Franklin

Franklin was my first real destination of the trip. The cabin and quarry were my Aunt Jean and Uncle John’s. They bought the property in the early seventies, I believe. Somehow or another, they asked me and cousin Toby to build a fireplace in the cabin. So in 1977, in the middle of a cross-country trip with my girlfriend at the time, Leslie, the three of us went to Maine and built this fireplace. It was a monumental task and hard in all sorts of ways. I’d never laid a brick, nor had Toby, but with the confidence of youth, we built a fine fireplace. It’s a very modest cabin, but the fireplace could be in a place three times its size and look just fine. It is granite on the inside of the cabin, and brick on the outside of the building. On our best day we might have gotten two rows of granite fitted and laid. There is no running water at this cabin, so bathing was done in the quarry, and by the time we were near done it was the end of October and was damned chilly. It was all part of a great adventure and having a fire or two in that fireplace is on the agenda most any time I am anywhere close.

I got there fairly late, so just got my sleeping bag and knocked out for the night. The next day I got up and went in search of Don Anderson, not knowing whether he was still among the living or not. Don built the cabin for Jean and John, and was really good to Toby and me while we were there and gave advice when asked for. I had seen him when Casey and I visited fifteen years ago – the last time I was there. I went to his house and lo and behold, he was there. Now eighty-two, he was in good shape all in all, and lent me a ladder to get the stone off the top of the chimney, as well as a load of firewood to use. He had lost his wife within the last year and even with the typical Yankee stoicism, I could tell how pained he was talking about it.

The second day I was there, I was on the phone, (yes, on the phone – no running water, no electricity, but the cell phone worked most of the time – weird), and I heard the meekest knock at the door. I opened it to find three guys with piles of sleeping bags and so forth standing out there. Turns out it was a guy by the name was Ben Starr, and he was traveling through with his partner of many years and one of his oldest pals. They hailed from Texas, and Ben was on a show called Master Chef. My cousin Michael’s daughter Lisa’s partner Christian Collins, knew him from being on the program himself. (Sorry, but I couldn’t figure a better way to get that out.) I believe Christian came in third on the program. So Ben and his partner Christian (not the same), and his pal JP were just delightful, and here I meet them out in the woods in Maine. Life is indeed strange and wonderful. We had a nice, but brief time together. I may have to look into that show.

I had several things to do at the cabin. The gas wasn’t hooked up, though the tanks were full, the roof was leaking around the fireplace, and a few other things. I got the gas hooked up with the help of a regulator I got at the Home Depot in Ellsworth, got the gas lights working and the stove operational. The gas refrigerator even still worked. Years ago, on the first trip in seventy-seven, it wasn’t working and I determined I needed a part. John informed me that they had thrown the last one away at the dump. I was horrified and went to try to find the old one. I drove in to the dump, past the sign that said “No Burning” and up to the dump proper, which was on fire or smoldering in many places. This was still the seventies, and in this part of Maine, things were still pretty wild – the people were tough. They had to be. Anyway, I got to the top of the pile and looked down to the bottom of the cliff everyone threw their stuff over and clamored down to try to find the old reefer. I found it and had the tools out and was taking off the thermocouple and kept hearing these shuffling noises and so forth. From out of nowhere came this voice from the top of the pile…”Watch out you don’t get shot! People come here to shoot the rats” Great. Talk about making a guy feel safe and comfortable. I forget the guys’ name, but he was a total Down-Easter – around 92 years old at the time, thin as a rail, still driving some sort of huge rusty American car. The summer we were there he painted one of his buildings downtown. These buildings were downtown, and it was a really tall building. He was up two stories painting this thing – just incredible. I fixed the refrigerator, by the way. The oven was another story. The darned thing blew me across the room once way back when, and this time was no different. I tried to light it and the whole oven was in flames. I ended up taking that apart and finding a gaping hole in the main gas line to the oven. I replaced the line with a piece of brake line I got at the Napa store in Ellsworth and bent and flared to fit. I was pretty proud of that one.

My time there, when not trying to get the place back in shape, was spent doing some drawing and painting, taking walks, and even jumping in to the quarry, which in October is brisk, to say the least. I swam the one day that was tolerably warm and I got to hang out in the sun to dry. It was my one good chance. It was great to have the time to paint and write. Though I had great intentions of drawing and painting on the road, there wasn’t as much time for it as I had hoped. Maybe I never did get slowed down enough. At the cabin, however, there was plenty of time, comparatively speaking. It was great being there. The cabin hadn’t had much use for years, so it felt really good to give the whole operation some TLC. I spent the last morning doing the last of the winterizing. I put a fabulous blue tarp roof on the shed/outhouse, put the boards over all the windows and doors and shutting everything up. My intention was to get out and on the road by twelve. In typical fashion, I was on the road by twoish, heading South for Nahant.