Greenville is one of those small New England towns where nothing ever changes but it seems like every summer when we come up here there's always something new to wonder about. Usually one small business has opened and another one has closed, typically a mom and pop restaurant but sometimes a novelty or antique shop. The population is somewhere in the neighborhood of 600, so we’re seriously talking small town here.
I can make the same observation though, for all the equally small (or smaller!) towns we drive through on the 25 mile stretch of Route 7 that carries us from Exit 157 off of I-95 to the crest of the hill that slowly dips down into Greenville, Maine. This summer I noticed that the Fish Market in Corinna had closed after being open for close to four years. That in particular made me sad as I wanted that little shack to succeed. I mean, the words “Maine” and “seafood” just belong together, even if you are 150 miles inland. Plus, I love all types of seafood and hate to see any source shut down. The one time my husband and I stopped into the Fish Market however, we found the shop pathetically under stocked and completely lacking in charm so we never went back. Too far of a drive when there is a little old retired fisherman parked on the side of the road in Greenville with battered coolers of lobster and clams and fresh picked peas lined up in the back of his truck. A handwritten sign declares the product but not the price. I’m not entirely sure if it’s the same man every year though, as the weathered faces of 70 year old Maine men, with their distinctive accent old-fashioned accent and lack of eye contact start to blur together.
My father, my grandfather’s only son, inherited this house 25 years ago from his childless Great Uncle Ross, who in turn had inherited it from a woman I only know as “the crazy lady” who was his companion for many years. They lived together in the house until she died and then Ross continued here for many years after until he died in a nursing home in Dover-Foxcroft. I think he might have been a little bit crazy too.
At any rate, we’ve been coming up here for summer vacations since my father inherited the house, and for the last five or so years it’s been mainly me and my sister and our families because mom and dad are getting too old to make the five hour drive comfortably, although they do try to make it up here at least once a year, usually after Labor Day to close the place up for the winter.
It’s an extraordinarily simple house. Roughly 1,200 square feet and absolutely square with a dormer on one side where the window for the upstairs bedroom sits. Two bedrooms, one modest bathroom, a simple kitchen, a living room, and one all-purpose room that has at times served as a second living room, a dining room, or extra bedroom.
Like the town, this house never changes. Year after year we come up here in the warm months, unlock the door and step into a place both familiar and new. We haven’t seen it since the year before so in a way it’s like going off to a new land that’s free from the chores and needs of home, but it’s also excruciatingly familiar. The summer sofa in the screened in porch still has the patriotic red, white, and blue throw tucked carefully over it’s cushions. The little ceramic dogs are still lined up like canine soldiers on the upper sill of the living room doorway. Pictures of Greenville from 50 years ago still adorn the walls and the handsome oak woodwork still brings warmth and charm to the humble rooms. Even though the last remodel of the bathroom and kitchen were in the 1970s the fixtures don’t seem worn because, frankly, they get so little actual use. So on the one hand we’re are “away” and on the other hand we are “home away from home.” It feels nice, being here.
My sister and I are up here this weekend outwardly to bring up a new (old) sofa that she has, and also to get away from the daily demands of home, teenagers, animals, and husbands for a couple of days. My sister is my only sibling and my best friend. We talked a lot about friendship this weekend, something I’ll probably write about later, and we laughed a lot, which we usually do.
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