Little known fact: earmuffs were invented in Farmington. Today it is a college town housing one of the University of Maine campuses, and it is home to many farmers. Unlike the cooks we overheard in New Hampshire, the farmers in Farmington, Maine don’t need anymore of this rain. Several of the locals we’ve met are desperate for some sun for their drenched potato crops.
Geographically, Farmington is also the decision point on Route 4 to Saddleback or Route 27 to Sugarloaf. And, twenty miles north of Jackson, Maine, you are pretty much assured a Moose sighting.
Two traditions that we’ll have to live without: visiting the thrift shop, the Farmington Diner. Well, I’m dramatizing the thrift shop. They actually moved two stores down, but it doesn’t have the same feel to it. And, the Farmington Diner? Rite Aid bought out the Diner, and was going to have it demolished. Locals tried to rally and buy another property space for it in town, but they couldn’t raise enough interest or, more importantly, money. Finally, just before demolition, someone bought the Diner and it is sitting on a piece of property 10 miles away in Wilton awaiting some TLC.
For me, the removal of the Diner is just another tragedy in the life of a small town. It’s adding to the dependency on the Walmart, McDonalds, Burger King that lie in wait five minutes outside of the historical town – the new Main Street of the 21st century. So, it’s out there (if you hadn’t perceived this yet), I don’t like change and I’m extremely sentimental.
Instead of the Diner, we had breakfast at the Homestead. The Homestead has its own weekly Red Sox trivia newspaper – who knew Curt Shilling is originally from Alaska? Our waiter was a native Mainer with a wicked sense of humor, “Ladies first – that’s just a guideline.” I tried out their Wi-Fi afterwards and posted a few blogs while Neil and Eleni got the oil changed and my Dad and Alex went foraging for Legos.
We puttered around town and then returned to the cabin where we continued to do a lot of nothing. Neil finally got stir crazy and played golf, my Dad and Alex went off to buy lobsters, and Eleni and I hunted for slugs.
We met a family down by the lake that was visiting from Rhode Island. They bought some property near here five years ago and they drive up every winter to snowmobile. This is the first time they have risked coming to Maine in the summer, but it was just as they expected, “there’s nothing to do here.”
What? I may be passing judgment here, but…what? Isn’t that the point?
Maybe it’s just that after our summer of constant purposeful activities, I’m a bit protective of doing nothing. In fact, this might be the one summer where I’ve not read a single book.
I had high hopes of reading several books, but life has been so full in other ways. I also didn’t want the travel writers’ ideas to inadvertently become my own; Steinbeck, Twain, Kerouac, Frazier, Least Heat-Moon will be read after the fact. While we are at it, why are the great USA travel writers all men? Plenty of Pioneer women kept journals and their reflections have helped shaped historians’ understanding of the west, but where are the women who purposefully wrote books about the USA experience in the 20th century? Or, have I just missed something…
We walked to the one store in Industry, just next to the lake, the Ugly Moose. We picked up some Bear Foot Brownie ice-cream and, in three minutes, we were back at the cabin.
Heavy rain again. Drowning Maine’s potatoes.
Clearwater Lake in Industry
The monkeys playing with Eleni and new doll from my Dad
The lobsters before their death...sigh. They were named, even.
The monkeys helping Alex put together his Legos!
Playing cribbage...
And writing these blog postings...again, sigh.
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