Rachel Carson Wildlife Preserve
So I was tolling down the busy highway heading toward Acadia National Park, navigating heavy, unpredictable traffic when out of the corner of my eye I saw a small brown sign that said Estuarine and indicated an exit number I promptly forgot. This information was not repeated in the mass of subsequent signage flashing in and out of my range of vision as trucks and exits passed. I took a stab at it and got off in Wells, Maine. I needed fuel and a few supplies anyway. There were no clues of an estuarine or anything national park or monument-like, but the traffic was too heavy to turn back and resume my route so I kept going until I found an inviting gas station. Recreational cannabis products are legal in Maine, but this was still a culture-shock for me having grown up in a time of suspicion and concealment, so I was taken a bit off guard by the many unapologetic selections in the cooler at the convenience store. Were these beer? A young man standing next to me was more familiar with the products and explained that they were not in fact alcoholic. We agreed that a blueberry mojito beverage with cannabis sounded inviting. We both bought one and had a nice conversation after about Virginia and traveling as he worked in Arlington and had noted my Virginia license plate.
Then I asked a smiling lady also getting gas about the grocery store across the street. She recommended Hannagan's "up the street." Hannagan's carried the best bread ever, called When Pigs Fly. It really was more like cake. It had blueberries, lemonade and raspberries in it and all natural ingredients. The man behind me in line was wonderful and very patient with his Downs' syndrome companion. I was liking Wells and even moreso when I spied a little brown sign at the light which indicated that if I went left I would find Rachel Carson's Wildlife Refuge. Are you kidding me? I was beginning to feel like the luckiest person alive.
It was in fact a marine estuary leading to the sea. Serene and lush and all about the value of salt marshes. The ranger station was closed. I'd been re-reading her book "The Edge of the Sea" and felt like I'd been guided here. No, I hadn't yet drunk the cannabis beverage, but that was exactly the type of insight I have come to rely upon with cannabis, which is why I like it. Easier to connect with God. The ranger station was closed for Flag Day or I would have been able to earn my Junior Ranger pin. I feel certain of it because as you know I'm all about wetlands. The refuge was small, but mighty and the trail pristine, bucolic. It didn't look real, but felt more like I'd stepped into a Thomas Cole painting.
As I was reluctantly leaving, I noticed a small sign at the edge of what appeared to be a private drive that read "Wells Research Center." Well the refuge had been a hidden jewel, so I drove down and lo and behold, came upon a super cool recreation area with lovely old buildings. A couple was getting hitched there, so there were your typical dressed-up, mildly out-of-control attendees traipsing about, and a bit further away, a magical trail led through the woods with Alice in Wonderland type signs telling some eco-fantasy story... and a trail to a beautiful sandy beach expanse with loads of colorful rocks, a precursor to the tide pooling I would embark upon in subsequent days. Honestly, in retrospect it all seemed planned. A sequential building of appreciation and knowledge.
That night I was understandably whooped from all of the wonders I had taken in and simply pulled off the highway to sleep in my car at a travel stop where several others were doing the same thing.