Our Maine Street's Aroostook Issue 25 : Summer 2015 - Page 53

V oic e s Of My Ancestors By Nancy Summersong I wasn’t born in Maine. My mother was, my grandmother was, and all of my grandmothers before them were. Before this place was called Maine. Before there were borders and my ancestors were free to cross the St. John River from one shore to the other. Today, I hear the voices of my ancestors calling to me-as I heard them that day. A simple request-or was it a command? Come. Come. . . . The first time I saw Maine, I was overcome by its raw beauty. It was more than everything my mother had said it was. So much more, that the anglers fishing off the rugged coastline that day had caught more than fish. I, too, had been hooked . It was then I understood -no-felt my mother’s passion for the state where she was born and raised. The emotion with which she always spoke of her beloved Maine was now my emotionher Maine, my Maine. Driving into Guilford’s town limits, it seems time has stood still since she was a child. I see and feel nothing reminiscent of the hurried, burdened pace that defines my own life in this 21st century. Standing before the house where she grew up, t