|
|
|
allowing one to "walk the line."
Text by Art Sordillo.
Note that because of the length of this text and the number of photographs in it, the story is displayed in sections. If you prefer, you may read the entire text without any additional photographs.
But our journey took 19 days. For us an imaginary line on a map became real. And we acquainted ourselves with people who truly are middle Americans. Day 1: Perry, Maine Situated on Passamaquoddy Bay in the south eastern section of Washington County, the 45th parallel of north latitude passes right through the town. The plan was simple: we'd find out where the 45th ambled into the bay, walk back in a straight line, and knock on the door of the first house we encountered; the folks inside would be the easternmost in America living on the 45th. There was only one catch: nobody we spoke to in town could tell us where the 45th marker was. " 'Jeezem crow, think there's one marker over by the Loring place." Over we drove. Sure enough, out in back, where the property meets the ocean, was a marker. We did it! "Hey Art, there's another marker over here." It looked just as official as the one we had just seen. We walked farther up the beach -- more markers. "Uh, I don't think this is going to help us. Maybe these markers designate the boundary or something." "Yeah."
Day 2: Still in Perry, Maine Harry and his wife allowed Steve to photograph them at sunrise. Later we went upstairs in the Raye house to see the famous short-wave radio that has given Harry his nickname: "Raye-dio Free Perry," (According to one local, "If you want to know what's going on, listen to Harry,") Around 4:30 A.M. or so, Harry made breakfast, "To officially start you boys on your trip." I looked out the bay window to the deck; their cat was swallowing a mouse -- I watched the tail disappear. "More sausage, Art?" "No, thanks. We'd better get going." We head west to Boyden Lake. During the drive to the eastern most lake in the United States, Steve and I talk about the past two days, hoping my vision of the Rayes' cat is not a sign of things to come.
Jim Wells enjoys the view of Boyden Lake in his front yard on the 45th parallel. | |
ON A MAP the 45th parallel is easy to find, well marked and straight. But as we rode along the parallel, we concluded that cartography, that curious blend of art and science, might just as well be the result of wishful thinking. No highway follows the 45th. After several days the pencil lines on our map melded to resemble a primitive electrocardiogram; treks to and from towns dotted along the parallel were never easy we went up to go down, east to go west, and sometimes forward to go back. If we stretched a tape measure straightaway from Perry, Maine (where we started), to Alburg, Vermont (where we finished), it might be 325 miles, less than a day's drive.
Steve and I gave one last look at the bay, at the ramshackle fishing weirs here and there, and headed for town hall. Three hours, countless numbers of topographical maps, and lots of head cocking, all combined in our favor. Excitement. When we knocked on the door of Fran and Harry Raye and told them they were living in the easternmost house in America on the 45th parallel, they said, "Is that so? You boys like to come in for some coffee?"
Go to the Next Part of the trip.
Copyright ©1995 Stephen O. Muskie. All rights reserved.