With apologies to Jean Arp and Jasper Johns
I drive by this lonely looking place every time I go north up Route 1 towards Belfast. It has been deserted and looking more or this way for as long as I can remember.
Over the years it is slowly falling apart. The siding is getting more and more weathered and one can see veins of rot snaking their way into the wood as if the house has some kind of blood poisoning.
Each winter I expect it to fall down. Maybe this year with the really bad snow falls and ice storms we’ve been having will finally bring it to its knees.
I hope not. The place reminds me of me.
Going from my home town of Camden, Maine to New York is easy. Amtrak, Jet Blue, Concord Trailways and Route 95 all provide convenient ways to do it in a day. However, for me, while getting there isn’t much of a problem, once there, the difference between where I just came from and where I now find myself hits pretty hard.
Simply stated, the thousands upon thousands of anonymous faces jostling for the space to move along sidewalks or walk around in stores makes me quite claustrophobic.
Then there’s the noise, a constant background brain buzz punctuated regularly by the wail of a siren or the blast of a car horn from some pissed-off driver.
It’s fun to see things in the city. New York has marvelous cultural attractions and world-class shopping. The place is really fun in small doses.
But at the end of the day I want to take a walk along some quiet dirt road through the woods and Central Park just does not really cut it.
Around here, after the tourists go home, the state takes on an entirely different character. We “hunker” down for a while. Often bracing ourselves against some pretty hostile conditions. For instance as I write this post the windchill outside is 30 degrees below zero. One does NOT want to fall down and be unable to get up or go off the road and get suck. The weather conditions currently are life threatening.