Truck traffic picks up early on Atlantic Highway, especially noticeable to someone used to waking up, whether in the middle of the night or at dawn, to silence. Tractor trailer trucks, lit up like Christmas trees rumble past, heading north, heading south, a reminder that our town is traversed by a federal highway, by the road that goes up the East coast from Key West to Canada; Route 1, bypassed one would think by Interstate 95, but in fact carrying freight and people closer to the coast, north and south.

For all the rest of us in Lincolnville, those who live on country roads, the nights are quiet, with early mornings and late afternoons punctuated by the Midcoast’s version of rush hour – pickups rushing to and from work. I live on Beach Road – 173 – and it carries those trucks from Searsmont down to the ferry where workers head over to Islesboro and back home again. All the hours in between, basically 7:30 to 4, the road is generally empty.

Our town shares a similar layout with Camden and Rockport, our neighbors, in that it’s uniquely divided between the coast and the higher hill land, although unlike our neighbors, we have two villages:  the seafront Beach and inland Center. This single fact of geography has defined Lincolnville throughout its history, and in many ways, continues to, even including its culture.

The Lincolnville Telephone Company, long since transformed into Lincolnville Networks and based in Nobleboro, divided the town into two exchanges: 789 for the Beach and Ducktrap and all the way up to Youngtown/Bald Rock corner; 763 was for the rest of town and for Hope. South of 173 on Atlantic Highway was given Camden’s 236 exchange. This, for all you cell-phone-only folks, is probably obscure, ancient history. Landlines, as we all know, are rapidly disappearing. But anyway, given our 789 exchange we always considered ourselves to be Beach residents.

Take the Beach:

We’re a focused lot, those of us who frequent the Beach at dawn, each intent on their own task. Keeping the place neat and tidy, literally picking up after the previous day’s visitors, takes three of us: Wayne Heal’s Trash Removal, David Pike’s Cleanwoods Portable Toilets, and me, the town’s Beach cleaner.

Mike Hutchings arrives every morning with lobsters for the restaurants, and we wave, maybe stop for a chat. Owen Weyers, opening up the Beach Store, sets out little tables and chairs on the sidewalk, and soon the good smells of breakfast cooking waft out over the Beach.

Then there are the dog walkers, diligently picking up their pup’s poop in those little bags. (I hardly ever find any in a whole summer and assume, in my parochial-anti-outsider way, that what I do find is from transient dogs, the ones with out of state plates.) We exchange greetings, might chat about their dogs, always remind each other how lucky we are to be here, especially on such a glorious morning.

Someone’s often asleep in their car, those New York plates saying they drove half the night and finally gave in to sleep here. Or it’s a fellow whose come in early, down to the coast from across the state, waiting for the 7 a.m. ferry.

Every summer somebody ­– usually a guy – is obviously living in his car, packed to the gills with his possessions; upon waking, he walks barefoot to the Portapotties, opens the trunk to pull out the day’s clothes and changes on the spot. Occasionally I see someone sleeping on the sand, wrapped up in a blanket with bags and backpacks piled nearby.

One or two men (they change year to year) park most mornings, facing the horizon where the sun will appear, and for a few minutes just gaze out at the Bay, at the herons or geese or gulls or diving loon before heading off to work. Unlike most who park here in the morning, they’re not concentrating on their phones. I imagine this is the one quiet moment of their day. We nod or smile or say ‘good morning’. Sometimes we chat. Politics has been known to rear its head from time to time in those early morning interchanges

One older couple comes down several days a week, parks their truck (Texas plates), carries two chairs down onto the sand to sit side-by-side, facing the water, drinking coffee, their well-mannered dog lying patiently next to them.

My circuit of the parking lot and sand, picking up gum wrappers, bottle caps, and always cigarette butts, ends walking along the curb opposite the shops. Every time Dwight Wass (Lincolnville Fine Art Gallery) changes the display in his window – painting or ship model or leather camel – I walk over to study it. The camel came home with me one day last summer.

On the less than glorious mornings, the foggy or rainy or downright chilly days, it might be only me, checking the barrels, picking up a few stray butts, hurrying home to my snug kitchen. Now that Labor Day is here the sun is rising later, the mornings getting cooler. Rick McLaughlin is closing his restaurant today (or yesterday if he ran out of food), weeks earlier than usual, partly because he can’t do indoor dining and partly because of the sewer construction going on next door.

Finally, the sewer project is happening. After years of planning, work on the Lincolnville Sewer District, serving the Beach a short way up and down the highway and as far as the Beach Schoolhouse on 173, began this past month. The treatment plant which will be located next to the ferry parking lot, and so far, is barely visible from Atlantic Highway, as it’s below the grade of the road. This is a private project, by the way, not a town-funded one.

One other project looms for our town: the fate of the Beach Schoolhouse. For several years the Selectmen have been discussing that building, first getting an assessment of its condition along with a rough estimate of cost to bring it up to code, then deciding to put it before the voters, asking their permission to sell it. With a large majority voting ‘yes’, a healthy number said ‘no’ and expressed their dismay at losing the building, so its two tenants – LIA and LHS (L’ville Improvement Association and Historical Society) called a meeting to gauge support.

The support appears to be there, with some 60 in attendance at last month’s outdoor meeting and 40 signing up to help. The Historical Society is on the agenda of the Sept. 14 Selectmen’s meeting to discuss buying the building, an offer that was made months ago by the Board, but rejected at the time. Neither the LIA nor the LHS felt they had the energy or manpower to take on ownership including the necessary repairs. Ironically, it was last month’s vote and subsequent meeting that showed people do care about this historic building, both as a meeting place and as the depository of the town’s historical archive.

Our town has proven itself resilient as well as forward-looking, supporting state-of-the-art infrastructure: our school, fire department, and town office are all less than ten years old, excellent facilities. Thanks to volunteers we have a library, ball fields, a municipal solar array, a renovated Community Building, two historic churches, and much more. Repairing and invigorating the home of our Historical Society seems well within our power. As a member of the Beach Schoolhouse steering committee, I invite everyone to livestream us next Monday evening when we approach the Selectmen and ask to buy 33 Beach Road.

An Old Friend

Living in a small town tends to bring the generations together in a way that doesn’t seem to happen in bigger places. For one thing, many are related and see their cousins, siblings, parents, aunts, uncles regularly. Organizations bring people of all ages together. We’re likely to be friendly with our neighbors, old and young.

Several years ago, Susan Stonestreet, then pastor of United Christian Church, introduced the idea of a daily check-in with elderly members. One parishioner, Barb Yatseyvitch and I decided to try it, and so started a friendship of several years. Early every morning Barb would email us (Wally and I shared our email) to say hello, to pass on some tidbit – what was blooming at her house, the birds she saw, the way the sunrise “moved” every day until by early summer it was behind one of the islands she saw from her Shermans Point home. If we didn’t hear by 8:30 or so we’d call her. Once she didn’t answer and we drove right down to find her garage was empty. Before long she’d called to say she’d gone out to breakfast with friends and forgot to email.

Nearly three years ago Barb had a stroke and went to live in a facility near her daughter in Vermont. Yesterday I got a call from her that Barb passed away last Friday; she was 93. I told Mare that every time I drive past Shermans Point Road her mother comes to mind. It’s a lovely way that people we love visit us, those who are gone and those who aren’t.

School

It starts tomorrow with parents choosing either to have their children going in person or doing school remotely. The three who live upstairs from me will be remote for the time being, with plans to go in person in a few weeks. As their mom, Tracee, says, “Every parent chooses which way is best for their family.” Let’s all hope for the best for our children and their teachers, and the whole staff of our school.  All six of my Lincolnville grandkids will be in school, one way or another, and even two-year old Nora, who lives in Rockland, will likely be in pre-school, in a completely outdoors situation.

Wild Goose Chase

The LBB (Lincolnville Bulletin Board) alerted us all one day last week that a large, domestic goose had landed at Tom Crowley’s place south of the Beach. The goose, it turned out, had gone missing two days earlier from Jane and Jerry Bernier’s farm on Ducktrap Road. A small crew of friends turned up at the Crowleys’ only to find no goose. It had apparently taken off. I should mention that this goose has been practicing her flying for some time, and would surprise the Berniers by suddenly taking off and circling their place.

Anyway, later that day Jane Jipson, who also lives on Atlantic Highway, but north of the Beach, reported that the goose was in her barnyard. The goose-catchers reassembled that evening, armed with screen panels and walked it into Jane’s barn. The goose, which apparently was being harassed by coyotes, is now home. 

The coyotes are another problem,  as they’ve been really active (and vocal) in our neighborhood lately.