I am currently on the horns of a dilemma.
For a long time I’ve pledged to use part of my summer vacation to visit friends and family who have, at one time or another, traveled a significant distance to spend time with me and my family here in America’s northeasternmost state.
Year after year I’ve promised these extraordinary folks I’m going to return the favor, and when I make that vow I honestly mean it.
But here’s my problem: these truly special individuals, all of whom have impacted my life in numerous positive ways, live in places like Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, Delaware, and the Carolinas.
There’s one additional factor to be considered. Like most people, I don’t want to be judged harshly by others. But there’s no better way to appear foolish than to be traveling somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line during the summer in a car adorned with Maine license plates. “Why in God’s name,” average strangers would think, “would anyone voluntarily leave Nirvana?”
Southern Mainers know we’ve got a good thing going. Sure, our dark, cold winters last a tad longer than the dreariest season does in other parts of the country. But winter here hasn’t really been all that arduous recently. Annual snowfall levels for the past decade or so have been pretty modest. We prefer to keep that secret to ourselves, though. We’re happy letting the rest of the country think Maine is East Alaska. Perpetuating that myth helps keep the riffraff out.
Well, some of it, anyway.
Maine is Heaven on Earth in the summertime. No place else in America combines consistently clear, sunny days with cool, relaxing evenings. There are mountains to hike, beaches to comb, wide varieties of cuisine to explore, clean air to breathe, clean water to drink, and little to no traffic.
Except on weekends between Memorial Day and mid-October. And every day between mid-June and Labor Day.
So how does an allegedly rational Mainer justify spending early August where I am now, in steamy, muggy, stiflingly-hot South Carolina?
It’s simple. I’m not on vacation. I’m on a fact-finding junket preparing to better educate the students who’ll be entering my classroom next month.
What important facts have I gleaned so far? Well, for starters:
The Hometown Farmer’s Market in Tamaqua, Pennsylvania is not to be missed. It’s held year-round, rain or shine, but only on Wednesdays. Insider’s tip: get there early. It’ll take at least two hours to do it right, and parking gets tricky as the day goes on.
The Shoeless Joe Jackson Museum in downtown Greenville, South Carolina is located in the small house where the baseball legend actually lived. But it’s only open through August 30th, and only on Saturdays between 10 AM and 2 PM.
The Potomac River that flows through Washington DC also serves as the border between Maryland and West Virginia. But the state line isn’t in the river’s middle; Maryland owns the entire waterway. West Virginia begins on the south/west shore.
While it may seem counterintuitive, the quickest way to drive from eastern Pennsylvania to Asheville, North Carolina involves going through Tennessee.
It’s possible to drive 605 miles in a single day while subsisting solely on carrots, apples and trail mix.
But the biggest thing I’ve learned so far: making eye contact with another person driving a car with Maine license plates south of the Mason-Dixon Line and/or west of the Hudson River during the summer produces an instant, genuinely appreciative smile from all involved parties.
Let everyone else think we’re crazy.
Maybe that’ll help keep the rest of the riffraff out.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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