Introduction

In the seventeen hundreds they came. At first it was but a trickle but still they came. They came from the North, the East and the South. They were of many different tongues, Indian, French, English, Irish, Scots, German and Italian. They came with all that they owned tied in rolls across their backs or just the very clothes they wore.

They came by boats across the great waters and followed the rivers, the streams and the brooks until they couldn't follow them anymore. They came by horse, mule or ox but mostly they came, by placing one tired foot in front of the other, until they reached a destination that met their needs. They followed the narrow trails that the moccasins of the Micmac, the Maliseet, the Penobscot and the Algonquin had made in the forests of the county.

They braved the hoards of the black flies, moose flies, no-see-ems, midgies and mosquitoes to follow their dreams to a better place. Some followed the rag-tag army of Benedict Arnold as he made his way up from Houlton through Island Falls, Sherman Station, Patten, Ox Bow, Masardis, Ashland, Portage, Buffalo, Soldier Pond, Winterville, Eagle Lake, Wallagrass and Soldier Pond to Fort Kent and the very edge of the Saint John River Valley.

These men and woman were a proud and hardy lot. Some were truly dreaming of a better place while others came because they were unwanted in their former lands. They carried surnames like: Young, Howe, Kallock, Cook, Scarlett, Webber, Bell, Cunningham, Holman, Robins, Boswell, Weeks, Wakefield, Littlefield, McDonald, Peterson, Mountain, Page, Burby, Lewin, Goss, Keep, Hawes, Howes, Winslow, Rafford, Crocker, Robinson, Stevens, Foster, Jimmo, Dorman, Sutherland, Pike, Sawyer, Orcutt, McGowen, Holmes, Bragdon, Colbath, McHatten, McCormack, Hews, Davenport, Weaver, Bolestridge, Gilman, Coffin, Rossignol, Bartlett, McNally and Clark.

These are my people and I am immensely proud of them.

The sky, in Aroostook County, is a sharp, clear blue with large, fluffy white clouds floating lazily across it. The slight breeze is so fresh and clean that the first thing one notices is that it doesn't have any smell at all. The air sweeps across the close-cropped pastures and down through the potato fields with barely a ruffling of the leaves. With the advent of autumn, the wild grasses have turned a deep gold and their golden stocks contrast deeply with the lush greenness of the potato plants.

The soft droning of bees is all that one can hear as they rush about gathering nectar from the multitude of flowers, which grow in wild profusion as far as the eye can see. The patches of bright orange, red and gold Indian paintbrushes sway to and fro in the gentle breeze like the heads of sleepy children.

Down below Sutherland's Hill on the Goding Road, just outside of Ashland, there is the shimmer of silver as the late afternoon sun is reflected off the slowly moving Aroostook River as it winds its way through the county. If one ventures closer to the river, you can see the ripple of the water, as the numerous fish rise to the surface to feed off the hoards of insects that are floating on it. The slap of a beaver's tail on the water sounds like a cannon's boom in the silent air.

Across the river on the Garfield Side, the stands of pine, spruce, hemlock, beech and maple stand straight and tall like sentries in the army of the forest. In the lush coolness, there is evidence of the abundance of wild animals. One can readily see that rabbits, bear, moose, deer, raccoons, muskrats, mink and otter still occupy this vast area. The intermingling calls of bluejays, crows, ravens and woodpeckers echo in the quiet stillness of the fall day.

Off in the distance, you can also hear another sound, the sound of man and his chainsaw as its steel teeth rip through the white meat of the virgin timber. The snarl and smoke of the skidder permeates the air as the huge machine struggles to pull the slaughtered logs up out of a deep ravine.

If you raise your head and look off in the distance, your eyes will naturally be drawn to the southern horizon. There is an oft-repeated expression "On a clear day, you can see forever." From where our house stood on a high knoll on the Goding Road, we couldn't exactly see forever but on a clear day we could see the majesty of the snow-capped peak of Mt. Katahdin a hundred miles to the south.

When winter comes once again to Aroostook County the harsh realities of living confined, for the most part, in doors for the next six or seven months, is almost too much to bare. Another winter of bone-chilling cold, wet socks and mittens and long, woolen underwear are the realities of living in the county. Wet wool, Kerosene and the crackle of the wood burning stove are all too familiar smells and sounds to a true Mainer. This is a season of hardship, suffering and most of all great patience.

For all this, Aroostook County is a place of great beauty too. On nights when the temperature hovers around ten clapboards below zero and all wise souls hug the blazing woodstove, outside the Aurora Borealis, with its shimmering bands of rainbow colors, shifts its way across the Northern sky as proof that it's dance has been choreographed by the master choreographer. The Indians, who are older than time, called this magical event "The Dance of the Heavenly Spirits." And this so aptly describes this atmospheric phenomenon.

At times, the cold is so intense that it completely freezes the sap in the trees and even the slightest wind will cause the branches to break, sounding like gun shots in the frigid air. Cold sears the tissues of the nose and lungs and compels one to move quickly on their appointed rounds.

Man is completely at the mercy of Mother Nature in this unrelenting season. The morning may dawn bright and clear but within the hour, the sky has turned a dull gray and the wind shifts out of the North with a vengeance. The wind-driven snow comes skittering across the desolate potato fields to pile-up in huge drifts across the roads. The only contrast to the barren whiteness is the leafless trees and fence posts as they stand like frozen soldiers in the swirling, drifting snow.

In Aroostook County, in the dead of winter, the roads remain in alternating conditions of either deep-piled snowdrifts or frozen ribbons of steel blue ice. One ventures out of doors only under extreme cases of necessity. To live and survive in Northern Maine, year after year, requires not only extreme patience but also an indefatigable spirit or a combination of both to live in this "God-forsaken" place.

Visitors, who live in warmer climes, which to us meant any place south of Bangor, often voiced the opinion that "the county" must be a wonderful place to live when there is so much snow. Upon hearing this, mother would roll her eyes and mutter a few choice words under her breath and say, "Surely God protects fools and children."

Now that I am grown and have wandered around the world a little, I find that no matter how far one roams, your heart, sooner or later, always brings you home.

Copyright (1st Rights) retained by the author, Martha Stevens-David, who can be reached at lmdmsd@megalink.net.