Repair & Restore

 

With Carrie Rose repaired and a restorative 5 days spent in Northeast Harbor it was time to move on. Earlier this summer, we sent a check (yes, I said check: paper, envelop, and stamp) to secure three nights at the Sweet Chariot Music Festival on August 3, 4, and 5. It is held at the refurbished Oddfellow's Hall a mile from the dock.

 

We left Northeast Harbor after taking on fuel and water at Clifton Dock, a pricy but convenient stop just before exiting the harbor. Though not noted by either of us, this was CR’s 20 mile test run after her repairs. 

 

Swans Island is an outlying chunk of granite open to the North Atlantic from the south. It is noted its family run “kinder and gentler” lobster boats. The leaving and entering boats pass us slowly not creating a disruptive wake. The captains and crews smile and wave. They are not made up of the usual gruff males that seem to populate every other lobster boat closer to the mainland. This made for a pleasant repose. 

 

There is a sideline to this, we are miles from the mainland, and so a good portion of the audience came by their own boat, a unique crowd. A ferry comes from Bass Harbor on Mt. Desert Island to Swans Island's the northern shore, but once here I doubt there is anywhere to stay. 

 

The sizeable harbor was chockfull with anchored sailboats and a few powerboats including four Nordic Tugs. Returning from the concert a forest of anchor lights punctuated the darkness. Mist and fog dispersed the LED’s cool white pinpoints. It was mesmerizing even if that sounds contrite; it was a visual treat. 

 

The festival’s enthusiastic audience was out done by the fervor of the performers.

The each performer was introduced by the plucky Donald Day, the impresario. It was apparent that they were a family with ties that go back for decades. Each artist performed about three songs, most of their own creation. The stage was quickly set between acts and the sound was superb. 

 

The talent oozed off the stage to an audience willing to sing at every chance. That such talented folk survive in the cynical world we have constructed for ourselves is a miracle. Maine (at least the parts I have been exposed too) is particularly prone to nurturing this attitude of hope and peace. It might be time to look for an island . . .