Date: Mon, 17 Nov 1997 16:20:43 -0700 From: Charlie Ford To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com Subject: Grand Manan, A Dreamers Reality After leaving the ferry on Saturday morning I drove onto a most beautiful island. Grand Manan is, as I said, eight miles off the coast of Maine. The island was originally settled by loyalist to the Crown during the early 1700's I believe. There are still descendants of these settlers living on the island and they are not shy about telling you of this fact. The people of the island are nice and plain. They all seem too share a simpleness that goes with the fishermans lifestyle. It reminded me of life in some southern cities like Vidalia, Georgia, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. The first thing I saw as I drove off the ferry was a small village. The road that winds through it seems to be somewhat out of place with the rest of the environment. I sort of felt like it should be just a simple dirt road or something like that. I guess the twentieth century staked it's claim here just like it has in other places. Erleen Christensen, Jon Christensens Mother had e mailed me directions to their place, so I knew basically where I was going. She lives on Castalia marsh just off of Bancroft Point Road which is about three miles down island from North Head where the ferry makes its port. I drove along in wonderment. The tides is one spot along the road seem to come right up to the highway, with nothing but a rocky beach separating them from where you are driving. The little houses that slowly grow fewer as you drive south, are all very basic. There are of course some homes on the island that are a lot more fancy than others, but all in all it is a working class locale, and you can tell it by the homes. The one thing I rapidly noticed is that there are a lot of old cars, and old pick-up trucks. Many of them appear to be rusting fairly badly, but no one really seems to care a whole lot. The fact is that the salty roadways during the winter eat these vehicles up so badly I think it would a futile to try and stop the rust, the folks drive on with a smile. The rusty vehicles reminded me of a joke I heard several years ago. Once there were two fellows that sat down beside each other on this plane going to Texas. One was a fairly bright fellow with nice dress and expensive cowboy boots, and the other was not terribly bright at all. They got to talking and in the conversation they found out that they were both ranchers. The nicely dressed Texan looked at the other man and asked him "How large is your ranch?" The other fellow explained that he owned a couple hundred acres over near Lubbock that grazed a hundred head of sheep and a few cows. Then in turn the 'not so bright' fellow asked the well dressed Texan how big his ranch was. This fellow being a big land owner and oil baron really didn't want to make the other feel bad, so he put it like this. "Well.......if I were to park my truck at one side of my property, and at dawn go out and get in it, crank it up, and start to drive a straight line. I could drive all day long and I still wouldn't be at my other property line by sunset. The 'not so bright' fellow sat there, thought a minute, and said "You know....I used to have a truck like that. So all that said. These people are not driving anything I haven't driven, and may be driving again one day. The fact is that it is such a shame we seem sometime to judge our wealth by the car we drive. But then we also judge folks by the length of their hair, the color of their skin, or the way they express themselves. As I drove I thought of all of these things, the island was doing a good job so far. Finally I reached Bancroft Point Road. I turned into what looked like the driveway. The first thing I saw was a wood cabin with building materials laying around outside. There was a wheelbarrow sitting in the front yard, saw horses on the side close to the door, and a reddish blonde haired woman coming out of the house with a big grin on her face. This was Erleen. She walked up and said, "We were thinking that you had turned tail and headed south. We thought the cold had run you out of the north". I explained that there was no way that this could happen. The Bay of Fundy had been to much of a goal for that to be the case. She invited me in and showed me around the house. This woman had built the biggest portion of this cabin with only some help from her friends and neighbors. She was dressed in overalls and her hair was a total mess. She kept reaching up and trying to straighten it. We talked for a few and she took me down to meet the other two occupants of the Marsh property. The first I met was a young Englishman of maybe 18 or 19 years old. His name was Adam Baggs, and instead of going to college this young man had decided to tour the world. He seemed very nice with something of an edge to him, maybe thinking he was a little older than he in reality was. He carried himself with that normal English demure. You could see the Prep school oozing from him like the pompousness that oozes from most Englishmen you meet. Erleen, Adam, and myself walked on. We strolled down to a small house sitting at the edge of the marsh, I later learned was called The Birdhouse. it was here I met captain James Bates. James is the Captain of a Schooner that he built many years ago. Every year he sails it south to Wilmington, North Carolina, and then in the spring sails it back up to Grand Manan to continue working on developing his property, which adjoins Erleen's on the eastern side. James's property is right on the marsh and looks out onto the Bay. Erleen left us at the Birdhouse to get to know one another. I told James about what I had been doing over the past year and he explained to me what he was doing on his land. He explained that he was trying to create a retreat of sorts. He called it a Yoga retreat that would lend to one growing closer to nature, thereby enhancing the spiritual context of ones belief system. James is a very soft spoken gentleman of about 6 foot, his long lean body, sharp features, and red-hair and beard are those that one would assume a sea captain would have. He wears what I call "go to hell" hats. The little cruising caps that sort of lay over your head and turn into a bill over the eyebrows. He is a good man, with much on his mind. Right now that "much" is heading south to Wilmington and getting away from this cold that he dearly dislikes. He starts to tell me of all the things he is trying to get done before departing for the Carolina shores. He explains about the cabins he is trying to get the foundation laid out for, and the cabin he has been living in, and how it needs to come down, and the concrete he needs to pour, and about 14,000 other things he has to do. I was somewhat overwhelmed. After a few minutes of talking with James I went over and set up my bus. he pulled out an extension cord that would reach to a plug in so I would have electricity in the Mothership. The weather was already cold and there was drop expected, so I need all the heat I could muster. The ocean breeze in the winter is not as pleasant as the summer. I set up the Mothership for the stay. Gus and I took a walk around the property in hopes that we would be able to define some boundaries as to where we were and where we might wonder. This was mostly for the benefit of Gus as I am basically knew where I could go and where I couldn't and he did not. Later in the evening around dusk, Erleen brought supper down to Swallow Hollow, which is what James had named his humble abode down on the marsh. We dined on some good home cooking and then walked over to the Birdhouse for a beer and some good conversation. I was very interested in James story and how he became the Captain of his on vessel. he told in detail about how he had built his boat. He told of how his friends and he tried several variations of sailing as a kid. He explained to me the dream he had for the land he now owned on this island. All were told with an amount of passion and reverence, just as any good "dreamer" would tell it. I told them of my life and all the things that had driven me toward what I was doing right now. I explained about the box I had worked myself into, and how that box had led to me fulfilling my dream to travel America. He was the Captain of the D'sonoqua, I was the Captain of The Mothership. One by land, one by sea, both filled with dreams and expectations. I slept that night and dreamed of a peaceful place where all might live well, and not pass judgment on one another. By Monday I was settled in and folks had grown comfortable enough to start being honest. I think they saw me as a focal point that would take their mind off the issues they were dealing with, if only for a season. I didn't mind it so much at first, but as time grew longer, folks started embellishing to me the issues they faced, rather than talking to the person they had taken issue with. I do wish that we as humans could figure out that if there is a problem with someone else, we need to talk too them, not any Tom, Dick, of Harry that just happens to lend an ear. I told the concerned parties that they needed to work it all out as best I could. I didn't come out here to be a mediator, or to play sides with any of them. I gave the best advice I could, and that was to discuss it and come up with clarification and an understanding. On Tuesday morning we all rose very early and drove down to Seal Cove where the start of the Lobster fishing season was to take place. In the frigid cold temps of the morning we listened as the Lobster leader made the announcement for the boats to get under way. Suddenly the air was filled with diesel exhaust as all of the boats raced out toward their chosen 'favorite spot". it was here that they would drop their Lobster traps only to come back and retrieve them later in the day. After standing on the wharf for a few minutes watching the boats motor their way out to the mouth of the Bay, with the sun rising behind them, we headed back to Castalia Marsh. On the way we dropped by Wendy's home and picked up a couple of movies. The Man Without a Face, starring Mel Gibson and Erleen's former split window bus, and Around Cape Horn, which of the two was my favorite. This film was about a guy that took a trip around the Horn in the early 50's and taped the entire trip on a home movie camera. He included the narration in about 1980 at a much older age. It was not only informative, but very entertaining. A good evening was had by all. As the week passed more conversation was shared, and more learning was acquired because of that conversation. I learned much about the people I was sharing the Marsh with, but I also came to realize even more that there was an amount of stress that had reared it's ugly head in the relationships of the people of Castalia Marsh. I didn't want to hear all about this, I have my own set of problems, but there was almost no way to avoid it. It appears as though at one time in the not so far past, James and Erleen had been business partners. For some reason, this partnership separated and fell apart. I will not in this writing try to reason out why this happened as it is none of my business. James shared much of his rational for it, but as they say, that is one side of the story. Erleen also shared a little with me, but all in all she kept it between her and James. I sort of started feeling like I was stuck somewhere in the middle. A place I did not at all want to be as it was not my place. Because of this middle ground, and my presence, people were tip-toeing rather than being honest. They were trying there best to play the "good host" but in all honesty you could have cut the tension with a knife at times. I knew that I had to make plans to vacate as soon as I could without being obvious about why I had to depart, I guess in a way I was planning on tip-toeing away, so to speak. I started researching where I might move too in order to create some peace for myself, and more comfortability for them. On Wednesday I helped James with some work he had to get done. Adam, the young Englishman had taken a job on a lobster boat for the day and that basically left James holding the bag of work to be done. I really was wanting to try and write, but I pushed that want aside, and helped him get things done on his property. I tried to help him meet his goals so he could shove off to warmer waters. That evening, after a busy days work, we all headed over to Dean Griffins to enjoy some steamed Lobsters. Dean has been Lobster fishing in the waters surrounding the island since he was a teenager, and has somehow each year has made a fair living. We pigged out on the giant crawdads of the salt water and ate till our bellies were full. I think I ate 5 or 6 of the 1 pound clawed mongrels of the deep, and afterwards felt like I needed to walk on the bottom of the ocean for some reason. They were thick and pink and delicious to say the least. On Thursday I helped James a bit more, and all in all was beginning to feel rather committed to something that I had no stake in. other than the fact I was paying for my food and lodging with the work I was doing. I had mentioned in one of my post that I wanted to work, but it was because I needed the money, not because I just "wanted to work". I was all of a sudden more aware of the things I didn't need or want to be aware of, and less aware of the things I was in search of 'awareness' for. Life on Thursday became very troublesome for me. I felt once again like I was in "the box". By Friday I was wiped out mentally and emotionally. I had been sucked for every bit of advice I could give. I had talked openly and honestly about how to build partnerships the right way, how to be honest with friends, and how to build buildings, things I am usually paid to talk about. I did finally get to write and do some journal entries, but I had to just 'take' the time to do it. After I finished, I once again went down and helped James do the things he wanted me to help do. It is nice to be needed, but some folks don't recognize when others are also needy. To top it all off, Gus decided to take a hike and ended up across the highway from the Marsh. I wanted to catch the 3:30 ferry back to the mainland but because of his adventurous nature, he was holding up our progress. It was easy for everyone too see that I was very frustrated. My dream in the Bay of Fundy had turned to a nightmare, and I was trying to find my way back to the adventure I had set out on. Finally Adam, the young Englishman found Gus. We headed off toward the ferry, but then I realized that I had not seen the island hardly at all. I had been living on everyone else's schedule except mine. The icing on the cake was that I had allowed others to set the schedule for me, I let them do it without any argument. That was my own fault. I drove to the lighthouse and sat there for a while. I watched the waves come in and pound the shoreline with all of the anger that I felt inside. I heard the wind howl by my window, and the rain of the Nor-easter pelt my roof, making those interesting sounds that George Lyle spoke of in his post a few months back. I was free and clear but at the same time I still felt frustrated. I decided to not take the ferry, but to just tour a little on my own and see the island as much as I knew I could. A big storm was coming in fast and it contained snow. The winds were gusting in gale fashion and the skies looked dark and threatening. Snow was starting to blow hard. So hard it was moving sideways on the winds. I looked out to the sea and could see spray rising up from the waves as they broke. This was a true Noreaster and it was coming right down the pike toward the island. I drove around for a while, went and bought some groceries and supplies, then drove around some more. I drove as far south as I could then turned west and went inland. After a while I decided I would return to Erleens and camp there for the night. She told me as I returned that she was wondering had I left or not. I told her that I had chunked the leaving today and would leave tomorrow. I pulled in front of her house and set up once again. That night Erleen, James, and I shared a good meal and conversation, and then retired. It was nice to end my stay on the island in a pleasant mood. I felt more relaxed and I am sure they were glad I would soon be gone. All in all the week ended on a good note, and I felt very saddened because it had been such a rough one. I think bad timing had a lot to do with it. On Saturday I left Grand Manan. I took the ferry back over to Blacks Harbor, without sea sickness I might add, and headed south. The snow had moved in and made it quite difficult to tour any further north than I had already come. I turned south and made for the border. I didn't stop until I came to Ellsworth Maine. It was there I met Matthew Baya, Geosh Fathauer's friend who welcomed me into his driveway with no reservation at all. I have turned south now for the final leg of my trip, this brings on some sadness. There is still much that lay ahead too see, but not as much as there was a few weeks ago when the adventure was so rich. At the time of this writing I am in Portsmouth, New Hampshire with Ned Savoie, a list member that invited me down a few days ago. Life is good again. Maybe next spring I will go back to Grand Manan, and maybe next spring things will be much more kosher. I think I will discuss with them more fully about my reasons for being there, and they in turn can do the same with me. Maybe next spring we can all be honest about what we want from one another and not have to sidestep things to suit our guest. I certainly can't blame them for being in the frame of mind they are, and I can't blame me for the expectations I had. Maybe it was as I said, just the wrong time. Grand Manan is an island that sits off the coast of Maine about 8 miles into the Bay of Fundy. It is not a mystical place, but it is filled with people who all have dreams, and expectations, and baggage they brought over from the mainland. It may not meet your expectations, but it will surely enlighten you as to how you have to set them. The island can be cold and it can also be warm. It can be just as much of a prison as some apartment in the city, or it can be that place of free peace that James speaks of. I guess it's all in what you make it to be. Maybe one day I will have the chance to make it what I want it to be along beside others, who want it to be what they want it to be. Thanks for tolerating the ramblings. Charlie Ford Ned Savoie Harbour Light Productions Portsmouth, New Hampshire 603.427.2821 Check out our Web site at: http://www.harbourlight.com/linkcheck.cfm?website=nedemail