August 2017

Earlier this summer, my family had a picnic at Laite Memorial Beach, near the mouth of Camden Harbor. It was a beautiful day, especially welcome after a cold and rainy spring. We splashed in the refreshing (some might say frigid) water, and my daughter, Ella, begged to test her swimming skills by front-crawling out to floating dock offshore. My son, Graeme, found his niche collecting and throwing rocks into the waves. All the while, we watched the action on the water, from the geese that landed right in front of us to the boats gliding in and out of the harbor.

I’m fortunate that my life is centered around Camden and Rockport harbors, which I pass almost every day on my commute. On my way home one evening last winter, I saw a full moon rising over Rockport Harbor that took my breath away. (Luckily, our director of photography, Benjamin Williamson, saw it too — a lot of you had the same reaction when we posted it on our Facebook page.)

Merriam-Webster has several definitions of pretty, one of which is appearing or sounding pleasant or nice but lacking strength, force, manliness, purpose, or intensity. Many of us raising children in the 21st century are sensitive to the gendered bias in telling little girls they’re pretty, because they are so much more than that. I know: Eye roll. Millennials are so PC. What’s the harm? But just as I cringe when someone calls a child pretty, I hesitated at first to use the word in this issue to describe Maine’s harbors.

Why? The “Prettiest Harbors” that appear in this month’s photo feature, beginning on page 82, are part of the fabric of economic life and cultural identity in our coastal communities. They sustain our commercial fisheries and are the pillars of our tourism industry. They are living, ever-evolving entities, with fishing wharfs, boatyards, restaurants, and shops lining their shores. And yes, it must be said, they are also very, very pretty — but their prettiness is not reductive.

So back to Laite Beach, where I sat watching the maritime traffic as Ella splashed and Graeme skipped stones. We spotted the schooner Olad, captained by Ella’s friend’s father,
Aaron Lincoln, making its way to the open waters of Penobscot Bay. On the opposite shore, we saw the powerful presence of Lyman-Morse Boatbuilding at Wayfarer Marine, owned by another of Ella’s friend’s parents. In one snapshot were two families (who just happen to have pretty and strong, purposeful, smart daughters) contributing to a harbor’s economic and cultural legacy — and making it so much more than just another pretty place.

– Kathleen Fleury