Images of "The Way Life Should Be"

My novel "The Way Life Should Be" is set in the fictional town of Stone Harbor, Maine. In creating the town, I used elements of Brunswick, Bath, Camden and Rockland, Maine. My wife and I lived in the Brunswick area from 1988 to 1996. During my recent book tour, we visited a few familiar spots.

This is the Androscoggin River, taken from a footpath between Brunswick and Topsham. We didn't have much time to take photos, but you can find scenic shots anywhere in Maine.

Bath, Maine, shot from a bridge on Route 1.

 Typical Bath neighborhoods.

Downtown.

Brunswick has its own charm, including the campus of Bowdoin, College. 

From Page 17 ... "A few doors down, an older crowd filed into the First Parish Church, which stood like an exclamation point on the town common. Beneath the wooden Gothic structure, the styles of the faithful hadn't changes in his lifetime: pastels, pearls and hats for the ladies; oxford shirts, khakis and blue blazers for the gentlemen. Of course, several had traded their penny loafers for sneakers."

First Parish Church in Brunswick.

Page 25 ... "Just look at them," Quinn said. Making fun of visitors was a local obsession. They asked odd questions and took pictures of the strangest things: stacks of wire lobster pots, the sign at McGary's Drugstore, Danny Thibitout's old Ford truck. 

 Of course, when I was taking pictures of the Brunswick Diner, I heard people laughing. Sure enough, they were laughing at me, the tourist from Tennessee, taking pictures of the strangest things.

One of the highlights of any trip to Brunswick is a look at Federal Street, which is filled with wonderful old homes. While I didn't model the home of Paul and Lizz Stanwood on any particular home, it was definitely inspired by this street.

Page. 53 ... "The Stanwood home was set behind a picket fence and a deep yard lined with elm trees and rosebushes. Simple and elegant, the two-and-a-half story wood-framed house had been built in 1807 by a prominent architect from Salem Massachusettes. Lizz was proud of that. She was also obsessed: in the past few years, she'd traveled up and down the East Coast looking at Fderal architecture and made sure everyting was exact in its reproduction, from the black shutters to the leaded glass windows and the fanlight over the paneled front door. After she put a fortune into the restoration, Paul dubbed it the White House."

 Page 57 ... "Quinn saw Bowen-Smythe and a bunch of guides circled behind the carriage house beside a trailer loaded with an assortment of brightly colored kayaks and green and red canoes."

These boats are outside L.L. Bean in Freeport. I actually thought about taking our own kayaks to Maine, but with the heavy schedule, we barely had time to take pictures, let alone paddle for a few hours. It's too bad, because the weather was perfect.

 The boot that made Bean.

A lobster roll and a crab roll. Me in the Bean lot. My wife.

Page. 70 ... "For an awkward moment they watched the other men leave and slowly walk toward the giant cranes that towered over the west end. Some shipbuilders traveled as far as seventy-five miles to work each morning, piled in full-size vans. The wages were worth the time and troublle, and their arrival and departure were part of the pulse of the city, just like the pounding machinery from the ironworks, as steady and regular as the tide."

Early morning scenes of Bath, Maine.

  Page 80 ... "The Maine of his childhood began to emerge in the form of a roadside motor court and a general store that still sold gasoline from an ancient Gulf pump and discouraged unnecessary familiarity with a sign that sad, "No public restrooms."

Page 104 ... "He didn't see the point in mowing the lawn, or washing their cards, or painting the shingle-style Victorian home that was built in 189 by his great-grandfather. That's why we have a checkbook, he always told her.

One place I've always enjoyed is Old Orchard Beach, which is a town I didn't fictionalize, but did use, in "The Way Life Should Be."

 Page 259 ... "They were walking away from the boardwalk, and the darkness was edged with an electric glow. The smell of greasy pizza and cotton candy and suntan lotion hung everywhere, punctuated by the fading sounds of kids screaming on amusement park rides, the muffler of a motorcycle burping over idling car engines, frenzied video games with electric bells and boings. When the other noises faded with teh slap of each sandaled stepon the brick sidewalk, all that was left was the steady surge -- as regular as breathing -- of the waves lapping the sand beach.

Page 279 ... "The Baxter Bridge Rose out of the sifting fog like a silent green monster reaching across the Penobscot River. Its upper deck carried Route 1's traffice, though the railroad below hadn't seen a train in years. The whole structure was complicated by a midsection that rose and lowered twice a day so ships could pass beneath."

At the left is the Carlton Bridge, between Bath and Wiscasset. My fictional bridge is higher and set about 100 miles downeast.

The one big regret I have is that we didn't get a shot of the sign that says, "Welcome to Maine, the Way Life Should Be." We entered the state fairly late on a Sunday night and I didn't think I could get a night shot from the car. We left early Wednesday morning and I didn't want to get creamed by the traffic on Interstate 95. Oh, well. Maybe next time.