Day 1: (September 6, 2012)
There is hardly a way to explain the
beauty of this place. I went to sleep
last night to the sound of silence…. quieter than I’ve ever heard it. Almost concave… as if the world fell into a
giant sink hole specifically so I could get some rest.
I slept better than I have in a good while on an old squeaky mattress
with no sheets and an 80’s model comforter.
I am in awe of this experience, thus far. I don’t know what heaven is like, but I have come
to believe that if I live a good life, love divinely, and tread lightly on this
planet…. I will go to Maine when I die.
As I have settled comfortably into an Adirondack chair here on this
slightly dilapidated deck overlooking a small clearing in an otherwise dense
forest of spruce trees, I am almost brought to tears by the gratitude and
inspiration welling up inside of me. It
is 7am, and I hear crickets, and now and again, the faint sound of a diesel
engine most likely propelling one of those beautiful little lobster boats
through Penobscot bay. The fact that
everything looks old and is a tad rundown seems apropos as just yesterday while
driving along US 1, I made the comment, “Maine sure has a way of making old
things look so new.” And it’s true. This part of the United States can make you
feel a little guilty for living like most humans do…. with central air-conditioning
in high rise condo buildings, microwaves, designer bags, and automatic V-8
engines…. Piling dumpsters full of trash out by the curb for someone else to
haul off, going to the grocery store three times a day just because we can….
wasting water... and resources…… and time….. on things that don’t matter. The people here on Isle au Haut live their lives deliberately. They have no choice if they want to survive, but they seem to revel in the work it takes to sustain simple daily operations in such a remote paradise, and it’s a safe bet that most of them also believe life is a journey… not a destination.
While standing at the dock in
Stonington yesterday waiting for the ferry, we met Nancy, Sue, and a few other Isle
au Haut locals. Nancy is a retired R.N. and an artist who
did her best to try to find free parking for our rental car, stating unequivocally,
“You kids need to spend your money on what you want to spend it on…. Not
parking!” Ha! I love it.
And I couldn’t agree more.
Unfortunately, though we tried thoroughly to find the recommended off-street
parking, our venture availed us nothing so we circled back to the dock and paid
to park. A little later, Nancy offered to loan us her kayaks
during our stay….Another very kind gesture, and an offer which Sarah and I received
with great privilege. We talked about fishing and lobstering, and,
of course, we talked about our dogs.
Nancy and her husband Bill have a Golden Doodle named Moxie, and legend
has it that Moxie is the craziest of the island dogs. Well, that’s what Nancy says, anyway. I can’t help but think of our own golden retriever, Sailor, and the 5
years it took for him to quit embarrassing us everywhere we went.
Moxie’s 2 yrs. old. This ought to be good.
Sue is a retired EMT, a General Store
Employee, the Town Registrar, Chairman of the school board ( I should mention,
there are 5 children who attend school on Isle au Haut: 4 boys and 1 girl.),
and a few other things she rattled off so quickly I couldn’t keep up. The two women were more than welcoming and
went out of their way to make us comfortable.
My hair is fuscia. No one batted
an eye. I knew immediately I was going
to fall in love with this place. 
We watched as the captain and
dockhand loaded food, supplies, a new set of tires for someone’s island
vehicle, some new washer blades for another, a pallet of stock for the general
store, and a small stack of lumber. Then
we boarded the mail boat, found a place to sit amongst the inventory, and
settled in for what would turn out to be one of the most majestic boat rides I’ve
experienced to date…. And I’ve been on a
few boat rides. 
As we shoved off the dock at
Stonington, Sue enthusiastically beckoned, “Look! A seal!”
And sure enough, off the port side stern, there emerged a tiny, round
head, followed by the arc of a shiny rubber body, then the gentle splash of lazy
tail flippers…. Frolicking in and out of
the gauntlet of lobster buoys and moorings as if they were its own personal playground. Then as quickly as the seal appeared, it
disappeared. 
As we crossed the bay, our captain
also navigated the tiny spans between the littering of lobster buoys; brightly
colored and creatively incomparable to one another. Along the way, we saw things our eyes had
never before beheld. These are the
moments which remind us just how alive we really are. This is why traveling to places we’ve never
been is so essential to our souls. My
imagination runs wild with images of the first settlers, the first lighthouse
keepers, the first lobster boat captains, and the first homes atop granite cliffs. Back then, life was nothing if not deliberate
. These things were not a luxury but a necessity, and it’s always so romantic to me to imagine the centuries old
footsteps I’m standing in. I truly am in
love with so many people I’ve never met.
As we entered the thoroughfare to Isle au
Haut, Nancy and Sue assumed tour guide status.
Nancy, with enthusiasm which seemed to spring only from a place of deep
gratitude, revealed her amazing house atop the lush green landscape rising from
the water’s edge like a tidal wave of vegetation. Sue kept us informed as we passed the church
and the general store, and proudly pointed out her husband when we arrived at
the Town Landing. As we approached the
dock, Nancy showed Sarah and me her boat, which was moored in the middle of the
thoroughfare waiting patiently for her captain and whomever else may want to
enjoy her. Our hearts were full as we stepped
from the gently rocking boat onto the soft sway of the floating dock, and
ultimately… upon this fantastic piece of God’s real estate.
As we disembarked and dragged our
supplies and luggage up the ramp toward the main dock, there were people everywhere.
The surface of the ramp was made of a tightly corrugated aluminum which made a
noise like a single-engine airplane as we pulled our rolling suitcases across
it. It felt about as offensive as a curse
word in church. As I approached the top, I had an urge to
announce, “We’re here! The party can
start!” It is written that there are
only about 50 year round residents on Isle au Haut, and I’m pretty sure most of
the them were at the dock this day waiting for the mail boat. As we
stepped onto the town landing, I realized we had no idea who we were looking
for. As is typically the case when this
happens, I reached for my cell phone and the contact number from which I could
retrieve pertinent information, but I soon learned that just because we didn’t know
who we were looking for didn’t mean there wasn’t someone looking for us. Not to mention, I had no cell service anyway…
which would turn out to be a blessed, blessed thing. So out of the bustling crowd of islanders and
tightly situated vehicles emerged Jeff, the father of Peter Burke, whom had
been my contact up to this point. He reached out, shook my hand and said,
“Hello! I’m Jeff. You must be Sara!” And as he turned to Sarah Mae, he continued
with a smile and slight chuckle, “And you must be the other Sarah! Welcome to Isle au Haut!” We had been found.
Jeff offered to help load our bags
into the back of his old Isuzu Land Rover. As the three of us began to walk toward his
vehicle, there arose a clatter to our right.
We looked up, and without the slightest bit of uncertainty, shouted,
“Moxie!” For there was no mistaking this
K-9 commotion. Moxie was big. Bigger than I imagined. Partly due to the fluffy mane of semi-curled
hair hanging from him like feathers on a poodle. He was standing, or rather dancing, in the
back of a little red Ford pickup, which I assumed belonged to Nancy’s husband,
Bill. Sue had gone over to say hello to
Moxie, and though I was still able to identify her by the clothes she was
wearing……….. from the shoulders up, she had been eclipsed by a wildly
enthusiastic “hug” from Moxie. Bill and
Nancy’s crazy fur kid was now standing on his hind legs with his forepaws
around Sue’s neck. The scene was all too
familiar to us, and by this time, we were laughing hysterically. After Sue had received a proper greeting from
Moxie, Sarah and I went over to say hello.
Moxie was a tad calmer this time, but not by much. He tried to jump out of the truck once, and
eventually attempted to give us each the same type of “ hug” he’d given Sue,
but because we had left Jeff to do all the work loading our things, we bid our farewells
to Moxie and rushed off to help him with the last of it.
As I passed by the front of the
Land Rover, I couldn’t help but notice the hood ornament, and it would be a
safe bet neither could anyone else. It
was a wooden moose head made from 2x4’s… complete with a full rack of
antlers. I wasted no time telling Jeff
how I admired his handy work as I grabbed the last liter of water and tossed it
atop the heap in the back of the SUV. Once
we were all loaded up, Sarah called shotgun, and I jumped in the back with
Jeff’s dog… an adorable little black lab mix. I
shut the door, and looked over at my seatmate.
He was looking right at me, tail wagging passionately, and I responded, “Good to meet you, too!” We reversed
up the steep entrance to the dock and into the parking area. As Jeff, stepped on the clutch to shift into
1st gear… the whole vehicle
shook and sputtered. This seemed of no
concern to Jeff so I figured I wouldn’t worry about it either. As he gave the old Land Rover some throttle,
it perked right up and carried us to the main island road where we turned left
and headed into “town”.
Jeff announced he was going to give
us a tour. We drove approximately one
block when we arrived at the first stop…. A little shack down near the water
called the Shore Shop. “They just opened
up this year.” Jeff said. “She sells wares from the islanders… a lot of
the people on the island are artists and authors. You can find some of their stuff in
there.” He continued, “Also, this is
where you’ll find your lobster. If you
let them know how much you’ll be needing, you can stop back by around 4pm to
pick it up.” Good to know.
We proceeded roughly another half a
block to the library….. also on the left side of the road and waterfront, where
we received another very informative quip from Jeff, “This here is the
library. I just wanted to show ya in
case you like hangin’ out at the library…… OH!
And they have volleyball on Thursdays!”
I refrained from asking how what he’d just said made any sense, and came
to my own conclusion that they must be maximizing limited facilities by
combining certain community resources. Whatever
the case, I like it. There should ALWAYS
be volleyball at the library.
We proceeded past the post office…
a small, plain white building not much bigger than an outhouse. “There is the post office on your
left….” Jeff said, pausing for the time it
took to roll nearer to the general store, “and this is the general store. It’s open a couple hours a day. This is where you can get more water, food,
etc. if you run out.” And as we would
find out later, when he said a couple hours a day, he meant it. To be precise, 1pm-3m were business
hours. You snooze (or hike up and over a
mountain)… you lose.
We drove a little further as we
came to the fifth and final stop on the tour.
Rising from the road was a narrow
boardwalk, leading to a beautiful, little white chapel with a steeple which
seemed taller than the building itself.
It was breathtaking and so symbolic.
The boardwalk cut a clear path between the shadowy spruces and patches
of lime green cascades. Looking upward
at the steeple as it seemed to puncture the blanket of blue sky above it, I waited
in anticipation for liquid gold to render that tiny pinhole a gushing torrent. This whole scene made all the sense in the
world to me. I don’t go to church much,
but for some reason…. I really liked this one. Probably because it didn't seem tainted by humans... like it was not constructed for money or power but for sanctuary.
As Jeff let off the brake and began to roll toward our next stop, he
simply stated, “…and up there, that’s the church.” I thought that was probably just the right
amount of words.
The Isle au Haut town tour had
taken us approximately 3.5 minutes from start to finish. We turned around, and recounted all of our
stops on our way back through town… which tore through another 30 seconds of
our time. Jeff took us to the cabin, and
on the way told us he is the lighthouse keeper… or, at least, he owns the inn
which was once the keeper’s house. We
would later learn the lighthouse has been deeded to the state (or something which is none of our business). I
pulled out a map I’d printed off the internet (of course I came prepared) , but
he gave us a map he’d picked up at the rangers station, and explained the
hiking trails.
As Jeff gave us a play by play of
each hiking trail on the island, we were riveted. He sat at our little kitchen table literally
acting out what it might be like for us to embark on the many adventures which
lay ahead. When Jeff left for home, it
was almost 6pm, and though we were tempted to grab our packs and get started.... we decided instead to rest our bones and
dream out loud about the amazing experiences awaiting us.
Sarah is awake now, and after she consumes enough coffee to
release her face from its typical morning scrunch, we will get dressed, go to
the bike rack, and find a bike which functions well enough to carry us around
the side of the island to Acadia National Park and the Duck Harbor Mountain
trailhead. Today is going to be a big
day.
