Return to Maine

 Return to Maine

For several years the nudge was working on me… Maine. I’d drive over the Bay Bridge to Washington amidst dense, too-fast traffic, and think, No, this is not the way I want to live.  The brutal summers of the Eastern Shore would completely sap my energy and I would waste entire days while wishing for the cool of a New England morning. Give me some cold winter weather, dressed in a warm coat, boots and hat, and I feel at home.

These days the internet makes it all too easy to look at real estate and dream of a new location. That’s exactly what I did, even when the nudge was faint. A small farm with a horse barn caught my eye when the time was completely wrong. The escalating prices, thanks to Covid, made me sit up and pay serious attention. You can’t do this on a whim.

Other than the feel of Maine calling me back, 35 years of playing the organ and conducting a choir every Sunday was catching up with me. At 68 years old, it was time for a change and I knew that I could not stay in our sweet little Maryland town when I no longer worked there. So I started looking at those real estate ads a little more seriously.

A friend who had recently moved to a small town in DownEast Maine encouraged me to look there. As I scrolled through ads for vacant land, run down houses, or mansions needing rehabilitation I became rather discouraged. And then, Bingo! A small, restored farmhouse on nearly 2 acres with everything we’d want- a wood stove, large back porch overlooking forest as far as one can see, raised beds for a garden, mudroom, downstairs bedroom (that aging thing), room for my grand piano and a little shed for a studio. My heart began to beat fast and I felt something running through my body. I was nervous.

As it so happened I had plans to visit friends on Mount Desert Island in the next couple of weeks and they were surprised and thrilled when I casually said, Want to go look at a house with me?

I made an appointment with the agent, hoping against hope the house would still be available when I traveled to Maine.

My friends and I set out on our short journey and stopped for coffee and lunch in a local cafe. As I walked in I was confronted with a small wooden sign that read If your dreams don’t scare you…they are not big enough.  I came to an abrupt standstill and knew immediately that Bill and I were facing a life-changing decision.  Was I scared? You bet.

As I walked in the house, I knew…right then and there. My friends were enthusiastically talking to the agent, excitedly looking around, and I just went off to see the place by myself. It felt like home. That something was running through me again.

We spent a long time looking around and I took the agent aside to ask some questions and let her know I was serious. I called Bill right away, we looked at my photos carefully when I got home and the rest is history. Knowing the frustrations, exhaustion and expense of moving, we asked ourselves Could we do it again? Yes.

Farmhouse on the Ridge…our home.