The town that went to sea...

Federated Church Thomaston ME

 US Highway 1 is almost 2,400 miles long and runs from Key West in Florida to Fort Kent in Maine.

The Maine section is particularly scenic.  And right there on the Route is the wonderful town of Thomaston ME.  In 1977 I was invited to take part in an exchange with Bob Howard, who was the minister of the Federated Church - so named because it is a congregation simultaneously part of the Methodist Church and the United Church of Christ.   

So for three hot sun-filled months, we lived among a group of people who were indeed “finest kind”.   That’s the local expression for what our southern neighbours might refer to as “good eggs.”

Everything about Thomaston was special.  The architecture reflects the history that sea going captains built their houses there.  They employed ship’s carpenters and could source the best of materials.  And in those days Thomaston was a busy port - hence the  soubriquet - “the town that went to sea.    We lived in one such house, the church parsonage, pristine in its white clapper board.    We enjoyed that hospitality of the people, who surrounded us with kindness beyond compare.

The morning after we arrived was the fourth of July, and Thomaston was famed for its Independence Day celebrations.   So it was up at 6 in order to go to a pancake breakfast, to be followed by a Pet Show, including a skunk on a leash.   Then on to an Art Show, and into a great viewpoint for the Parade.  A joyous and creative show.   Down to the beach for a pop up barbecue.  And a fireworks display in the evening.

Our neighbour was a large, round and cheerful funeral director, Roy Moss, and he was as keen as anyone to make us feel at home.  He took us on a tour of his premises, including the casket showroom.  The top model was guaranteed  for 50 years.  I did take several funerals during the three months, and saw the American Way of Death at close quarters.  And on Roy's boat we went out to scatter ashes on the river.   

Walking up to Main Street, the famed Route 1, to get the morning paper, I hear the loud cry from two blocks away
of 14 year old redhead, Terry Carey.  “Hey there Mr Smith.”  Terry is the daughter Hank Carey, one of the nicest guys I've ever known.   Hank retired as a high school principal   He has had three wives - two he lost to cancer.  The third, Lucy, an equally wonderful person, we spent a great few days in the family cabin on the shores of Lesser Wilson Pond.  Just out of Greenville, ME.  Wonderfully remote.  

Little Wilson Pond, Greenville

If I were able in some way to process such an amazing experience into a single moment I would reach out for that feeling.  To be deeply part of a community, and to be welcomed as such, left a life long predisposition to America and Americans…   Which has made it hard to understand some recent events.  I can’t imagine that my US friends can be comfortable.

Years later we went back on holiday.  What a warm, embracing occasion.