Recognizing a degree of imperfection

But cool and candid people will at once reflect, that the purest of human blessings must have a portion of alloy in them, that the choice must always be made, if not of the lesser evil, at least the GREATER, not the PERFECT good; and that in every political institution, a power to advance the public happiness, involves a discretion which may be misapplied and abused.

James Madison in Federalist No. 41

 

Some things ‘Quaking Dover’ has in common with my novels

Not that I really noticed the parallels until now.

  1. Counterculture is central, leading to an awareness of an underground community or at least kindred spirits.
  2. Both have meant learning to write differently than my neutral third-person journalism. Emotion, for instance, over fact, is the rule in the fiction. And the history opened a similar vein as creative nonfiction.
  3. The role of a narrator in both. In the history, that meant developing the gently laughing curmudgeon as he pored over historical data. In four of the hippie novels, it was the snarky daughter reviewing her late daddy’s hippie experiences.
  4. Both veins are self-published, falling under the shadow of being “not commercially viable” by publishing houses. That places an additional burden on the author.
  5. Marketing is a huge challenge. Apart from Subway Visions, none of my stories take place in a big city or address a big audience. How many hippie novels can you name, anyway. As for Quakers?
  6. Spirituality and religion run through all of them. In the novels, it’s often yoga, though Hometown News runs up against a puzzling array of churches. In Quaking Dover, though, it’s often the clash between the upstart Friends and what I first saw as rigid Puritans before both traditions begin to, uh, mellow.
  7. There’s a strong sense of place, even if these locations are far from the mass-media spotlight.
  8. I go for the big picture. I really would like to have a simple book – something, as Steven King advises, having only one big idea – but that’s not how my mind works.
  9. They’ve all undergone deep revision. Much of the fiction actually got new titles and new characters after their original publication.
  10. They were all labors of love.

Time to meet her, the Louis R. French

So who was Louis Robbins French?
Father of the three sons
who built this in South Bristol, Maine

The French is docked at the left of the Mary Day in Camden, Maine.

The French is 101 feet overall, 65 feet on deck, with 19 feet of beam, as the brochure proclaims. She draws 7.5 feet with a full keel. A proven vessel in all conditions, she is a nifty and quick sailor, having won the Great Schooner Race many times. The French has also participated in recent Tall Ships gatherings in Boston. It spent part of its life based out of Lubec just south of Eastport.

The quarterboard carries the name proudly.

the French was largely stripped and gutted
and rebuilt for passengers
what’s left?

As my buddy Peter grinned at me at the end of our week:

“Your first love. You never forget.”

Get primed for a windjammer experience

It’s like camping, with the canvas over your head rather than a tent.

Peter tried to brace me for the, uh, unique quarters. And the pause when I mentioned taking a shower.

I had a snug berth, as you’ll see later. The only electricity on board came from some strong batteries and a small solar array.

Rather than a floating night club and hotel of a typical cruise ship, a Maine windjammer is small and laid-back. You even have to wash your own dishes.

We were docked next to another schooner before departing.

As the windjammers’ association brochure says:

Unlike large cruise ships, windjammers have bunks and cozy cabins, not monster staterooms and 24-hour buffets. Windjammers are woody and compact below decks. Crew and guests live and work in close quarters. The ship’s galley and dining areas are like your kitchen at home – everybody mingles there.

The Maine experience dates from 1936, when Captain Frank Swift started offering adventurous passengers sailing opportunities formerly only available to private yacht owners.

Last summer I got to be one of them. It really was memorable.

Castine thickens the plot  

If you’ve been following my Red Barn, you know about the 400th anniversary celebrations of Dover, New Hampshire, as the third oldest permanent European settlement in New England and the seventh oldest in the continental USA.

That history does underpin my book Quaking Dover, after all.

As I point out, that “permanent” adjective can become a real ringer, in contrast to “earliest.” “Oldest,” for both the town and its Quaker Meeting, can also be defined as “continuous.”

Don’t be surprised to hear me admit that I keep learning a lot more after researching and writing the book. Some of my newer findings will be posted here at the blog later this year. I’ve already shared the experience of visiting the Pemaquid village site in Bristol, Maine, a settlement that interacted with Dover’s early years.

Castine as seen at the landing.

The Castine development at hand arose while killing time between the Common Ground Fair in Unity, Maine, and my setting sail a day later. Or, more accurately, boarding ship with a buddy from Vermont for our first overnight in the vessel before casting off and hoisting the sails the next morning. Literally. Peter joined up with us for a night at the Airbnb before he and I ventured off together. That left us with a day to fill. On a whim, I suggested a land excursion as an alternative to the Farnsworth American art gallery or the transportation museum down the coast. Peter was game, and besides, he knew the town and accompanying waters.

Our destination was the town of Castine, which I had heard of as the home of the respected Maine Maritime Academy and as one of the eastern Maine towns that surrendered without a shot during the War of 1812, along with Eastport and Machias.

He drove, freeing me to observe the winding scenery on the eastern side of Penobscot Bay. It was less upscale and less developed than the U.S. 1 corridor linking Searsport, Belfast, Camden, Rockland, and Rockport – more “real” Maine, if you will.

Coming into Castine, however, a sign jolted me: Founded 1613.

What I read soon after that pointed out that Castine was settled before the Plymouth Bay colonists we know as Pilgrims started building in 1620. (Remember, they never called themselves that, but rather Separatists and the like.)

The claims made it sound like Castine was the oldest European settlement in New England.

Still, it didn’t show up on the lists I examined nor on those that Dover’s celebration committee referenced. The problem is just how many, if any, settlers remained in Castine between the many invasions and changing of flags from French and British to Dutch and American over the years.

Still, looking at the murky history prompted me to revise some of my thinking about Maine’s past.

For one, Castine was occupied by the French during the years of fighting when English settlement was erased all the way down the state to a toehold at Wells and York and on to New Hampshire.

That also had me looking at the French and Indian wars through Canadian lenses. That point of view presented the village of Norridgewock along the Kennebeck River as a French settlement, the headquarters of Jesuit priest Sebastien Rale, including a church he erected in 1698. The English, on the other hand, considered it a Native encampment.

Rale worked to ensure French control of the region, with events escalating into what is known as Father Rale’s War, at least in English versions where he is sometimes presented as the commanding officer in the attacks. Native accounts take more credit for their own leadership and skill.

The conflict culminated in the destruction of Norridgewock in 1724, including the death of Rale, a chief, and nearly two dozen women and children. French control of much of Maine faded in the aftermath, much earlier than I had believed. English settlement did, in fact, resume much earlier than the 1763 Treaty of Paris that ended the final French and Indian War.

At that point, Castine – named for Baron Jean-Vincent d’Abbadie de Saint-Castin, a 1667 arrival – was turned over to the British. And how!

The Common, with the Unitarian church at the left.
Congregational church.
Birthplace of the Maine Maritime Academy.
Post office.
Side street.

An influx of Massachusetts colonists of Puritan and Pilgrim cast gave the town a distinctly Yankee character that remains, perhaps more than anywhere else in Maine.

The down dock is an active place.

I love the town
with its Yankee Puritan flavor unspoiled
contrary to old-money haven Bar Harbor