Olive Pierce - Up River: The Story of a Maine Fishing Community (Library of New England)
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Up River: The Story of a Maine Fishing Community (Library of New England)
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Up River : The Story of a Maine Fishing Community Library of New England
author
:
Pierce, Olive.; Chute, Carolyn.
publisher
:
University Press of New England
isbn10 | asin
:
0874517567
print isbn13
:
9780874517569
ebook isbn13
:
9780585230917
language
:
English
subject
Atlantic Coast (Me.)--Social life and customs, Fishing--Maine--Atlantic Coast, Atlantic Coast (Me.)--Description and travel.
publication date
:
1996
lcc
:
F27.A75P54 1996eb
ddc
:
974.1/009163/27
subject
:
Atlantic Coast (Me.)--Social life and customs, Fishing--Maine--Atlantic Coast, Atlantic Coast (Me.)--Description and travel.
Page i
Up River
Page ii
Page iii
Up River
The Story of a Maine Fishing Community
Olive Pierce
with word pictures by Carolyn Chute
University Press of New England / Hanover & London
Page iv
University Press of New England, Hanover, NH 03755
Prose text and photographs 1996 by Olive Pierce
Word pictures on pages ix, 34, 35, 50, 51, 64, 65, 78,79,
88, 89, 100, 101, 112, and 113 1996 by Carolyn Chute
All rights reserved
Printed in Singapore 5 4 3 2 1
CIP data appear at the end of the book
Library of New England
Page v
for Fern
Page vii
Preface
I grew up in an exclusive suburb of Chicago. Many people were millionairessteel magnates, meat-packing heirs, railroad executives. My father was a successful banker but not as rich as the friends whose lifestyle he tried to keep up with. The pressure of his ambitions weighed on me and made me wish that I could go to public school like my cousin John whose father had lost his job in the Depression. My cousin's life seemed somehow freer and more adventurous than my own.
I was sent away to boarding school as was the custom in Lake Forest. I went to Virginia. Black people in number and tenant farmers living in shacks on backcountry roads were new to my eyes. I wanted to see more. So, after graduating from Vassar College at the end of World War II, I got a job as the secretary to a United Nations medical team bound for Poland. With my first camera around my neck, I wandered the rubbled ruins of Warsaw and stared dumb-founded at the piles of children's shoes at the death camp at Auschwitz. As I met people and travelled around, my preconceptions about foreigners, about Communists, about Jews went out the window.
Still, it requires constant vigilance to see people as they are. To this day, I sometimes catch myself harboring harsh feelings about the class of people I grew up with, or am unexpectedly smitten with suspicion when I encounter a black person in my neighborhood that I don't know. Even the community in Maine that is the subject of this book may, without warning, appear in a negative guise. But when I refocus my mind and my camera on the particular person and the particular place, the shadows back off.
I am convinced that it is only by reducing the general to the specific that we can make room for change in our own and other people's hearts. The people in the community I have photographed may seem a world apart to someone driving down their stretch of country road. They may even seem from the outward appearance of their lives to be less than other people. My experience tells me otherwise. Their lives have shape and substance; they are committed to work and family; their day-to-day joys and pains are no more nor less than mine. My hope is that after looking at this book the person driving down the road may see beyond the junked cars to the lives that are lived there.
OLIVE PIERCE ROUND POND, MAINE
Page ix
What You Made
(in memory of Freddie and Butch Friend)
Lost limb and ear to his gadgets, winch and gallus, life to the sea... sauntering walk. In our time, what became of his free run? of clever young fathers who thought what you built, you kept, that what you lost, your left leg, your ear, your life! would be the planted seed... for a home forever. What were they thinking! those girl mothers, their eager thick-knit immutable nests, building a country? Twas all along watching you with its level eyes, this fit creature that you made to your liking, made prepossessing, gave books... now pushes you out. The sea never was the danger, never was, though you looked for it there.
Carolyn Chute Parsonsfield, Maine
Page 1
I know the road by heart. I've driven it a thousand times. Sometimes I travel it in my mind as I am dropping off to sleep in my bed back in Cambridge. Turning off Maine Route 32 in Waldoboro, I soon come to a fork and two wooden arrows nailed to a tree. The right-hand arrowthe one that points the way I'm goingsays "Neck," but it could as well be a lobster buoy marked "Carter," the name of almost everyone who lives on the Neck except the Harveys who are the Carters' cousins. The road meanders up a stretch of cracked asphalt to the top of a rise where, heralded by trucks and abandoned skiffs and junked cars deep in grass, the community begins.
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