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You Didn't Hear It Here:
On NOT Reporting From Matinicus

    It says in the DownEast website heading for this column (for I have never called it a “blog” myself) that I write about nearly “all things Matinicus.” Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.

    I have put myself up front, writing my little bits here and there, and people ask me questions from time to time which I am not qualified to asnwer. There is a great deal about this community that doesn't belong in the newspaper...or on the Internet. I am not a reporter. I am not under oath, have not been subpoenaed, and am not contracted to explain the island's ways to all and sundry. Just the facts, ma'am? Not from me, pal. You can take or leave what I say, but you cannot give me a hard time for leaving out the dirty laundry. I offer opinions, observations, and other non-fiction, but I don't do the news. Giving the droolers all the skinny on my adopted home town is not my responsibility. As I prepare two book-length manuscripts this year, let my neighbors receive notice: I know perfectly well that nobody with an ounce of brains would sing even eight bars about Matinicus Island.

    This week, I can tell you that the Golden Chain tree, Laburnum something-or-other (given by Betsy Burr to Eric when he was born) is at its eye-popping peak, and nobody who comes for water (as many do, because our well tastes good, and gets bleached every year, and doesn't turn the underwear orange)...hello? Where was I? Oh yes...they cannot help but notice the great blob of brilliant yellowness that reigns over the back edge of the dooryard. "What IS that wonderful tree?"

    Then again, do you care? Probably not; undoubtedly, you'd rather read about lobstermen all rabid and at each other, or some such over-dramatized hoop-la. Too bad. I live up here in Kansas, the middle of the island, nowhere hear the harbor. That's probably a good thing. I don't know the half of what goes on. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Is your curiosity piqued?

    I saw my first monarch butterfly of the year yesterday. That's a good thing, but hardly news. The Internet works better now, with the new 60' tower, but there is still a ghost in the machine. The lilacs and lupine are blooming and the island is gloriously purple on their account. Matinicus went heavily for Chellie Pingree, of this Bay, when we had elections earlier this week. That is a matter of public record. We ballot clerks spun yarn and ate 'Keag Store pizza, delivered by lobster boat, and 23 voters turned out. That, you can read in the paper. Another ton of recyclables went off the island on the 5th; lots of Twisted Tea bottles. We're getting another defibrillator this summer. There have been more eagle sightings. The school kids had a dance teacher out for the last week of school. The steel band Planet Pan is coming on June 14th to play on the wharf. That'll be a lot of fun. That kind of stuff is easy to talk about.

    Some of what goes on around here is not.

    There's nothing to be done for it anyway. Nothing anybody says about island gossip or personalities will be accurate after a short while, and it is a proven fact that with anything you say about this place, the opposite is also true. Reporters are doomed from the start.

    A few truisms you can believe:
   
    Politics makes strange bedfellows.

    Blood is thicker than water.

    If the cat has kittens in the oven you don't...well, you know that already.

    You pays your money and you takes your chances.

    Possession is nine-tenths of the law.

    "The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handles."

    Read me my rights. Anything I say can and will be held against me. All you're getting is name, rank, and serial number.

    In five years of writing columns largely, but not exclusively about Matinicus, I've only been called on three things, and only once was I asked to recant. In that instance, I suggested that another island cultivated an air of snobbery, and I ended up apologizing to the non-snobs among them who were justifiably indignant (and I wouldn't mind apologizing again here for painting with a broad brush; I am duly chastened.) “Four-wheeler idiots” annoyed at least one small child, with somewhat comical results, and evidently my suggestion a couple of years ago that homeschooling is a viable option for some families may have come across as sort of anti-public-school elitist, which is not what I intended. Other than that, I am just glad to have got this far without seeing my tires slashed, and I consider this a task requiring some delicacy. In short, no, stop, don't ask me those questions, those hard, awkward questions about lobster politics and personalities and lack of this and that regulatory policy. As I said to a fellow writer, one who likes to work this same beat, when he contacted me for information about a meeting a good while back: “I am not going to tell you.”

    So, to all who have asked, who want reporting, to all who think I ought to be telling the world all about life on Matinicus openly and freely, here goes: We eat our trash, we ask permission for every action, we drink only Ovaltine and we all go jogging for our health. We keep off the grass, pass on the right, stay off other people's property and call in Clean Harbors every time we need to wash out a paintbrush. Ruled by respected and kindly elders, we help each other to make money lobstering, pay our light bills on time, return milk crates, use turn signals, and offer deference to our superiors. We know our place, raise our hands, curb our dogs, floss our teeth and honor our diversity. We make our children eat their vegetables. We understand that some of the inexplicable rules imposed on us are just for our own good.

    Oh, and the trains run on time.



Eva Murray writes from Matinicus Island year-round, and reminds all that, as the old saying goes, "You can't fight City Hall."