Transplanted land ‘grubbers’ give lie to Maine state motto

A noise as raucous as an agitated crow shattered the peace, let alone the quiet, of the summer afternoon.

“You’ll have to leave. This is private property,” came a shout from up the beach, barely within earshot of where we were sitting on a giant rock cantilevered over the bay.

The tide was low and we were absorbed in the beauty of tidal pools beneath a sky cerulean blue as we recalled our pleasant week together, something that happens only once a year.

Suddenly, clouds blocked all the sunshine. We were trespassers who – albeit unwittingly – had perched on the wrong ledge like unwelcome gulls sighted from the crow’s nest.

Hypothetical case, maybe or maybe not, but the very idea of such a confrontation ruined the reverie. After all, Maine is big enough for all to enjoy.

Maybe, maybe not.

A year or so ago, a lone artist was forced to pack up her watercolors after being approached by a shore-front owner who took up summer residence in a small coastal community and quickly set about to bar any public from the allegedly private domain.

The scenario in Maine is not new. Nor is it – as the slogan goes – the way life should be. Up and down the coast, a few property owners have become as craggy as the shoreline itself. And they give all of us transplants a bad name.

Clammers who have stooped over the same mud flats for years have been harassed. Youngsters skipping rocks have been chased away. An older couple – they’ve summered in the area for 40 years – cannot swim where they once did. Scuba divers and kayakers from York Beach to Jonesport have been warned to stay off private property, not to mention the occasional dog-walker who stumbles onto forbidden turf.

Over the years, many court cases have been resolved; others are pending on the matter of Maine’s shore lands: their protection, usage and ownership. There is a growing interest in legal questions to determine how far beyond the high water mark private property extends or where the public use of the coastline ends.

The more serious issues and disputes are left to adjudication. The others, it seems, could be settled – if not avoided – by exercising the three C’s of conduct: common sense, courtesy and civility.

Horace Walpole said, “Nine-tenths of the people were created so you would want to be with the other tenth.”

To the contrary. The mix of people that swell to become Maine in the summertime: the day travelers, the summer colonies, the hikers and bikers, the “year-rounders” – both locals and “awayers” – all meld into one pretty hospitable group.

Nine-tenths of them do, anyway. The other tenth are as noisy – and as lonely – as a crow.