It’s a weird thing to be 66 years old and to realize suddenly that you’ve finally arrived home. My home away from home, anyway.
I grew up in Las Vegas. A place where you grew up fast (at 16 I was sneaking into casinos to gamble), and a place that gave you a distorted view of normal city life. When I moved away to attend college in a nearby state I was shocked by the differences. What, drugstores aren’t open 24 hours a day? Grocery stores don’t have slot machines? Where are all the lights?
At that point in my life, the thought of ending up in Maine would have been as implausible and ridiculous as thinking I would join a space colony on Mars. And yet, here I was now, standing in the middle of the intersection of Wildes District Road, Pier Road, Langsford Road and Route 9 that comprises the “downtown” of Cape Porpoise, and thinking, “This is my home, the center of my universe.”
I live in Kennebunkport, but much of what I do on an almost daily basis happens in nearby Cape Porpoise, a charming fishing village mostly unblemished by tourist tackiness. Here I shop at Bradbury Brothers Market, a small, well-run grocery store that somehow manages to stock almost every foodstuff imaginable. I frequently drink coffee and read in the Cape Porpoise Kitchen, a haven of prepared gourmet food and peasant fare I count on when I’m too tired or too lazy to cook. (Tonight, sweet chili glazed salmon or meatloaf?)
For many years my wife and I began Saturdays with breakfast at The Wayfarer (now Musette). Across the street is Atlantic Hall, a rustic event center where we host our Pecha Kucha Nights and have attended scores of community events, from major birthday bashes to celebration of life memorials. In the summer months, we buy our fish at the seafood shack on Langsford Road.
Moreover, within the same couple of blocks, you can attend church, check out library books, buy original fine art, scope out local real estate, watch lobster boats chug in and out of the harbor, mail a letter, buy country-chic gifts, chat with friendly firemen, eat fried clams or haute cuisine. All in a village of a few hundred people.
But back to me. I’m standing in the middle of Cape Porpoise one bright summer day, pondering my place in the universe, and suddenly realizing my place is right here. This is where I belong. Not writing ads for larcenous casino owners. Not living through hellmouth desert summers. Not thinking that barren, treeless Lake Mead is the perfect recreation destination. Not planning expensive nights out to see big celebrity entertainers.
Nope. I’m a Mainer now. And Cape Porpoise is my home. Copernicus told us the Earth wasn’t the center of the universe. He was scientifically correct, but emotionally off base. Home is where your heart intersects with your life; where everything meaningful to you says this is the center of the universe.
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