Shunpiking and painting in the north woods

I was scheduled to teach on Monday evening, but with the path of totality going directly over the important viscera of our country, several of my students were busy. I’m awfully glad we rescheduled, since I’m not sure what my schedule is like for 2044.

My truck and I had a history long before I bought it in 2021. Jane Chapin and I once nearly drove it off a cliff-edge. We then backed out through a thicket of piñons. It’s only fitting that those scratches are now my scratches, and I think I just added some new ones. When I’m venturing into unknown territory, I prefer this vehicle to our hybrid SUV, which is a wuss in comparison.

On my way through Camden, I saw Colin Page painting. He told me he wanted to “skip the masses.” It was only later that I thought that you could pour the entire populations of downstate New York and New Jersey into the north woods and it would still be empty.

Federal Route 2 is the country’s northernmost east-west highway, but as with so many roads in Maine, its nominal direction bears little resemblance to where it actually goes. From Old Town it heads north until it makes its last desperate dash for the border at Houlton. If you choose speed and efficiency, you drive I95, but then you miss breathtaking views of the broad, wild Penobscot River.

In places near an I95 exit, there were crowds. Near Baxter State Park, where you could see the mighty, snow-covered flanks of Katahdin, for example, people lined the roads. Every little town was busy. It was the first truly lovely day after a miserable start to spring. Kids were off school, tourists checked into cabins that are usually still shuttered in early April, and restaurant parking lots were full. I hope that some of these visitors realize how beautiful the far north is and come back in the summertime.

Still, it was no trouble for us to find a lonely trailhead, complete with babbling brook and open sky, and there we settled in to wait.

The ice is not out in the north interior yet, so my little waterfall held back ice in a small pond. Painting it made a good diversion as I waited. I quickly developed a routine: stand up every six minutes, look at the sun, and then return to my seat. “I can tell the sky is getting dingy because it no longer matches my painting,” I told my husband. A small breeze picked up and the light went out more quickly than I ever imagined.

Coming home was not anticlimactic. I decided to go cross-lots over to US 1 and then south toward home. “How did you choose that route?” a friend asked, certain it was that old, old GPS story. No, it was my trusty Maine Atlas and Gazetteer that led me through knee deep snow and fallen trees. My daughter Mary, with whom I drove the Dalton Highway in Alaska, wouldn’t have turned a hair.

The sun-full now-was sinking in the west. We considered heading back toward I95 but a glance at Google Maps told me it was bumper-to-bumper traffic. We continued east to Baileyville and then headed south on Maine Route 9, the Airline. This is a charming road in the daytime, and a nailbiter in twilight, especially in the spring. But with sufficient caffeine and good night vision, we pulled in to our own driveway just twelve hours and 428.4 miles later.

That was, by the way, my first true plein air painting of the season.

My 2024 workshops:

• Painting in Paradise: Rockport, ME, July 8-12, 2024.
• Sea & Sky at Schoodic, August 4-9, 2024.
• Find your authentic voice in plein air: Berkshires, August 12-16, 2024.
• Art and Adventure at Sea: Paint Aboard Schooner American Eagle, September 15-19, 2024.
• Immersive In-Person Workshop: Rockport, ME, October 7-11, 2024.