Editor’s Note: “Letter From…” is a column featuring a letter from a Mainer, or person with ties to this state, who is living or traveling far from home. The following is from Mount Desert resident Carl Little, who vacationed this winter on Water Island in the Virgin Islands.

The recent demise of the Old Man of the Mountain in New Hampshire – thanks to what cosmetic surgeons might term a radical “face drop” – brought back memories of another natural face-in-the-rock, on Water Island in the Virgin Islands.

One year, my father discovered the face while clambering among rocky outcroppings at the end of a small island where we vacationed in the winter. He had climbed to a spot on a narrow ledge in a crevasse that overlooked the sea. Looking up from his precarious perch, he was taken aback to see a distinct profile standing out from the cliff overhead: brow, nose, mouth and chin. While it’s not a spitting image of New Hampshire’s Old Man, it’s close kin.

Over the years, members of the Little family and, later, their children made the pilgrimage to view the face in the rock. It was, in a manner of speaking, a family treasure. Maybe others have discovered it by now, although it would take an intrepid climber to find his or her way to where my father stood that fateful day. Personally, every time I visited the site, my heart was in my mouth. I always was afraid my fascination with the face would distract me from my surroundings and send me hurtling into the surging surf below.

With interest and amusement I have followed the debate over the future of the Old Man of the Mountain, especially the viewpoints of former New Hampshire poet laureates Donald Hall and Maxine Kumin. “I think the ruin of the forehead and the face is its own memorial,” the former told The Associated Press. Kumin added, “It may be gone, but it won’t be forgotten. In fact, it might acquire a larger mythic stance.”

On the evening news the

other night, the Old Man in the Mountain’s caretaker choked up when speaking of the loss of the famous profile – as if a member of his family had perished. It was a moving moment.

One grows attached to quirks of nature. On the front lawn of our home in Somesville is a spruce that has a striking flaw in its trunk that makes it resemble a tree created by Dr. Seuss. I would put myself in harm’s way to preserve this surreal arboreal specimen – “Ax man, spare that odd tree!” – yet I also would accept its loss in a storm with the knowledge that nature takes its course.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to that tiny island in the West Indies to view my own private Old Man, but the memory lives on in the family photo album. I doubt I would shed a tear if I learned it had crumbled in a hurricane, but a certain sadness would accompany the news. Let’s face it: Rocky visages and crooked trees can be endearing.