I might have to move from Camden.

It is a cultural sin far worse than buying a domestic car, hunting, or voting Republican. I have purchased box wine.

Box wine. I am so ashamed.

At one time, the height of sophistication was considered to be drinking Gallo Hearty Burgundy on a sailboat while slamming through the fish guts in Rockland Harbor.

That was before oenophile John Bailey got a job as a waiter at the very posh Samoset dining room on Rockport’s shore. Bailey visited half the wineries in France and could tell endless stories about grapes grown on the south slope and west slope. Samoset customers would buy a bottle just to shut him up and get him away from their table.

My first wine love was a Bailey recommendation, Macon Lugny “Les Charmes,” a delightful and light chardonnay. The list expanded with each trip to a restaurant with a decent wine list. From Camden’s Atlantica Restaurant came the house wine, Estrella. It became my house favorite when it was discovered that the neighborhood grocery story carried 1.5-liter jugs at $9.99. Red wines were sampled, but rejected.

As the snobbery increased, only a wine that rated 80 or above in Wine Spectator magazine was considered worthy of purchase.

Then came the Allagash camping trip.

If you have spent more than a

few nights in a row in the great outdoors, you understand how important food and drink can become. No one wants to take a good bottle of wine on a canoe trip. First of all, there is damned little room in the cooler with all that food. Second, there is an excellent chance that any glass bottle will be broken in one of the daily loadings and unloadings.

After a few days and nights on the river, when supplies have become dangerously low, old prejudices die easily. The last box of Fiddle Faddle can provoke jealousy, hatred and bitterness last seen in the closing reel of “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” when the gold is blowing out of the saddlebag.

If memory serves (it rarely does), it was the third night on the river, while marinated chicken was on the grill. A loud splash in the river turned all heads. One of the more distinguished campers explained that he had thrown the “bladder” of a box of wine into the water to chill for the evening repast. Taking it out of the box made it cool faster in the river, he explained.

Box wine?

This was clearly unacceptable. Camden residents, no matter where they are, do not drink box wine, I explained. When the “bladder” (how appetizing) was finally taken from the river and passed around. I politely demurred. I had standards, after all.

The heathens on the trip all complimented the camper on his choice of box. Franzia chardonnay, I believe. The camper, a former judge and (briefly) gubernatorial candidate, proudly testified that the wine had been aged several months before sale.

But what is barbecued chicken without wine? I finally had a sip of the wine in a cup unwashed since breakfast. It was cold. It was wine. It was there.

The last straw came on a recent wine-buying trip through New Hampshire. Two bottles of “Les Charmes” ($9 each) eventually were opened, then poured down the sink as they had mysteriously turned to vinegar.

Last week, I took the big step. I drove to Rockland and took Blue Eyes to Shop ‘n Save to buy a box of Franzia wine. It was like buying the first Playboy magazine. What if someone from Camden saw me? If anyone asked, I could say it belonged to Blue Eyes. I keep it in her refrigerator.

I hate to admit it. It isn’t bad. It’s cheap. It’s cold. It’s there. I might buy some more.

But I will keep it in Rockland so the Camden neighbors don’t find out. If they find out, I could be stoned by the Select Board, which is what we call our selectmen.

Honest.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.