning a sales contest that she created. Over the prize of lunch with her she happily announced that she had learned that Houston Cougars were better than okay. 

Anyway we we pleasantly tired from another five hundred mile journey with a few side trips so we enjoyed fine Olive Garden dining at its best. We chowed down on the traditional salad and breadsticks along with spaghetti and wine. We fell into a lovely slumber dreaming of reaching our final destination on the morrow. I felt content that I knew just a bit more about how my grandfather had lived as well. We had made many wonderful discoveries and more were to come.