Envy

Charlotte and I have spent a bit of time in Maine over these last seven years excluding 2020 of course. I think we have the right to consider ourselves ‘part time’ summer people. We are not landed and thus have no bragging rights to any particular island or region. I suppose where the boat is kept is as close as we get, but that is a tenuous claim at best. 

Many folks we encounter seem to have roots connected to the Mayflower. And the summer people’s forebearers also, if not the Mayflower, have connections to Maine that go back generations. For a second generation Italian American like me this is heady stuff. 

 

Charlotte is better prepared. On her mother’s side the roots are deep in the Carolinas. Often when she discusses her kin I hear terms such as Huguenots, and a great grandfather in the Spanish American War with Teddy Roosevelt, and carriage makers in the deep south and other distinguished personages. She can make a case as a descendent of America’s first settlers.

 

I am from a prairie state with a small claim to Lake Michigan’s coast. It is there that I received my on the water experience. Maine is a vast tree covered state with a dramatic coastline. The population, like many similar land forms, hugs the Atlantic shoreline. It is best to have a full tank of gas when venturing inland and especially north to Canada as the population drops off sharply. Due to the jagged coastline, it is often easier to move about by boat then on the roads. 

 

When cruising on Carrie Rose we are often in remote areas with miles between the islands and the mainland. Invariably on a small mountainous island there sits a large rustic home on the summit. It is fascinating to think of the privilege and the mindset needed to construct such a monument. Do these people have large extended families to house? How do they get there without subjecting family and friends to the seasickness generating seas that we so often incur.

 

If you are getting the impression that I am envious, well, you are correct. I have no reason to be. I have a wholly envious life compared to most. But within my monkey brain it is hard to turn off the jealousy centers. I mean why couldn’t my family have come from Puritan stock with deep roots in the Northeast instead of dirt farmers from Italy. Life is just not fair . . . 

 

But as I sit in Carrie Rose’s pilothouse writing this I must disavow the above. Because of my heritage I grew up free in the much maligned city of Chicago with its art, architecture, music, ethnic food and diversity. I was nurtured by my mother’s splendid Southern Italian cooking and by my father’s Tuscan magnanimity. Life is more than fair; in fact, it is blessed.

Pulpit Harbor, North Haven, Maine

8/2022