Acadia National Park, Bar Harbor, Maine September 30, 1978

On the last day of September I caught the ferry from Digby to Saint John.  It was a fine day for the crossing - blue skies and rough waters, with white caps all the way. 


 

But instead of flying home from Saint John, as my ex had done, I headed west to Maine.  


I have to admit I ventured into the U.S.A. with mixed feelings.  I was anticipating what America might be like with some trepidation – a sinister hue coloured my perceptions, perhaps as a result of paying attention to the American news (so much violence), coupled with watching too many US movies and tv shows (more violence).  Somehow I expected the people to be different from Canadians – less friendly, more wary, more uptight.  But of course it's not true. The people, at least in this part of the country, are much like us.  And so far they seem friendly enough.

 

The landscape is somewhat different – more manicured with fewer ‘wild’ or undeveloped areas,  And the settled areas show more obvious ties with the past (more even that what I saw in Eastern Canada, where history is more evident than, say, in B.C.).  It feels like people have been here longer. 

 

The distinctly American entrepreneurial spirit (ie. capitalism) is also very much in evidence: every second house is a restaurant, a craft-store, a pottery shop, or a motel. Here 'stores' do not necessarily inhabit only special purpose 'store' buildings, but may inhabit old barns, and grand old estates. Many of these old estates, especially along the coast, have been converted into motels, or have a string of cabins along a ridge overlooking the beach.  And there are significantly more fast-food joints: the road is littered with them.  

 

It’s all so... so American – enterprise everywhere.  But in the end, not so different from Canada, just on a larger, and perhaps a little more in-your-face, or shall I say ‘crass’ style.

 

Tonight the greatest drawbacks are that the campsite is crowded, there's no firewood, and the water – and my tea – taste awful.  So we’ll be on our way tomorrow, heading away from the coast, and into the White Mountains, where hopefully there will be fewer people, less development, and better campsites with firewood and good water...


But as usual Dusty and I make the best of it, frolicking in a grassy field, admiring the fall colours, and watching the skies for signs of likely weather.  It looks very much like rain.
Location: Bar Harbor, ME, USA

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