We almost moved this week.
For months we’ve been looking for a bigger place where my little art school can grow up alongside my kids. Finally, the perfect place came on the market! Well, perfect except for one thing––it’s not in Essex.
Everyone knows Essex for its seafood and boat building, antiques and amazing outdoor spaces. I know Essex in a deeper way–and Essex knows me.
Essex welcomes me every evening as I get off at exit 15 and the smell of saltwater greets me. I can feel the temperature drop with my stress level as I drive through the tall trees and past Agassiz Rock. So much of Essex soothes my spirit and brings me joy. People wave to me here. I can’t make it from my house to Richdales without someone waving hello. On a really bad day (like the middle of April during quarantine) those small gestures were hand holds on a lifeline. Those nods of recognition and commiseration helped me make it through the isolation.
This is a town full of connection and trust. When I moved here from Boston, I marveled that the baby Jesus at Saint John’s was not protected behind plexiglass every Christmas. The wise men are free to breathe the crisp winter air under the watchful eye of our community. The bank tellers aren’t behind plexiglass either, and Deb and April don’t need to see my library card to lend me a book.
Even when we are all riled up, we are civil and kind, especially at town meetings––which are amazing! I worried things would change when Bruce Fortier died, but our town did me proud. Town meeting still feels like a 1940s black and white movie. I expect Jimmy Stewart to speak emphatically from the podium – “Jimmy, 24 Choate Street, I want to share my perspective on the proposed leash law…” There is nothing like a good leash law or pot shop or late bus debate to get our hearts racing with excitement! And then Brendan Zubricki calms us all down. I like to sit up front at town meeting so I can watch Brendan’s expression. He is so peaceful. Zen. His calm is contagious, and I feel more secure knowing he is managing all of our weird and wild moving parts.
Lufkin, Belcher, Burnham, Choate. These names sound like family to me now… and a weird Essex rap. Some people talk about a rift between Old Essex and New Essex, but I’ve never felt it. My friend, Lizzie Mulry’s family has lived in Essex nearly 400 years. She is so “Old Essex” that her great-grandmother Agnes sold Choate Island to the Cranes. Over 80 members of her family were born on the island and her dad is still mad at Agnes for selling it. Even with those very deep roots, Lizzie and her family welcomed a newcomer like me and offered me a shady spot under their enormous family tree, near the cool of their pool.
And speaking of pools… Remember when Dunkley the cow went swimming in the pool? The whole town laughed in unison. Only here. Only in Essex! I’m still laughing now! Or the fence war between the peace-loving Unitarians and their neighbors? That still makes me giggle every time I walk past the church! But if you really want to laugh, there’s nothing better than an EES PTO meeting. If you haven’t gone to one, you should! There are no braver women in our town than those willing to be board members or even president of that group. Enormous props ladies – you are leaders and mothers. I have called on many of the ex-presidents for crisis management and party planning over the years, especially Annie Cameron. There is nobody in Essex I want by my side more for a street fight or school fundraiser than Annie. She organizes meal trains, holiday gifts, school construction, and hardest of all, she moderates our town Facebook page. Overall, she protects her own and I feel very lucky, along with all the other residents of Essex, to be part of her brood.
So, yes. We thought about moving. Does that invisible town line really matter that much? The new house is just five minutes away. I could have the art school on our property. It is perfect for this moment in our lives. But then I took the long view (like the view across the river from the boat launch to the white house at the end of Water Street–at sunrise in the summer) and I realized I couldn’t go to town meeting anymore. Or park at Chebacco Lake. Or go bridge jumping (Can we please get the bridge replaced so we can take those signs down?). Or enjoy socializing at the dump. Or be on the Eagle's Nest Playground Committee––and I couldn't do it.
We turned down the new house yesterday because it wouldn’t be home. Essex is home.
