It was an interesting three days. I left on Thursday from my sister Deb's house on Highland Avenue, South Portland and walked to Yarmouth, the town in which I grew up. It was the weekend of the Clam Festival and I'd been invited to a party the next day.
Deb had been in Germany for the last two weeks and was coming home that night. I had been caring for my old cat Buddy while she was away, but Deb would be able to take over with him until I returned back to her house on Sunday.
Thursday afternoon was hot, with relatively dry air. The hike would be a long one (over 13 miles) and I wasn't sure if I would just go halfway and spend the night in Falmouth, or decide to go the rest of the way. Here are some shots from that afternoon and evening...
The Cat returning from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
Pencil drawing on a light post heading off of Washington Avenue in Portland.
Falmouth had changed significantly since I'd seen it last. The shopping district had once been dotted with small planted trees and no walk signs. But, now those trees were getting large, and the walking areas had walk lights. It was quite impressive.
Even the shopping center had been redone, with a little sitting area...
I took a rest at McDonald's for about an hour. I'd hoped that they had AC outlets. They didn't. In fact, I would not see another outlet until returning to Deb's. And, because I only had enough money for the next day and would run out on Saturday, there was no way for me to go to a restaurant and charge up there. I wasn't aware of the power deficit yet.
I set off for Yarmouth under gathering rain clouds, hoping and praying to reach a place there where I could set up the tent before it rained.
The walk between Falmouth and Yarmouth was not overly scenic. Most of the buildings and places I'd seen, even from when I was kid, were all still there, but greatly updated and clean. It was about another six miles. I did notice plenty of potential sleep spots along the way. A few sparse rain drops hit my forehead and arms as I passed by this sign...
Now, just a short and incomplete comment about Yarmouth. This town is a place of achievement. The schools, the businesses, the culture of the place is competitive. Is this bad? Is this good? Neither.
It is what it is. It is easy to name drop when you are from Yarmouth. I personally know the children of the owners of LLBean, Pat's Pizza, Yale Cordage, and Olympia Sports. I grew up with them, was good friends with them, dated some of them. You would think that Yarmouth would have a pretentious or arrogant aire? I will tell you that from my own personal standpoint, I don't see it. Perhaps I am in their graces? Perhaps I am just being strung along. Or, most likely, they are just good, honest hardworking folks who rightfully enjoy what they have a achieved. I prefer that image.
It is natural that the Clam Festival is also the traditional time for reunions. Though some Yarmouthites have remained around the area, most of us are either spread out across Maine or living out of state.
What I've learned about reunions is that certain folks like to go and certain folks don't. I've heard every reason for both. Of course the most fascinating ones are the reasons for not going. Did you put on weight? Did you lose your hair? Are you unemployed? Do you have grudges? What is your personal embarrassment or social issue? I don't make light of this, since each of those has been my excuse in the past for not attending.
Saturday night would be the official reunion of the 1980's high school classes. I planned to go, even though I had gained weight, lost my hair, didn't have a "real job," and had been through the Facebook drama with a few people who were likely to attend. But, shit! After you've seen as much as I have in the last two years, been through every kind of heaven and hell and lived to tell about it, the stress of a reunion is like...well, nothing. For me, Maine was now smaller. The social things I thought were so important here are basically shallow surface paint, peeling and blowing away in the wind. For a guy who always feared being judged, I would be able to see right through that local bullshit now, and more importantly... I know longer cared.
It didn't take long to spy a potential campsite right there at the edge of town. Just across from the entrance to what used to be called "Yarmouth Woods," between that and the train tracks I chose what turned out to be an incredibly good spot. I set up the tent before the rain started and then hung out, just enjoying the evening and the fact that I was in my old town, sleeping for free! Yes, it might have been "below" what returning friends might choose.
However, as readers of this blog are well aware, My mind does not recognize my own "status" anymore. I know that I am highly intelligent, hardworking and doing something that has not been done before. I need no validation from people who have taken the expected path to their own station in life. We are all equal. Perhaps I shall play the role of fool and entertainer. But I am learning that my friends are still my friends. For some odd reason, they respect what I've chosen to do. They have been loyal to me and not just blown me off.
Fascinating how passers-by, from sea to shining sea, assumed I was a vagrant, a backpack wearer, a leech, a beggar, a freeloader... you know. You've read what it was is like. But, now to be back in the town that raised me, and among the friends whom I grew up with, I did feel at home. And, I would discover that these friends were truly still friends, that they make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year and I make under ten thousand doesn't matter to either of us. We are locked into a more fundamental relationship.
Maybe it is more like family? They are my brothers and sisters. We can put aside status and so-called "achievement" and simply be in the place where we all grew up as innocent children. It is a place not built upon how much you make, the toys you own, the number of thousands in your square footage, but rather the eye to eye human respect; something like what we felt before we ever knew what "achievement" was; before we sought to define it in our individual lives by stuff.
After setting up camp, I checked out the train tracks, hoping to see a train come by...
Three nickels...
The rain began in earnest and I got back to the tent to enjoy my shelter. The next day would be clear and sunny. And I would have the wonderful opportunity to begin to see these friends again.
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