Date: Mon, 17 Nov 1997 16:20:43 -0700
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
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