MY HUSBAND and I spent the last three days out of this world and it was great. We never saw a TV, never caught glimpse of a newspaper, couldn’t surf the Internet due to spotty service, and never heard, not even once, anyone utter the word “Trump.” All it took was a 75-minute ferry ride to an island called Vinalhaven 13 miles off the coast of Maine to truly experience the state’s motto, “The Way Life Should Be.”
Vinalhaven is to Maine what Maine is to the rest of the United States: really out there. Occupying roughly the same land area as the isle of Manhattan (168.7 sq. mi.), although shaped differently and sharing no characteristics whatsoever, I’m pretty sure God has a summer place there. Now at this late stage of my life I want one too.
In general all things were better there, including lemon meringue pie. (See photo.) The weather was at least ten degrees cooler than on the mainland, which is blissful on a sweltering summer day. And while there are cars there’s no traffic, or traffic lights, or parking meters. You just drive where you want to go and when you get there you pull over, turn off the engine and get out, leaving your car unlocked if you choose since there are no criminals either.
But if you ask me, the best thing about Vinalhaven is the lack of brew pubs, which are suddenly and alarmingly taking over the state, and likely the world. There’s a huge one the size of a factory (and still growing) less than a mile from my home in teeny-tiny Freeport, and three more in the town proper. Even the mystical, magical Monhegan Island, just 4.5 square miles in size, now has one, and last time I was there you had to wait in line for a seat, which was actually a lobster trap put to a more humane use.