Molasses Pond, Eastbrook, Maine, the vacation destination for our family every year growing up, possesses both an endearing and mystifying charm for my sister Christine and me. We love the smell of the fresh air, the sound of the wind tugging at the leaves, and the loons talking to a quiet world in the morning. Cabins and “camps” line the lake-sized pond, accessed on narrow, dirt roads that wind down to any number of named dwellings: Wilbur’s Cabin, Strouts, Dunbar Den, Lakeside Getaway. Each little location has a rich history of family gatherings filled with fishing expeditions, boat rides, catching minnows, buying take-out at the Molasses Pond House, making s’mores over the fire at night, and braving the woods, at times, with raccoon-infested bushes, to visit an outhouse. We rented several different cabins over the years, but our favorite was Wilbur’s Cabin which had a long, weather-worn dock and a small area to jump into the cool, minnow-filled water.
Some of our favorite memories center around walking on creaky floors through “hoarder-like” antique shops. The open flea markets also provided much entertainment for us to stretch our legs after being cramped up in station wagon. I collected little butter plates and small cream pitchers. My dad spoiled me and usually bought me several each summer. As an adult, I had a dear friend make a long shelf with limited depth to display this unique collection. When my father died in 1991 (I was then 33 years old), this collection took on new meaning for me. I still display this memory-filled set in our dining room. Along with collecting mementos, we also loved visiting Acadia National Park, Bar Harbor, and Schoodic Point. The beauty of the rocky coast still takes one’s breath away.
One summer in 1969, I brought my painting supplies up to Molasses Pond. As an eleven-year-old, I had taken lessons from Mrs. Tack Cannon in Connecticut. So I thought that I could keep up with my hobby during our two-week vacation. We had made many friends over the years in the community of Eastbrook. I had helped with the Vacation Bible School in town at the local church, a very old white church with a steeple. We had joined in with the traditional bean suppers on Fridays nights at the Eastbrook Grange Hall where we always devoured the blueberry pie made with freshly picked blueberries. On one occasion, I boarded a truck with some friends in the wee hours of the morning and spent the day raking blueberries to make some extra vacation cash. The rake resembled a dust pan with a super-wide fork instead of a flat surface.
In one small cabin near Molasses Pond lived a gray-haired woman named Mrs. Murray. I was the kind of young person that loved talking to older folks, asking them numerous stories about their past. So I sat on Mrs. Murray’s porch, watched cars passing on their way to the Molasses Pond beach, conversing about any number of topics. The view across from her cabin was an inlet of sorts with cat tails and frogs and cranes.
I decided that summer to paint a picture for Mrs. Murray that displayed a Bible with some fruit on the Bible. I think “still life” painting lessons were in vogue at that time in 1969. I finished the painting with a pear and some grapes sitting on a black Bible with the words Holy Bible on the side of the book. I recall (now much older) that I worked hard at the shading and the shadowing of that painting as an eleven-year-old. Anyway, on the back of the painting, I wrote these words: July 4, 1969, Molasses Pond. I had not named the painting. The Grumbacher canvas was a common type of board to paint on at the time, so their logo was quite predominant. I cannot recall all the details, but I think my dad made the frame for the painting. After presenting my painting to Mrs. Murray, she hung it on her screened-in porch wall for all to see as they passed. The porch was closed in with windows, so the painting was protected from the weather. But it was view able from the country road in front.
During the early part of 2015, 46 years after having painted the fruit and Bible picture, I asked my younger sister if we could go to Maine together to spend a week walking down memory lane. Since our growing up years, there has been a division in the family, sadly, but my younger sister Chris and I have sought to build our love for one another and to grow in Christ by praying for each other in our difficult situation. We decided that a trip to Maine was a necessity for both of us.
We met on July 25th, 2015 in Bangor, Maine; and we drove to Webb Pond where we had rented a cabin. Webb Pond was not far from Eastbrook. One morning, as we drove to see Molasses Pond, we passed Mrs. Murray’s cabin. To our delight, my painting, after 46 years, was still on the porch wall. Chris declared, “Let’s see if we can get it!” So we talked to folks in the area on one side of the cabin. The man next to the cabin on the other side called the current owners of the cabin. He got no answer for us. This call was made on a Tuesday morning, July 28th. The neighbor asked us to return on Friday. He hoped to make contact to have an answer by then. On Friday morning, July 31st, we had nearly run out of hope. We climbed into our rental car on Webb Pond. I asked Chris is we could pray that God would see fit to give us the painting back into our family. Then we proceeded to drive one more time to see the man who now lived next to what used to be Mrs. Murray’s cabin; he called the owners while we were there, and he said this: “The owners said that you can have the painting.” Our eyes filled with tears. We were thrilled. God’s Hand of grace in what seems an insignificant moment was huge to the two of us. So this next door neighbor walked over to the cabin, unlocked it, and gave us our precious treasure—46 years after it had been painted and given to a special older lady, Mrs. Murray. And the amazing thing was that it had hung on her wall all those years through various owners of that cabin. We thanked the neighbor, got into our car, and thanked God in prayer for a special gift. I gave the painting to my sister. Now this reclaimed treasure graces Chris’s mantle in Mathews, North Carolina, its new home. A small grace-gift from God touched our lives that day.