The Fires of Time

Time out of mind, a summer trip to Acadia National Park and its gateway town, Bar Harbor, marks an annual odyssey for a native Mainer. It’s practically a rite of passage, begun in one’s teen years. Today let’s take a journey back on the tides of time to that world before A/C, 9ll, and ATMs.

I cherish so many memories of Mount Desert Island (pronounced “dessert,” the French way) where Acadia National Park is located. Back at that time, the park loop seemed straightforward. No crowds, no lines, no traffic jams. First, we might wind up to the summit of Cadillac Mountain, for which we needed no reservation in those days. The views of the coast of Maine would steal your breath with their beauty, no matter how many times you’d seen it.

Then we’d drive down to Otter Point for a picnic. Bar Harbor hadn’t yet evolved into quite today’s chaotic tourist trap, but who spent money on lunch out anyway? You stopped at a roadside table to eat your cucumber sandwiches and then hiked or napped in the sunshine on the ledge of a pink granite cliff.

Back in the car—or bus—the vinyl seats seared the backs of my legs, but I would roll down the windows, cool off in no time, and enjoy the wind tangling up my hair. Next up would be a quick drenching at Thunder Hole, a rock inlet where waves crash like, well, thunder…before spending as much time as possible at Sand Beach.

At dusk, we might slip into “Bah Hahbah” for ice cream, popcorn, or a cold drink. It felt more like a county fair than a theme park then. And nobody suggested dropping over to Jordan Pond for popovers—it wasn’t a thing yet.

Down Memory Lane

As you may remember, I did some research as Diana Delacruz on the trail of the character Rose Michaud this past summer. My husband and I headed toward Mount Desert Island after the lighthouse museum and lunch in Rockland. On the way, we passed the fabulous mansion that’s home to Downeast magazine, where the fictional Diana has editorial contacts. Dream on, Diana. 😊

We ran out of time to do everything, although I was thrilled to purchase an annual senior’s pass which apparently allows me entrance to any national park in the country. Not that I will use it to advantage in South America, but still, let me recommend this bargain.

What to see when time’s short and there’s “so much to sea”? And the simple loop had evolved into a complex spider’s web? I decided to prioritize Rose.

“Time and tide wait for no man.” –English proverb

So, we didn’t take time for Fort Knox (another frequent childhood excursion) OR the Penobscot Narrows Observatory (new since my youth). Cadillac Mountain, named not for the car but for a French explorer and adventurer, the Sieur (Lord) de Cadillac, topped but also fell off the list. We hadn’t booked a time, and seriously, you need to go at sunrise, maybe during fall foliage season, to savor this highest point on the Eastern Seaboard. Too bad I never had a chance to track down the brilliant red ground cover up there. Wild cranberry, beach rose, creeping juniper, or some other subalpine species? Does anybody know?

On to Northeast Harbor

We paused at Thunder Hole, but again, the time (tide, more accurately) didn’t cooperate to catch a top-notch show. Definitely no time for a picnic, and we passed on the beach too and headed to the southern part of the island. I’ve visited a few of the smaller picturesque towns such as Somesville and Bass Harbor but had never wandered into Northeast Harbor.

Which is one of the main settings for my work-in-progress, The Search for Rose Michaud. Well, let me tell you I soon realized why we never peeked there in the good old days.

“What a waste it would be to take these short, precious eternity-charged years that we are given and squander them in cocktail chatter…” –Eugene Peterson, Run with the Horses

It’s an absolutely gorgeous place, okay? Draw a deep breath of pine and spruce, seafood and salt air. Admire the homes from magnificent to quirky, the sapphire bay studded with yachts and sailboats, and the quaint parish churches. Visit the splendid marina, botanical gardens, and art galleries galore.

But beware the woodsy, seaside “private” lanes. My interpretation: keep out.

So what am I doing here when the spot lies so obviously out of my league?

Astor descendants reside here, after all, though not everyone’s claim to fame is necessarily about money. For example, Marguerite Yourcenar, the Belgian-French writer who became the first woman elected to the French Academy, retreated here with her partner after World War II.

Somehow, I sensed a story buried in Northeast Harbor. I chose this village for the Calvert family of The Search for Rose Michaud.

How on earth did I think that was logical? For the answer, we have to head to Bar Harbor and remember an often-forgotten tale that changed the entire island.

Step Through Time

Initially incorporated in 1796 by Samuel Adams of Boston, the town of Bar Harbor used to be called Eden, after English statesman Sir Richard Eden. In 1918 this paradisical name was changed to Bar Harbor, an allusion to the long sandbar that materializes at low tide.

During the mid-1800s, landscape artists of the Hudson River School (and others) appeared on the island, attracted by the area’s striking, rustic beauty. As the late 19^th century Gilded Age flourished, wealthy summer visitors also discovered Acadia National Park and began to arrive by train and ferry for the “season.”

Like the Roosevelts on Campobello and the Bush family compound at Kennebunkport, a whole community of the privileged and powerful built their summer “cottages” around Mount Desert Island and in the “big” seaside town of Bar Harbor.

By 1880, there were 30 hotels as well as magnificent mansions owned by the Pulitzers, Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, Morgans, Astors, and Fords, among others. [Vice-president Nelson Rockefeller was born in Bar Harbor.] During the Golden Age, it rivaled Newport, Rhode Island, as an elite resort where the famous and fortunate outdid each other in estates and entertainment.

“Do not squander time for that is the stuff life is made of.” –Benjamin Franklin

Then, two world wars and the Great Depression—as well as the newly‐introduced income tax—all took their toll on the opulent lifestyles of the rich. Finally, in 1947, people hoped it was time to leave the bad years behind.

Everyone looked forward to the end of winter and war gloom. But it was not to be…

The Fall the Fires Raged

It rained continuously throughout the spring. Finally, summer burst through, and with it, high temperatures, drought conditions, and odd weather patterns. Maine received only 50% of its normal rainfall.

As autumn moved in, Mainers enjoyed an amazing Indian summer. But rain never came. Vegetation on Mount Desert Island crackled tinderbox-dry—a record-breaking stage for catastrophe.

Nobody knows how, but it happened. On October 17, a Mrs. Gilbert called the fire department to report smoke rising from a cranberry bog west of Hulls Cove. Perhaps the cranberry pickers were smoking. Perhaps sunlight shone through a piece of broken glass at the nearby dump and acted as an incendiary magnifier.

Whatever the cause, once ignited, a massive inferno arose that eventually burned nearly half of the western side of Mount Desert Island and made international news.

In its first days, the fire merely smoldered and blackened a relatively small area. But on October 21, strong winds fanned the flames. The blaze then spread rapidly within Acadia National Park and raged out of control. As the fire intensified, personnel from the Army Air Corps, Navy, and Coast Guard joined local firefighters, as well as volunteers from the University of Maine forestry program and Bangor Theological Seminary.

“These are the times that try men’s souls.” –Thomas Paine, The American Crisis

Then, on the morning of October 23, the wind increased to gale proportions, pushing a finger of fire toward the hamlet of Hulls Cove, and in the afternoon, shifting south toward Bar Harbor. In less than three hours, the wildfire traveled six miles, leaving behind a three-mile-wide path of charred woodland. Bar Harbor bore the brunt of the destruction that followed.

Burning Time’s Bridges

Can you imagine the terror in the town? These were times well before water bomber helicopters, surveillance drones, or smart phones, too. Residents not actively involved in firefighting tried to flee to safety, but at one point ALL roads out were blocked by flames. Fishermen from nearby villages evacuated 400 people by boat. Finally, late that evening, bulldozers opened a path through the debris. A caravan of 2,000 people in 700 cars crawled to the mainland through a hail of sparks. Flames flickered overhead.  

From Bar Harbor, the great fire raced down the coast almost to Otter Point, destroying the Jackson Laboratory, a prestigious biomedical research facility, along the way. The blaze finally blew itself out over the ocean in a colossal fireball.

But even that wasn’t the end. The fire remained out of control until October 27. aided by stubborn underground fires which continued to smolder for weeks. Nearly a month passed before it was pronounced completely extinguished.

“We spend our years as a tale that is told.” –Psalm 90:9

Everything on Mount Desert Island changed. Considering the magnitude of the fire, loss of human life had been minimal. But more than 17,000 acres had burned, 10,000 of which lay inside Acadia National Park. Crews from the park and from the Rockefeller family cleared many of the devastated areas; yet over time, nature healed itself for the most part.

Today’s park forests differ from those that grew before the Great Fire of 1947. Though unlikely to ever return to a uniform evergreen forest, perhaps it’s even better. The spruce and fir that reigned earlier has mixed beautifully with birch and aspen to present us with a stunning coastal-foliage spectacle each fall.

Then Back to Bar Harbor

After wrestling with the now digital parking meters, my husband and I treated ourselves to ice cream at the shop where we used to bring our kids and observed Main Street Bar Harbor in a new century. Today it consists of more grand hotels than grand houses.

The town, too, was transformed by the fire. The blaze swept down so-called Millionaires’ Row and gutted 67 of those majestic summer cottages. It also razed 170 permanent homes and five large historic hotels in the downtown area. Property damage exceeded $325 million in today’s currency.

Statewide, many serious fires occurred in “the year Maine burned.” More than 200,000 acres, 850+ homes, and 400 seasonal cottages (grand or modest) were destroyed. We rarely see disasters of that scale in Maine but are reminded once again whenever we hear of wildfires in Chile and in the western United States and Canada almost every year. Our prayers go out to you.

Most of our permanent residents rebuilt their homes, but many of the “summer people” never returned. Times were changing, and some had reasons other than the fire, as I mentioned earlier.

“The time is out of joint.” –Shakespeare, Hamlet

So, a story point: what happened to the Calvert family’s seasonal estate on Millionaire’s Row after the fire? Hotels and motels for the ever-burgeoning tourist population have replaced most of those old places. What grand summer houses remain (or were rebuilt) are as likely as not to have morphed into boutique B&Bs.

Timeless

Here I circle back to Northeast Harbor. It became one of several delightful villages on Mount Desert Island that benefited from the retreat of the elite from Bar Harbor. Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor remain a holiday mecca for business tycoons and celebrities, but they now attract visitors from around the world with every range of pocketbook.

Northeast Harbor has a quiet, peaceful, restful ambiance. And definitely private. It’s for those who want to leave the world and the carnival vibe behind, who don’t want the bother of crowds (not to say the rabble). Or for those hiding secrets?

I wonder why Rose Michaud Calvert chose Northeast Harbor.

And Bar Harbor? I can admire architecture all around the town that dates back to the Golden Age. What historic homes and buildings survived the fire have been exquisitely preserved. Some of the ruined summer mansions have been restored and converted to inns. (My cousin and I used to dream of running one 😊.) They tell me a few are even private homes.

“A wonderful stream is the River Time, As it runs through the realms of Tears, With a faultless rhythm, and a musical rhyme, As it blends with the ocean of Years.” –Benjamin F. Taylor, The Long Ago

There’s something magical about Bar Harbor. It’s still a celebrated vacation destination and the crown jewel of Acadia National Park. It possesses a rich history and culture unlike any other.

And in this time, even we ordinary mortals can enjoy it. The fires, as well as the tides, of time transform our worlds—and us—and not all change is bad.

You might catch Martha Stewart or Susan Sarandon strolling down the street, too.