We all can remember the home we grew up in and what life was like. Be it a large city or in the rural countryside, the word home always evokes a special feeling. The life we eventually make is shaped by our memories of that place. And in movies, books and song there are those unique reminders of home: the jubilant shouts of George Bailey at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life” or the bejeweled heel taps of Dorothy whispering, “there is no place like home” in “The Wizard of Oz.”
But when home is in a small town, I believe there is an essence that makes it even more special than anywhere else. It is an essence that if maintained, nurtured and appreciated will always beckon one to either visit or return home. But, once that essence is changed, infringed upon by a surreal grandness that transforms it into something not recognizable, it is changed forever. There is no going back.
I was raised on the south side of Allentown, Pennsylvania. It’s a whole lot bigger now than it was back then or since Billy Joel sang about it. To a small boy, it was a big place. And over time, as I grew up, that place got bigger, but not even close to better: more people, more stuff, more traffic and more headaches.
My wife and I eventually moved to a small town at the foothills of the Pocono Mountains. There we would raise our family. Though only a 35-minute drive from the city, the change was dramatic. With its diagonal parking on Main Street, the small schools, owner-operated shops and a center green with a classic bandstand gazebo, it wasn’t Mayberry — but it sure felt like it.
Now living Down East, we can drive in any direction and the small towns quietly invite us in. The shops and services seem to all meld together, miraculously appearing when one is needed, such as gas, food or rest, and the businesses work together rather than in competition. If one shop does not have what a customer needs, an employee might suggest another place that can help.
Machiasport is the second small town we now call home. Composed of four villages: Bucks Harbor, Larrabee, the East Side and Starboard, where we live, the area is punctuated with islands, coastline and bluffs overlooking some of the most beautiful scenery Down East has to offer. Machiasport is a place of fishermen and clammers. With no essential services available, the drive to Machias is often taken out of necessity, but the scenery and people living here easily make up for that inconvenience.
Never have I been somewhere where the essence of family and community is so overwhelming. Why is this? I answer it this way to friends back in Pennsylvania. “We are in the middle of nowhere, and all we have is each other.” Now, that’s an exaggeration but not too much of one. There is always the distance to contend with for essential services, and the planning that goes into the simplest of drives into town is a little more involved than a trip to the supermarket. But those inconveniences are easily forgotten when the people here share of themselves and are always ready to help — a big aspect of that Down East essence. Sometimes letting a place simply, “just be” is enough and in the end will be what people from away, just like our family, will be drawn to.
Imagine a place where the essence of home pervades the land, the air and is always present in the smiles and attitudes of the locals. Imagine pristine coastlines, coves and hamlets where time literally stands still. Imagine a night sky that speaks back when you look up, and imagine a place where your children and their children will return and be able to say: “This is home just the way I remembered it.”
Life here is challenging and you always tend to be preparing for something. Call it the calm-before-the-storm feeling. It pervades the area, but that’s OK; we know we have friends and neighbors here that will lend a hand if needed. There is no George Bailey or Dorothy here, but there are plenty of hand waves, smiles and, of course, the Down East-dipped salutation, “Well, hi there, deeah” to make anyone feel that they have arrived home.