Maine is space, wide open gorgeous land, clean water, fresh air. And go easy on the helping of people please.
Not because we are anti-social or recluse hermits. No no, families are tight, close and that kind of people surrounding you is not the situation, type we are hunt and pecking about today.
This post is not about the fellow I talked with today and his family of fifteen brothers and sisters.
That were about two years apart in age, and his mom lost a set of twins. Died herself at 53 and the older kids helped raise the younger ones. That’s another post to ramble on about and see what rabbit trail it heads down.
This blog post is about what happens to someone living too close to those around them.
When space is at a premium and back yards are measured in inches, feet. Not acres like Maine is like. How to explain rural Maine, small town living to someone that has a hard time fathoming the concept of not many people here. I tell them think of Disney Land’s Space Mountain. But no lines for the ride. No problem remembering where you parked your car. No tram ride or wearing yourself out walking and walking. Trying to avoid bumping into someone. No reaching into your pocket everywhere you turn coming and going.
In Maine, I think people are friendlier because our crime rate is the 4th lowest in the country. People help each other out and there is plenty of space to enjoy if you decide to head out. To spend time at the woods camp. Where big feeds, intense cribbage or poke games happen. Or just enjoying reading the latest Uncle Henry’s looking for bargains. In front of a wood stove crackling, blazing. Throwing off the positive ions, lots of BTU’s from the hardwood sticks.
Being in a tight prison camp like line, worried about your safety, always fearful of too many people in your face is not healthy.
It is why people pay a premium to commute hours to and fro from the suburbs. Making the city pay scale check. But enjoying a semblance of space a little further from the urban centers where space does not exist. Or comes at a premium. An arm, leg, one of your duplicate organs.
Maine has personal freedom and space. Not everywhere in the world offers space. Overcrowding stress, strain and and worry about safety, where your next meal is going to come from if the big box grocery store shelves go bare. It takes it toll and is the opposite of Maine. Where we grow our own food, have farming backgrounds somewhere in the family. We heat with wood, could easily pull the plug and find alternative ways to avoid the utility power bill.
I think not having crowds, rush hour traffic road rage, eating on the run, gang violence and not worried about your personal safety has to make you a happier camper. Knowing how to conserve and get by with less is what Maine is all about. Survival, enjoying what you have and making it work no matter what. What do you think?