Although the weather on Memorial Day was cloudy, it was at least cool enough to keep most of the flying pests at bay as we gathered under the large party tent that had been set up for the day’s barbecue. For all of the historic import of the day, it is still considered the first summer holiday, especially for those lucky enough to live in regions were the seasons actually change. Having moved to Maine from California's Mojave Desert last fall, I am finding the rapid changes that spring brings to be absolutely dazzling.
And nowhere were the changes more pronounced than at our family compound on the Androscoggin River in Greene, Maine. The barbecue, hosted by the family, was well attended by many members of the white working class who probably all voted for the current president. For some reason, I seem to find myself politically isolated in deep red districts. The attendees were mostly small business owners in the building trades or in agriculture. They were almost all Maine natives, with the dry wit and easy sociability that I have found to be fairly common in my new neighborhood. A Garth Brooks CD was playing, allowing us to enjoy the sound of I’ve Got Friends in Low Places as a pontoon boat slowly drifted down the Androscoggin River with a fisherman casting his line.
If the fisherman got lucky, he might have caught a fish or two, but the Maine Center for Disease Control & Prevention would caution him against consuming more that six to 12 fish per year. Yes, you can catch the fish, but you shouldn’t eat very many of them because of the past dioxin discharges from paper mills on the river. The Androscoggin did not always look as beautiful as it does today.