Why I love Bar Harbor



By Carrie Jones

Normally, I love my town a lot. It’s a tiny tourist-focused town on the coast of Down East Maine. Every year, hundreds of thousands of people flock here, checking out the mountains and the hiking and the kayaking and the whale watching and Diver Ed.

But on September 2, I was walking to the grocery store in my bright blue hoodie and white skirt, clutching my disposable grocery bag and basically trotting down the side walk, happy and oblivious. A friend, Suzy Davis, texted me that walking and texting can result in walking into poles. I laughed. This is true for me, especially. Everyone knows that. I was pretty happy, but then the people from away approached.

They were very metro-dressed, all perfectly coiffed, all in dark colors and well-fitting clothes. They stared at me. And the look they gave me was what I call disgust. Or maybe, were they wondering if I had something contagious?

And I felt? Dehumanized. I wish I could re-enact this look for you so you could understand it. And I am super sensitive, so all of me was just sort of crushed inside, but then I saw Tim Searchfield playing football on the lawn of his bed and breakfast, and we talked about our kids, and I felt slightly human again. But I didn’t tell him about the nasty look because I was too horrified.

Then I saw Vicki Hall, the owner of the Portside Grill. Vicki is a smiley person. She is a safe person. She was also walking her dog, and if I talked to her, I would totally get to pet her dog. So I blurted out my whole story, all the insecurity, everything, and I sounded like I was in fourth grade.

And what did Vicki do?

She listened.

She told me that it was okay, that they were ridiculous, and that I was not disgust-worthy.

She made me a bit more human again, a bit stronger. She talked about work at the restaurant, her hurt knee, how excited she was about November when she could hang out at a beach and have a vacation.

And we parted and went on with our late afternoons.

A couple hours later, her business was on fire. A couple hours later her business, and her workers’ jobs were gone.

The Portside Grill was on lower Cottage Street in Bar Harbor. The buildings are close together down there, sometimes touching. They are older, usually, and wood, usually. There are propane tanks in alleys. There are apartments above the businesses.

It was on fire.

At least eight fire departments responded. Most of our area firefighters are volunteers. Some stayed all night, working, making sure that fire didn’t spread. I am not much of a firefighter at all. Basically, I am the lowest and least trained, the weakest and least knowledgeable. All I got to do was move people away, take pictures to make sure everything was documented, and to occasionally help in tiny bits. I did this little tiny bit, and still when I went home, I was sick from the smoke. I was sick for hours.

But the other people?

They were big time heroes. They were the put-your-life-on-the-line heroes. They were the fighters who didn’t look back, who just did.

And that is why I love Bar Harbor, despite the occasional evil tourist.

I had to prop up one firefighter as I walked him to the recovery area after he was in the building. This is a strapping guy. He is fit. He worked so hard he could barely stand. He recovered. He went back in again.

He did because he cares.

People from all sorts of restaurants brought food and drink for the firefighters as they worked all night. Pizza. Chicken wings. Protein bars. Water. Gatorade. They set up tables. They wanted to do more.

They did because they care.

Cops cordoned off the streets, stood there in thick-can’t-see smoke with no protective gear and just did it. A police sergeant pushed water bottles into firefighters’ hands as they staggered up the alley towards the recovery center.

One firefighter said, “That Shaun Farrar. He knew just what I needed. Just shoved that water into my hand. God, what a life-saver. Love that guy.”

The cops did it because they care.

People are offering pet-care, food, places to stay, jobs for the displaced workers and now-homeless people. People are offering everything they can.

They did because they care.

Fancy hotels took homeless residents in for the night. At least the night.

They did because they care.

People like Vicki, who just lost her business, spent much of her time looking for jobs for her workers.

She did because she cares. Same way she cared about me during my tiny emotional crisis. She cares. So. Much.

Firefighters sang “Happy Birthday” to one of the ambulance attendants at 1 a.m.

They did because they care.

Firefighters went into a building to get a woman’s medication.

They didn’t have to. They did because they care.

A police sergeant tried to calm a child who had been sleeping in an upstairs apartment when the fire started. He tried so hard to help that child that multiple people pulled me aside to tell me about it.

He did because he cares. They did because they care.

Firefighters turned the valves on each other’s breathing tanks, helped hoist them on, verified that they were full with enough air over and over again. Firefighters climbed ladders and roofs, entered burning buildings, walked down streets so thick with smoke that you couldn’t see. EMTs checked vital signs, breathing, hydration, body heat. Firefighters stayed throughout the night protecting that street even after the fire had been taken down. Many had just sent their kids off to school for the first time that day, firefighters and EMTs who need places to live, who sometimes barely can scrape rent and food money together.

Volunteers. Full-timers. People.

They did because they care. They do because they care.

I am so proud of the people in my community. They bicker over politics. They fight about town managers and property lines, land use ordinances, development and occasionally the school, but when it matters, when it really matters…

They care.

Novelist Carrie Jones is a resident of Bar Harbor and member of the town’s volunteer fire department. The sentiments above originally appeared on her blog.