A Slice of ME
This is an excerpt from an essay from November 2015, edited and revised for clarity.
Andrew and I hightail out of Portland for the small town of Unity, ME. The Maine Farmland Trust (MFT) is hosting their annual meeting at the Unity Food Hub (part event space, commercial kitchen, farmstand-style market). Intended for MFT staff, board, members—and, honestly, anyone interested in the history and future of farming and agriculture in Maine—the meeting could be described as something magical.
Chef Frank Giglio cooked a quintessentially farm-to-table array of dishes—so much so, that the people who work the farms were probably in the kitchen helping to prepare it, or mingling at the event. There was perfectly fitting American folk music (‘trad’), supplied by a couple who played fiddle, banjo, guitar, and some good boot-stomping you like to hear against a beautiful hardwood floor.
Senator Angus King, a political independent, spoke as the main event for the evening. The room in which he delivered his words was packed to standing-room only type of thing. It's a family-friendly event, but Andrew and I must have been two of a handful of young people (besides a few kids and those who work for MFT working the evening).
King's speech was rooted in the theme of "ethics." Ethics, as it related to climate and environmental change, the core and nature of Maine population, as well as his experiences in Washington. He spoke with poise, eloquence, and a true relatability to the people.
His effect on the crowd was indelible. He held audience interest for 30 or 45 minutes, and we hung onto every word, likely because he reinforced the beautiful qualities of most Mainers. For example, he related a story with a colleague about trying to describe Maine to someone who isn't so familiar. "It's most like a really big small town, but with really long roads," he says. This points to its community-centric type of life out here. He also paints a picture of the Maine spirit through story of a farmer asking to borrow his neighbor's roto-tiller. He uses it in the spring, and when done, cleans the machine as good as—if not better than—its original condition and leave it with a full tank of gas. "That's just how we are," he reassures. It certainly feels that way, looking around the cheery room of friendly and weathered faces of farmers present.
He concludes his riveting discussion of all things farm and Maine and the future by noting what a good time it is to be doing both of those things. As of 2015, Maine had the highest numbers of rapidly-growing small farms in the country, and the sharpest decline in average age of farmers. Never have I felt more compelled to work on a farm, learn what it's like, and learn best practice from a culture here in Maine that is both rooted in farming and woodworking traditions. There are genuinely interested parties of people who want to preserve the face as well as the heart of this great state.
To punctuate this evening, King opened the floor for Q+A. But, for me, it was the concluding comment from an audience member that spoke volumes. A very old farmer stands up from his chair, in the center of the room. He leans heavily on his cane, his hands and head tremble with his age. His face is well-worn, and shows clearly how he seems to be using every ounce of energy to stand up and project to the room.
"My family has had the same dairy farm in Belfast since the 1700s," he says. "I have been following your political moves since the day you entered, and I just want to say what a good job you have done over the years."
If there were a sound or feeling of hearts dropping from unexpected weight, the room collectively hovered in a momentous pause. This man communicated his message of hope, and praise, and genuine thoughtfulness—and that was special. There was something so unifying about his words that I, a newcomer, felt included with generations of Mainers*.
Just as Angus King looks truly humbled and on the verge of more emotion, the man finishes his beautiful speech and the entire room leaps from their seats and the profound feelings were exacerbated with a standing ovation and roaring cheers. It was electrifying; the best Friday night I've had in a long time, one that I hope happens soon enough.
November 15, 2015
*Editor’s Note: Apparently to be a “Mainer,” your parents have to have been born here. Two entirely different people told us prior to the birth of our child "…just because a cat has a kitten in the oven doesn’t mean it’s a biscuit," which is something a lot of Maine folks apparently relay to newcomers, and is common adage in New England. The sentiment here is only now very stark and unbelievable feeling to me, and I will not pass on this historically nativist thinking.