I Like Moose: pt2

II

"This was native land," the park ranger, Chuckles (so said his badge, not his disposition, I assumed the result of a bad joke) informed me on my arrival to Cobscook. "You could see it all over, marks of them Indians everywhere." It was true. The campsites were littered with genuine Maliseet-Passamaquoddy arrowheads, drawings, and decrepit lean-tos all left somewhat intact and protected. These two tribes once ruled over the area. Although they were independent from one another, they spoke mutually intelligible dialects of the same Algonquian language. Now, the tribes, once casual comrades, competed through business. Drive down the only paved road in Dennysville and there, beside one another, Maliseet and Passamaquoddy gift shops selling 'authentic-native-stuff.' Gen-u-ine Indian bookmarks and cell phone covers, at competitively low-prices.

"How you think they got along?" Chuckles asked me after a long drawn out diatribe on the history of the original settlers; while we watched the tides rush in over lunch. "You think it's like us an' them Canadians?" He pointed north.

We could throw stones onto Canada's soil. Chuckles, a Vietnam Vet, would drink whiskey on the old site of the Quoddy Project from the 30's, and yell at the border.

"I can see you from here!" He'd yell at the country from atop one of the four dikes actually constructed before funding was refused. (The Quoddy Project was a proposed series of dams and control structures, harnessing Cobscook Bay as a means of electricity; it quickly drowned before it ever had time to float). I never truly understood his qualm with Canada; maybe he regretted his decision to 'not-dodge.'


(pt2 of 5)