Introducing the New Face of Domestic Newsflash

I am reading a book about writing, and I decided to practice based on the chapter 'Writing about Traveling,' so here it goes......

There was something about my visit to Maine that tugged deeper in my memory than just the fact I had been there before. Like drinking lavender tea takes me miraculously back to my childhood, it makes me wonder what subconsciously connects the past and present by clinging details.

Looking through a box of math worksheets, grammar papers, and works of art ranging from my kindergarten keepsakes to my high school records after I graduated, I found a stack of papers labeled ‘Penmanship,’ and bound by strong rubber bands. Each sheet was an imaginary letter to my mom expressing the cares of raising a family- the return addresses: always Maine.

I learned  on my seven-day vacation that four planes land daily at the Bar Harbor airport. The nine passengers on the Bar Harbor bound flight quickly dispersed when it landed, leaving my mom and me on the porch bench waiting to ride the free bus circuit into town. After twenty minutes, the 1 Campground Shuttle arrived with one passenger who offered us cherries and asked us if we knew more than she did about the bus schedule. Five minutes down the road, the driver stopped in a quiet parking lot, announced he would be back soon, and walked away.

I soon learned that all of Maine is relaxed; the influx of tourists from rv’s, cruise ships, and land rovers are met with zealous sociableness.

Warm skies finally brighten the rugged coast, making even the cold Atlantic ocean look inviting to bare toes and brave swimmers. The one-way Loop Road is strung with parked cars and hikers taking pictures. Bicycles are ridden on carriage roads that have been forbidden to automobiles since Rockfeller donated his road project to Acadia National Park in the 1940’s. Bar Harbor is busy.

Behind the counters in shops crowded with souvenirs- some homely and some of exquisite artistry- is the artisan, or his brother or sister, selected to satisfy the imaginations of visitors wanting from them a relic of the romantic culture that shadows Maine’s history.

There was a story I heard from a bus driver that I liked.

At one point of Loop Road, a small, forested mountain runs steeply to a red and white seaside villa built in 1912 by Professor Rudolph Brunnow, a widower, before his fiancée would leave England to be his bride.
At last the professor purchased a first-class passage for his bride on the most reliable and luxurious ship of the time- the fatal Titanic. The woman never arrived at America.
Precipice Trail, a strenuous climb to the summit, was in construction years afterward when the professor fell to his death. It overlooks a broad view of sky and water.

The bus driver told us that an Englishwoman two or three years ago adamantly claimed to be the granddaughter of Professor Brunnow and his bride. Being first-class, the Englishwoman explained, the young bride watched the great ship sink from the seat of a lifeboat. The bride suffered for days in the drifting lifeboat before it was found and she was restored to English soil where she swore to never leave again.

The professor moved to England, the granddaughter continued. He returned to Maine to visit, but died while finishing a trail up the mountain.

People leaned forward in their seats to hear the end of the driver’s story as the bus passed above the villa. It was just what we wanted- a connection to the history all around us.