Memories of Monhegan

Monhegan Island sits sixteen miles off the coast of Maine in another world entirely. It has long been a favorite with painters and artists as a place of visual inspiration and as such hosts a group of resident artists who maintain galleries on the island. It is also, for a writer like myself and inspiration. The island reflects another time and place. There are very few motorized vehicles. Cell service is silly and intermittent but I found that throughout Maine. It's one of the best assets of the State. But on Monhegan face to face communication replaces digitized small bursts of words and emotions. People actually look up and greet each other. So, what do most people do? The walk and think at the same time. That is a custom- made environment for writer. In face almost all forms of creative endeavor were well represented. I sat on a wall and listened to a choral concert in the middle of an afternoon. I heard some of the best fiddle and guitar playing I have ever heard live. It was all part of the atmosphere. I'm not a travel writer. My hat is off to them because I'm not sure I could capture the essence of Monhegan in a way that would influence someone to get on the ferry, ride for an hour sometimes in rough seas, to get to a totally remove island. I don't have that talent. But, character after character came clearly into focus. I began to understand the work of the artists that had become famous here. I learned how much has to happen by just dumb luck to allow people to make a living from the sea. I was there in the summer of course when the boat ran twice a day to the mainland. I didn't have to worry about ordering groceries and getting someone to pick them up or how I was going to heat my house when the winter gales of the Atlantic swept over the island. There were enough lanterns around for me to half figure out what would happen if the power was interrupted or how you would handle a fire (there is absolutely no smoking on the island) or a medical emergency. Not having to worry about those things is what was part of magic that drew me to the island three times in one summer. I would go back again tomorrow just to sit on the porch at the Monhegan Inn, look out over the sound that you see above, and imagine what my next hero was going to be like. It is a place of mystery. It is a place of magic. It will never be completely figured out and that is what makes the island itself a muse.