Maine

Jul 26 2009

Rockland, Maine Blues

Off the Beaten Path Maine

I recently found myself in Rockland, Maine for the North Atlantic Blues Festival. An old friend who was vacationing there invited me up for the weekend, and I eagerly jumped on the opportunity. She and I had grown up together in Los Angeles. For many Los Angelenos, even natives, a common effect of the urban sprawl is a feeling of disconnectedness to the city they call home. Places with names like Playa del Rey and Whittier technically qualify as “Los Angeles Country,” but they exist in my mind as mercurial suburban wastelands with no actual geographic location.

Mainers, on the other hand, seem to root their sense of self in their towns, lighthouses, and occupations. This phenomenon was made evident to me on the plane ride up, when the man seated next to me – who wasn’t even from Maine and merely summered there – excitedly pointed out every coastal town and island, listing their attractions. There were even a few houses whose owners he could name starting three generations back. As he wildly gesticulated and bounced up and down in his seat, I drew a kind of vicarious pleasure in his understanding of himself through towns with names like Union and Friendship.