Points East: Are You Ready for The County?

Seriously, stay here when visiting PEI.

Brad Clark of Clark’s Sunny Isle Motel might be the most helpful gent on Prince Edward Island. His name on one of the province’s best-kept motor lodges (recently renovated rooms, a quiet gazebo, a walking path to Bedeque Bay and 15 acres of undeveloped prairie).

As we prepared to shove off to PEI National Park on Thursday morning, he recommended taking the crescent-shaped route that circled out to the coast before returning to New London.

 On his recommended drive past numerous bays and coves, we stumbled on the L.M. Montgomery Heritage Museum.

For an island littered with all things Green Gables, this house was special. Her grandparents lived there and it became a refuge for the author. Montgomery was married in the home and wrote several books there, including the original Anne of Green Gables.

Out front sat the Lake of Shining Waters, another inspiration for the book’s setting. On clearer days, the Gulf of St. Lawrence was visible.

As we walked through the small home that an antique stove easily warmed, a horse neighed outside.

 I have not read the books and have seen only part of the 1980s film, which was helped by the presence of Richard Farnsworth as Anne’s adopted father. But the history was easy to appreciate, and Nancy was happy that Clark’s last-minute advice led us to such a nice spot.

One spin past Summerside, then we soon rejoined the TransCanada Highway. At the bridge toll booth, the machine scanned and charged a credit card faster than any either of us had seen.

Back on the bridge, it was easy to forget we drove so high over the strait. We shook our heads; no sooner did we enter the span than the sun came out. We had not seen any breaks in the clouds since we last crossed the bridge.

Most of the TransCanada Highway was uneventful. We zipped past another string of cold rivers and broad, moose-free lakes before the road began to follow the broad Saint John River, the province’s largest.

Twice we went through A Treasure, a live Neil Young compilation with the International Harvester Band that effectively redeems the limp country tunes of Old Ways. Plus, Bound for Glory includes a lyric about hitchhiking on the TransCanada Highway. East of Fredericton, the Saint John River began running close to the highway.

I would run for a legislature that met here.

Fredericton provided a big final dose of European flair. The Saint John River bisects the city of 56,000. Regent Street descended steeply toward downtown and we stopped on Queen Street for a few of the view and downtown.

 The provincial legislature’s cupola popped above the compact skyline. The imposing black building made an undeniable Victorian feel.

This region has a long history with First Nations people and a European influence stretching back to the 17th century, when Fort Nashwaak served as capital of the French colony of Acadia. The Garrison District dated back to 1784. British troops were quartered there until 1869. Fredericton also hosts the North America’s oldest public college, the University of New Brunswick.

Excited about crepes and Picaroons

The effects of our continental breakfast at Clark’s had worn off. Parking on Queen Street had its benefits,  the biggest being restaurants. We ate at Crepe Suzette Creperie, where Nancy had a crisp French white and I sampled the local blonde ale from Picaroons Ales, which stood up to any American craft brew.

West of Fredericton, the highway clung to hills above the Saint John River. Traffic virtually disappeared as we neared the Maine border. The river valley was magnificent, a beautiful centerpiece for a beautiful, underrated province.

Fearing customs, I had Nancy toss the remains of her Scotch-style whiskey, Golden Wedding, before we crossed the border. It proved unnecessary as we pulled into the customs building before a rolling creek in Bridgewater, Maine. The customs officer saw our Tennessee licenses and grumbled about the humidity and how he married a woman from Tennessee. Five minutes of chitchat and we reentered our country.

Fredericton Garrison District

We had also entered The County, also called the Crown of Maine. Aroostook County is the largest county east of the Mississippi, larger than Connecticut and Rhode Island put together.

With just over 70,000 people, it’s a different country with a combination and broad fields and low rugged mountains. Roadside shacks sold potatoes on the honor system. Russet potatoes grow best here. The vast majority go to McCain Foods and Frito Lay. Read whatever you want into that, but agriculture remains the lifeblood of The County. Wind power is a growth industry here.

We are better for having drank you.

Windmills churned away atop Mars Hill Mountain, a significant Aroostook peak with radio towers and a ski slope on its forested hills. In the late afternoon we reached the Bear Paw Inn, a Mars Hill motor court with recently renovated rooms. It was our third straight motel with a recent revamp, and it made for a comfortable resting spot in New England’s northernmost reaches.

Up in Presque Isle, Aroostook’s largest city at 10,000 people, we had a reservation to keep. A college friend of mine, Kari, hailed from Presque Isle. Even in college, I always wanted to trek to the Crown of Maine but lacked the means. I had mentioned our trip to Kari and we made dinner plans for when we came into town. I had not seen her since graduation day in May 1999.

Only as an adult I could truly appreciate the scale and topography of Aroostook County. A bloodless war had been fought over the border between the Maine and New Brunswick in the 1840s. Some still believe Aroostook’s Canadian culture (many are bilingual up there) would serve it better as a part of New Brunswick.

Border crossing at Bridgewater.

Route 1 sat far below the peaks of Quaggy Joe, a mountain at the core of Arostook State Park, Maine’s oldest. We caught its crags as the sunset darkened them. Kari picked Café Sorpreso, a really nice restaurant on Presque Isle’s picturesque Main Street. Presque Isle Stream ran adjacent to downtown Presque Isle, meeting the Aroostook River and forming the peninsula that led to the French’s name for the town.

As always, catching up with an old friend adds a good dimension to a vacation. In addition to old times and who we still kept in touch with, we talked a lot about life in Maine. She told us about growing up in Aroostook, about school stopping in early autumn so the children could help with the potato harvest. That’s so far from what most Americans experience; it’s hard to forget items like remembering to check to make sure your fingers are intact if you get a gloved sucked into one of the machines.

At Cafe Sorpreso, the wine and the food were a good break from the seafood we had at most meals in the past week. Soon enough, Kari had to pick up her daughter from the babysitter and we bade her goodbye.

We eased back to Mars Hill in the pitch black terrain off U.S. 1. No moose came out, but we did see several planets. Not in the sky, but alongside the road – the University of Maine at Presque Isle had installed along U.S. 1. Setting the Earth model at 1 mile from the 50-foot “sun” at the campus, we saw Saturn’s rings on the roadside.

Back at the Bear Paw, we had another splash of wine before settling in below Mars Hill’s still wind turbines.