O U T   H E R E   I N   T H E   R E A L   W O R L D

In Search of a New Icon

by Eva Murray

The coast of Maine, with its islands, is well-known around the country for various reasons but we are pretty heavily stereotyped. We’re used to it, and sometimes we are complicit: surely some of the Matinicus lobster-catchers–even those with manicured lawns, accurate income taxes, and carefully-sorted recycling–do nothing to dispute this island’s reputation for reckless lawlessness. It helps keep the fishermen from other towns on their own side of the line. Well, maybe.

Some say Maine is too easily reduced to a few iconic symbols. The ad copy for the coast typically brings up the same set of pictures on the T-shirts and tote bags. You’re probably seeing a red lobster or somebody else’s lighthouse in your mind’s eye right now.

Monhegan, according to those who have spent two hours there in the summer, is all about artists. The cliché tells us that painters set up their workspaces outdoors and effect their genius in the salty breeze, while clusters of tourists circulate around their easels like pigeons around a French fry. But they have a craft beer operation over there now, and an elegant chocolate manufacturer and a coffee roaster, so I think it is fair to assume that the people of Monhegan would like their own public image to expand beyond easel and palette (and Trap Day). Going from the sublime to the ridiculous, as they say, we have our own stereotype, and Matinicus is reputed to be overrun with heavily-armed outlaws who hoist the black skull-and-bones up the radar mast. We are pirates down to our golden earrings, knives in the teeth, and highly intelligent talking parrots with a knack for sarcasm and an inside knowledge of the buried treasure. Uh…sure.

Obviously, the whole coast is about lobsters–depicted as red, as a rule, leaving the good folks of Nebraska oblivious to the fact that a red lobster is, barring the rare genetic anomaly, a cooked and certainly dead lobster not to be found inside a lobster trap. And, as we all know, Maine is all about lighthouses, which is fair enough given that our state has I think 68 working lights, but for some reason most of the calendar images depict either Bass Harbor or Portland Head.

In the interest of full disclosure I should mention that there have been at least two parrots here on Matinicus in recent years, both of them, by most accounts, complete idiots.

Matinicus Island, because of its proximity to Matinicus Rock, is also known for puffins. People adore puffins. Visitors are often surprised to discover that a puffin is not actually a large, upright bird something like a penguin, but rather quite diminutive, and that in flight they resemble nothing so much as “Woodstock” from the Peanuts comic–almost completely lacking in aerodynamic stability. Those bright-colored beaks are irresistible and puffins are, in a sense, rather cute. There are other rare birds which make an appearance here and are arguably at least as cool-looking–the snowy owl, for one. But puffins only come to shore in a couple of places, and one of them is nearby, so they are sort of “our thing.”

Here’s a fun fact: there are Atlantic puffins in the Central Park Zoo.

What’s the matter with the puffin, the lighthouse, the red lobster and the Jolly Roger? Absolutely nothing, except that as icons they are used hard, and may be growing just a little bit uninteresting. It has been suggested that we on Matinicus consider some new icons. We cannot help what people across the continent think of when they imagine Maine, but we can do something different when it comes to printing our own T-shirts.

Looking around for an authentic image to portray everyday island life I’m not sure the folks at any Maine Coast Promotional Council would be entirely enthusiastic about the options. We are definitely the land of the overloaded truck, for example. Heavily-laden vehicles are ubiquitous in early spring and late fall when the guys are moving lobster traps (you can get about 500 lobster traps on a swaybacked old Ford one-fitty if you work the sternman hard enough, even if the truck is so close to death it will only run in reverse and the lights blink like a rooftop Christmas display). Clambering with some difficulty up the ramp off each of the 35 or so state ferries we get each year, island homeowners’ pickup trucks are piled high with building materials, appliances, livestock–everything but Granny Clampett in her rocking chair–and rented box trucks strain on their springs, loaded down with everything from brick and block to six tons of used pot warp.

“Maine, the way life should be,” under a cartoon of an overloaded truck struggling off a ferry? Maybe not.

Significant weaponry is another common image that probably won’t make it onto anybody’s gift-shop items. The myth about Matinicus and guns is a bit misunderstood. It is not actually true that the island’s firearms tend to be aimed at people (the number of cases of actual threatening are statistically insignificant if you do the math, bullet for bullet,) but the retailers do love to see any of the Matinicus boys walk through the door at the sporting-goods store. Ka-ching, ka-ching. Everybody just likes shooting. The general consensus is that a fellow doesn’t have to be shooting at anything in particular. The churchgoing timber-framer, the roofer’s children, the guy who was fire chief for a while, and some of the rental cottage tenants including that stone-faced lawyer shoot just for the fun of it. Even the most pacifist, peace-loving, non-violent Quaker out here would happily raise his shotgun to menace beady-eyed rats, photographic drones, and recalcitrant items of electronic communications equipment. He’s looking into the purchase of a skeet shooter that’ll fling a wireless modem.

There’s also the stripped-down island vehicle with the nine-volt orange plastic lantern headlights duct-taped to the front bumper and complete lack of any parts not absolutely necessary to forward momentum. That’s a Matinicus icon for you. And, there’s Stand-up Outboard Guy. Is that a thing everywhere? I don’t know. Here, it remains a point of pride to run one’s outboard full-speed while standing straight-backed like George Washington in his rowboat. No, no, and no, I guess, regarding gift-shop icon potential–although the authenticity might be refreshing.

My vote for a new icon would be Abbie Burgess, and not just because she kept a lighthouse. Her story of maintaining the light at Matinicus Rock in 1856 by herself, as a teenager, while dealing with extreme weather, a bedridden mother and a bunch of younger sisters, a shortage of food and everything else, and no communications (and thus no idea whether her father, the head light-keeper, would ever get back to the Rock with supplies) is more than just a little encouragement to “weather the storm.” Her story puts the squash to any idea that a 16-year old is too young to work hard, or that a girl won’t have the guts.

In all seriousness–and because it is the right time of year–I would suggest we also consider making our new island symbol the gentle apple blossom. Matinicus is covered with apple trees, and in some years, early June resembles a new-fallen snow. Some folks say the prevalence of apple trees arises from generations of one-room school kids eating apples and flinging the cores into the fields. Could be. We do know that there were once orchards here, along with other developed agriculture, back when Matinicus was far more civilized than today. We don’t have to give up the more obviously maritime symbols, but not every island can take pride in such a glorious display in the spring. Apple blossom time here is over-the-top elegant, and it’s largely for us, happening before much of the summer crowd gets here to notice.

It was just a thought. Because, you know, there’s more to island life than tactical weapons and uninspectable trucks and boiled seafood.

Eva Murray is the Recycling and Solid Waste Coordinator for Matinicus Island. Eva’s last lobster license was dated 1990, the year her son was born, and cost $53.00, which at the time she thought was an awful lot of money.