Dos and Don'ts for Tourists

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: It's that time of year when we welcome peoples from all over the US and abroad to Vacationland, i.e., Maine. (If you're planning on visiting, please ignore what I said Monday about it being a cold summer. It's perfect.) We genuinely like to see folks traveling here, loving the same landscape and waters we love, and, to be perfectly honest? we need your money. 

 

(Separate note: we especially love our neighbors from the North, but we understand and empathize with your reasons for not visiting this year.) 

However! Having lived for close to four decades in a tourist destination (and for four years in DC before that) I have some dos and don'ts for you that will make the difference between Mainers saying to each other, "Gosh, weren't those nice folks?" and slashing your tires when they see your out-of-state license plates (Ha! Ha! No, we only did that during the early days of Covid.)

 

Don't feed the sea gulls. Yes, I know they seem beautiful and graceful and that you read Jonathan Livingston Seagull when you were 12. They're rats. Aggressive, feathered rats.

 

Do merge a half-mile (at least) before the actual merge point. We see you, with your out-of-state plates, zooming past all the Mainers who got into the right lane as soon as they saw the MERGE sign. We are judging the heck out of you.

 

Don't wear jewelry on the beach. This isn't the Jersey Shore. 

 

Do park in the appropriate spot. Yes, you may have to walk a little farther. But it's probably a lot less expensive than it is where you come from, and trust me, the local cops or sheriff's deputies will be wicked keen to have you towed out of Skip Tarbox's driveway.

 

Don't try to imitate a  Maine accent. Please. I beg you. There are third and fourth generation Mainers who can't do the accent. Neither can you.

 

Do wear the lobster bib. Yes, it's silly. But that delicious treat is messy, and you don't want to have butter stains sitting on your shirt until you get back home.

 

Don't show up dressed head to toe in brand new LL Bean clothing. Beat up old LL Bean clothing is acceptable, as is one new item with the rest of your outfit suitably worn, verging on shabby. See: not the Jersey Shore, above.

 

Do ask how to crack the lobster. The locals next to you are willing to help! We love introducing visitors to our iconic dish.

 

Don't get to close to the sea in rough weather. We have some lovely sandy beaches. We have a lot more stony, granite-boulder stretches that can be genuinely dangerous under certain conditions. If you see a warning sign, yes, this does mean you.

 

Do shop like the locals, at Reny's and Mardens. Reny's is "out" as a Maine staple, and you'll actually see people in New York and DC wearing their labeled gear. There are no labels at Mardens, but it has wicked great bargains and a jingle everyone in Maine can sing. 

 

Don't drink and boat. Do you want to come home tired and happy from your vacation? Or do you want to come home in a box? Those lakes are deeper and much colder than you think.

 

Likewise, Do be aware the ocean is friggin' cold.  The Gulf Stream, which makes the Jersey Shore so warm and delightful, is way the heck off the continental slope up here. The average water temperature in August is 61° to 64° (16° to 17°.)

 

Don't amble across Route One. Like, you don't have to run, but be as brisk as possible. We're trying to get places, people.

 

Do visit some out of the ordinary locations. Maine is more than the ten mile strip along the Atlantic. Check out a concert in Bangor, or the slow pace in the Lakes Region, or the charming towns near the southern NH border, like Cornish and Fryeburg.

 

Don't think you can get ahead on Route One by speeding and passing. It's a two lane road, bub. Cool your jets.

 

Do wear sunscreen!  The sun can also kill you, though not as quickly as being foolish around water.

 

Don't write articles about how quaint and idyllic our life is. There's a whole genre of newspaper commentors who come to Maine and then produce lovely, poetic paeans to the peaceful, authentic way of life and how noble and wise the natives are. Yes, our state motto is "The Way Life Should Be." But it's idyllic because you're on vacation, bub. Come to my house in January and you'll sing a different friggin' tune.

 

How about you, dear readers? Any suggestions for when we visit your neck of the woods?  

Sparrow, Always: a guest post by Gail Donovan

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: It comes as no surprise Maine is a pretty literary place. We punch far above our weight in sheer numbers,  considering there's just a tad over a million people here. (Of course, Stephen King counts for 57 writers in any other state.)

You might be more surprised to find there are four published authors in my church alone. (Cathedral Church of St. Luke, Portland, Maine, guests and visitors welcome!) One of them is my friend Gail Donovan. She writes middle-grade fiction, loosely defined as reading for kid aged 7-12. 

 

 

Gail has won or been nominated for a boatload of awards and 'best of' picks, and I used to encourage her to branch out from her stand alone novels into a series. "Everyone likes series!" I would say over tea at her comfortable and colorful home. "Just look at me!" But she never found the right character to keep bringing back on stage, as it were, until Sparrow Robinson, who "loves to dance and leap around. She loves cats. She has a million questions about the world, and she’s not afraid to ask them." Sparrow also loves animals, helping find homes for a neighbor's cats in SPARROW BEING SPARROW, rescuing an injured bird in SPARROW SPREADS HER WINGS and, in the upcoming SPARROW, ALWAYS (this November!) getting involved with a service dog-in-training. 

 

I know Gail well, and I know she hasn't personally been involved with any guide dogs (although she does have an adorable granddog who looks like Laika the Space Dog.) So I asked her what was the inspiration for SPARROW, ALWAYS?

 

 

 

This will be embarrassing, but here goes. I was young. The book was Light A Single Candle by Beverly Butler, and the character was a girl named Trudy, who loses her sight and then receives a guide dog. A guide dog! I was so transported by the story I wished that that would happen to me! I spent hours wandering the streets of my suburban Connecticut neighborhood, picturing a dog leading the way.

 

I know better now than to wish that I needed a guide dog, yet I am still in awe of both the power of writing and the deep imaginative leaps that a reader is willing to take. And I still have a deep reverence for guide dogs. So does my character Sparrow, of whom a school librarian said, “Everyone loves a spunky heroine!” 

 

See what happens when Sparrow—spunky, nine going on ten years old, and passionate about animals of all kinds—finds herself living next door to a guide dog puppy raiser, determined to do everything she can to help the puppy pass his test.  

 

Would you like a complimentary copy of Sparrow, Always? Share your story of a book that carried you away— the more embarrassing the better. I’ll pick a winner at random.

 

Sparrow, Always, the third book in a series featuring Sparrow Robinson, will be released by Simon & Schuster this November. You can pre-order here. The first two books are Sparrow Being Sparrow (Publishers Weekly, starred review) and Sparrow Spreads Her Wings (winner of the Maine Literary Award for Young People’s Literature).

Aging Is Like Puberty, And About As Much Fun

Happy Canada Day to all our Northern Neighbors!          

 

 

 

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I had my annual checkup with my NP recently, and discovered once again almost every physical change or symptom I experience is something "you can expect as you get older." (Did I mention my NP is literally young enough to be my son? Of course he is. Medical practitioners my age are frickin' retiring.)

Trouble with insomnia? "You can expect that as you get older." Bouts of vertigo when I lie down and get up?  "You can expect that as you get older."Acid indigestion? "You can expect that as you get older." I expect if I told him I was growing a second head, I'd find out that, too, is just one of those things that happen as you... you know the drill.

I've been thinking about the last time my body ran away with me - puberty - and decided the physical process of maturing has a lot of similarities with what happens as we age, except that after puberty we get to drink and have sex, while after completing aging... again, you know the drill.

Puberty: I am horrified to find the skin on my face, to which I had never given any thought other than to make sure it was washed, is embarrassing and betraying my by breaking out in zits.

Aging:  I am horrified to find the skin on my face, which I have been lavishing with elaborate and expensive serums, moisturizers and sun screens, has creases that don't iron out and has broken out in solar lentigines, AKA liver spots. 

Puberty: Oh, no, my boobs are getting as big as my grandmother's!

Aging: Oh, no, my bunions are getting as big as my grandmother's!

Puberty: I wake up once a month wracked with cramps. (My first time, when I come downstairs complaining, my mother dances around the kitchen singing, I Enjoy Being A Girl.) 

Aging: I wake up once a month wracked with cramps. I have dared to eat a little too much of whatever food substance my body's decided is verboten right now. Sadly, no on sings and dances in the kitchen.

Puberty: I worry a lot about nuclear war.

Aging: I worry a lot about nuclear war.

Puberty: My joints ache as they strain to keep up with my bones growing three inches in height annually for three years.

Aging: My joints ache from arthritis. Oh, and I've lost three inches in height! What the hell, bones?!?

Puberty: I experience a mix of panic and excitement with I think about cute boys in my middle school.

Aging: I experience a mix of panic and excitement when I think about the balance in my stock and bond portfolio.  

Puberty: Whenever I'm feeling scared or misunderstood or overwhelmed, I escape into books. My fictional friends always make me feel better.

 

Aging: Me too, 14-year-old Julie. Me, too. 

 

 Dear readers, what is your time of life akin to?