I woke on my last day in Maine to very cool, rainy weather. I had slept well and had a filling breakfast before heading toward Rockland to take in the Farnsworth Museum, which is home to a collection of Wyeth family paintings because they are from the area.
As a rule, I avoid art museums, theater, or sporting events in this 50 state trek unless there is something particularly local about those things that I cannot find elsewhere. The Wyeth collection brought me to the museum, and I found an comprehensive exhibit on the family and their artist friends in a former church that now serves as an outbuilding. It was great for orienting a lay person like me to the family’s art and impact. In wandering it, I could see the talent in the work of all, but Andrew Wyeth‘s work has a certain life to it that is not in the rest. Unfortunately, there is less of his work there than of his family and friends, likely because of the demand for it in the rest of the art world. I took in an exhibit dedicated to his son Jamie’s recently deceased wife, poked around in the gift shop, and then headed outside.
My next stop on this rainy morning was the Maine Lighthouse Museum. There was an interesting combination there of memorabilia, scale models, and histories of lighthouses. It was not huge, and if I were early in my trip, I might have purchased a lot of things in the gift shop. But I was beginning to wonder how I was going to fit everything into my luggage and was eager to press on. I had seen plenty of beautiful examples of the real thing in the last week.
I walked the town a little and then headed north for Camden. My main interest there was with Edna St. Vincent Millay, who spent much of the early part of her life there. Millay was a favorite poet of mine back in high school, and I had found a website from the local library that located landmarks from her life in the town, many of which have not been preserved. I headed first to the High Street Historic District, which sits just north of the town center on Route 1, which was already starting to congest with the weekend traffic. After a few dead ends, I parked just in front of the Whitehall Hotel, a well preserved 19th century inn that boasts a memorial to Millay in their front room. I was surprised at how open the hotel was, and I wandered around reading tributes to the local poet undisturbed by staff or other guests.
Then, because it was also on the Millay list from the local library, I drove to Mount Battie because its views inspired Millay to write her poem “Renascence.” Unfortunately, on that day, that view down to Camden was limited by clouds, which obscured it altogether as I wandered the top with a very pleasant family who shared advice about visiting the area. We found the Millay tribute plaque together, and then I headed to the other portion of Camden Hills State Park to wander a bit.
From there I joined the traffic heading south on Route 1 to see the Millay statue at Harbor Park. The town was setting up for a craft fair right at the park, which congested traffic even further. I was lucky to find parking, and then walked the very picturesque town and park, where I found the statue, and took some snaps of the Union soldier as well.
I stopped in a bookstore to purchase some of Millay’s work. I found only one anthology of her poems and, when I remarked on this to the young cashier, she and her colleague noted, with seeming surprise, that they have trouble keeping her work in stock. I wondered if they understood that she was a local girl who won a Pulitzer for her poetry, so people might be interested. Or note, perhaps admirers could read her work off the internet.
The day was progressing. I had a very early flight the next morning, and planned to spend the night in Portland with a friend of a friend, while another old friend of mine was also hoped to visit during her brief trip through Portland. The rain cleared, the sun came out, and the temperatures rose as I made my way south on Route 1. I stopped for a brief visit to Wiscasset because it bills itself as the prettiest village in Maine. I honestly think it does not outdo its considerable competition, but it is also worth stopping because it is home to Red’s Eats, which claims to be the best lobster shack in the state. I did not eat there because the line snakes up Route 1, slowing traffic.
I pressed onward. I was eager to meet up with people, but I also felt compelled to use a little bit of extra time to visit Kennebunkport and the Bush Family compound at Walker’s Point if I could find it. The town was further south than Portland, but I could hear my mother’s voice expressing surprise that I did not take the opportunity to see this particular landmark. My old friend was running late in the northbound traffic, and my new friend was encouraging of my tourist bent. So I zoomed into the adjoining towns near dinner time. The two towns straddle the Kennebunk River and are connected by a small bridge. I found parking in Kennebunk, wandered around Kennebunkport with a very large ice cream cone in hand, and then headed back to my car to find the Bush compound, which was prominent enough to find, but not easy to access. At this point, I was short on phone battery, gas, and time, but managed a few pictures of Walker’s Point before heading north for Portland, where I was received warmly and had a short night of expert packing and some sleep.
Maine was everything I hoped it would be. I was a bit travel weary, but delighted by my trip. I hope to return again very soon.