By time this goes to press, most will have heard or read about the fire that on April 28 destroyed the newly renovated Matinicus Island post office, as well as a young man’s home and all he owned, the long-awaited new store almost ready for its Grand Opening celebration, and some of the property of the nascent Matinicus Island Historical Society.
As I write, roughly a week after the fire, many are still showing signs of exhaustion. The amount of work to be done now is huge, but it is too soon to know by whom it must all be done. There is no “they” out there to make it all better, to clean up the mess, to put things back to normal. The United States Postal Service can’t snap its federal fingers and make that building reappear. That joked-about “terrorism insurance,” required of the landlord at no small expense, doesn’t help now. Even a possible temporary office trailer would take a long time to get here; we hear that it’s actually on another island. Many from elsewhere want answers from us now: “Where will ‘they’ rebuild? What are you guys going to do?” First answer: There is no “they.” Second answer: Give us time.
Summer will be here soon. The usual people will arrive; we don’t get many true tourists (and some would add “thankfully” to that.) Our regular warm-weather gang harbors an enduring love for this place, as hard as Matinicus sometimes works to resist their affection. Most of this island’s summer crowd are in it for the long haul, homeowners with ancient family ties or working people with decades of summers here behind them, or tougher-than-the-average renters of isolated camps who put up with a lot in order to sit in the fog and toast the bell buoy and the old-time ways common on this ledge-pile. They like it when things are largely unchanged over time.
They are out of luck.
Here, we do the best we can, as the phone calls come in, as each worried e-mail pops up. We reassure our mainland friends, our summer neighbors, our relatives: things go on. People wring their hands and speculate on the worst. We aren’t going to pack up and move across the bay. We are determined to keep a post office, because it is integral to our existence as a real town. Matinicus as a community is not so delicate as to buckle under the weight, if you can bear the cliché, of this adversity.
As they arrive, and as they call and write, each will need to hear the story of the fire again, how everybody who was on the island turned out, with or without firefighting experience; how the guys from Vinalhaven came over to help (and a very real help they were;) how this motley group of mostly-beginners at emergency response scrambled and kept the situation from getting out of control. We don’t have a post office as of this writing, but we have postal service, because we have the people, in Wanda and Cynthia, who make it work. We don’t have a professional fire department, but everyone able-bodied fights fires, and as most all will admit, we’re willing to learn. There has been a lot said lately about what we don’t have. It is true, we could sure use a boost to our fire response capabilities, but none say “Oh, poor us.” This place is small, our resources are strained by any real emergency, our population shrinks more each winter, but we are not pitiful, we are not marginal, we are not without some strength. The professionals might look at our situation and wince, but this is how it has always been on Matinicus Island. None who live here think they should sit home and let the other guys deal with the rough stuff alone; none expect the experts to rescue us; none say “it’s not my job.”
I cannot say right now what happens next as we work to repair the damage done by the fire. There is physical damage, a building and contents gone, and then there is the psychological damage caused by disruption of routine, and a piece of history wiped out so quickly, and some good neighbors going through such upheaval. On the other hand, we’ve seen the best side of our enigmatic hometown once again, with the willingness of people to drop everything and work all day and all night; the ability to improvise; the generosity of many with connections to the island. One thing is evident: whatever is done, it will most assuredly be done by “us,” rather than by some vague and distant “them.” For a bunch of every-man-for-himself types, that’s not bad.