Hope, Maine: Bridging history to future prospects
HOPE, Maine – The hills and valleys of this serene hamlet, located 15 miles from New England’s rugged coastline, have long been adorned with wild blueberries.
These berries thrived here long before Native populations walked the land or Sonja Howard’s ancestors settled in this grassy region nine generations ago.
For every summer she can remember, Howard’s family has returned as the warm days start to fade, gathering the clusters of blue that sprout from the thorny bushes across their 800 acres of farmland.
The blueberries from Brodis Blueberries are distinct from the typical varieties found in grocery stores; they are not cultivated but rather thrive thanks to the removal of obstructions like trees, rocks, and weeds, allowing them to grow naturally.
This small pea-sized fruit is generally available fresh at farmers’ markets and stands during late July and early August. The Brodis family sells a fraction of their harvest to commercial producers like Wyman’s, which processes and distributes them nationwide.
However, those who help maintain the land can easily discern a difference in flavor.
Ron Howard, a member of Sonja Brodis’ family by marriage for 48 years and now the business manager, notes that the more commercial high-bush blueberries “lack the same flavor, texture, and sweetness” of their wild counterparts.
This sentiment mirrors how residents feel about their town. Similar to the wild blueberries, Hope has been nurtured by generations wishing to uphold a tranquil lifestyle that is becoming increasingly rare elsewhere.
The community, which boasts around 1,500 residents, is home to farmers, artisans, and tradespeople engaged in traditional crafts that are becoming scarce, including shoe cobbling, metal fabrication, fire truck restoration, and bagpipe making.
Long-time resident Brad Ellsworth, who restores wooden boats, affectionately describes his neighbors as “unique, eccentric individuals.”
This midcoast Maine town shares its name with 19 other towns across the nation, six of which YSL News visited over the summer.
During explorations of these various Hopes, from Michigan to Arkansas, Maine to Alaska, we sought signs of hope and identified obstacles faced by residents. Here’s what we discovered just inland from the busy tourist areas of Camden and Rockport in one of the oldest states in the country.
The Town’s Heart
At the core of Hope stands one of the oldest general stores in Maine, which is currently managed by Damon McClure and his wife, Simone-Claire Girard Delevett.
Similar to many residents, the couple identifies as “from away” – a term locals use to refer to non-native newcomers.
As a child, McClure’s family would travel from Virginia each summer to visit Deer Isle, located just south of Acadia National Park. However, he didn’t settle in the area until 2019. After losing his job, he sought a fresh start when a friend mentioned the Hope General Store. McClure, Delevett, and their daughter, who was heading into her senior high school year, visited and quickly fell in love with the area.
“You can sense the history here. Visiting makes you feel like you’ve traveled back in time,” shared McClure with YSL News. “That feeling captivated us.”
One major challenge they faced upon arriving in February 2019 was alleviating local concerns that their presence might alter the cherished landmark in an unfavorable way.
When the COVID-19 pandemic struck a year later, the general store, which primarily served as a stop for coffee and quick grocery needs, became indispensable to the community.
During a significant part of the crisis, McClure managed the store on his own due to staff concerns about health risks.
This period marked one of the rare instances where McClure witnessed political tensions arise during his four years in Hope. The store enforced mask-wearing before it became a statewide requirement. While most customers were compliant, a few resisted, and he had to refuse service to those who did not adhere to the regulations.
Overall, McClure believes the store’s handling of the pandemic fostered quicker trust within the community.
“We did our best to create a friendly and safe environment,” McClure stated. “That time helped us build a lot of goodwill.”
McClure often jokes that he’s the most informed person about what happens in Hope, taking pride in the store’s significant place in the community. He keeps a steady supply of Lion Stout from Sri Lanka for a regular customer who returns three or four times weekly, and he always stocks various Larabar flavors for a dedicated buyer.
The store also hosts “pub nights” twice weekly in a cozy corner known as “the nook.” Regardless of the weather, locals gather on rustic pine benches and vibrant metal chairs to enjoy drinks and chat. The only rule? No discussions about politics or religion.
“The key to running a store like this is to listen to the community’s needs,” explained McClure. “That’s why we’re here.”
Adapting to Change
Much like the rest of the nation, the residents of Hope continue to adjust to changes since the pandemic. Interestingly, the crisis has united the community in several ways.
For example, when Brodis Blueberries had to stop operations at their family farmhouse to maintain social distancing, the town swiftly approved a permit for them to construct a new building. In the same year, when a nearby distillery owned by their son was damaged by a fire, Hope permitted him to run his business from the farm.
“They recognized this was crucial for us,” said Ron Howard. “They said, ‘These are our local folks; let’s expedite the approval.’ And they did. That doesn’t happen everywhere … It’s a source of hope for us.”
However, the pandemic introduced new dynamics. Now, every household in the area has access to high-speed fiber optic internet. Residents believe this improvement has attracted more individuals seeking peace to move here from big cities like Boston, New York, and even Texas to this quiet town in Maine.
Camden Road, a major route in Hope where the general store and other local businesses are located, used to see only a few cars during peak travel times. Now, traffic flows steadily throughout the day.
Long-term locals express that they welcome newcomers, but they’re concerned that these new residents may alter the community’s original character.
“People come here because they appreciate it, but then they arrive and want to bring changes based on what they liked from their previous homes,” said Stephanie Powers, a lifelong Hope resident who works at Pine Ridge Carpentry nearby. “They want to impose larger-town ideas and systems.”
Some of those suggestions have involved setting up new town services and a police department, both of which Powers believes are unnecessary for a community with fewer than 2,000 residents. An independent voter, she emphasized that the goal of preserving Hope is not about “keeping everything the same, just maintaining its spirit and intention.”
This sentiment is shared among many residents, regardless of age, demographics, or political affiliation.
On a cloudy day, while waiting for a technician to fix his refrigerator, 75-year-old Creighton Drury sat outside in a lawn chair, discussing the aspect of the town’s culture he most wants to protect: its integrity. Drury moved to Hope about 15 years ago and has been residing in the pre-Civil War house he renovated with his wife.
“I was always taught to ‘stick to your commitments,’ and that seems to be a fading principle,” noted Drury, a proud Democrat who has a Biden-Harris sign displayed in his garage.
He added, “I cherish this neighborhood because whenever there’s an issue, your neighbors are there to support you.”
The Local Political Landscape
The political landscape of Hope reflects that of Maine as a whole. The town includes around 500 Democrats, 400 Republicans, and over 350 unaffiliated voters, indicating a divided community.
Most people tend to steer clear of discussions about national politics. Instead, they focus more on local matters.
Emily Davis, who has co-owned Hope Orchards with her husband Brein for more than 20 years, mentioned that the general consensus is to only discuss politics with those who share similar views.
“There’s a general reluctance among us to even bring it up,” Davis said during a potluck dinner with ten attendees at the orchards.
The main divide in town is geographical, separating Hope and South Hope. Hope leans more Democratic, while South Hope is more conservative.
The former area is nearer to the coast and features many local attractions, such as the general store, town offices, and Hope Orchards. South Hope is just a five-minute drive away, accessible via winding mountain roads bordered by meadows and distant houses.
Susan Pushaw, 66, is the co-owner of Pushaw’s Trading Post, which serves as the main store in South Hope. She recounted a time when residents contemplated splitting from Hope. People from the southern area of the town found it inconvenient to travel to the general store area for town meetings, she noted. Eventually, they abandoned the secession idea because Amidst the intricate legal issues, the two areas feel like different towns today.
Pushaw has never stepped foot in Hope General Store, despite the similarities in their offerings and their close location. Having grown up in South Hope next to her store, she purchased it alongside her brother Jerry after retiring from a job at a food processing plant.
In Pushaw’s view, Hope is akin to Camden, the more affluent coastal town that borders it.
While Hope General Store specializes in gourmet sandwiches such as those with brie cheese, hummus, and apples, named creatively like “the Tree Hugger,” the South Hope trading post leans towards heartier, comfort food options like spicy chicken burgers, fried chicken, and steak and cheese sandwiches.
Pushaw, a Republican, prefers not to engage in political discussions. There’s an “8 o’clock crew” that sometimes debates national and local topics when they come into the store, yet similar to other areas in Hope, the main focus remains on harmony.
“Every town has its politics,” Pushaw stated. “They may start with small disagreements, but they usually resolve amicably before anyone leaves.”
Restoring and preserving hope
Andy Swift’s workshop, an expansive, three-level chicken coop, is located at the summit of Hatchet Mountain Road, situated between Hope and South Hope. His passion lies in restoring vintage fire engines.
Outside his shop, rusty ladder trucks and engine components are scattered across the tall grass. At the entrance, an old car topped with a decoration that resembles a missile reads “Jazz not War.”
This workshop is where Swift, now 71, escapes when he feels overwhelmed by the news cycle. He describes fire engines as “almost primeval, as they symbolize the idea of assistance,” reflecting on his years as a firefighter in Alaska before returning to his home state of Maine.
“Mechanically, a fire engine brings hope,” Swift explained. “When there’s a blaze and you hear that bell or siren, you recognize it’s coming in response to an uncontrolled threat.”
The Bernie Sanders sticker displayed on Swift’s car may suggest his political leanings, but he chose not to elaborate on his views. Instead, he believes that the most genuine forms of hope are not defined by political affiliations.
Surrounded by flickering fluorescent lights in his workshop, which is cluttered with tools, engine parts, and various photographs, Swift reminisced about his restoration work for the New York City Fire Department following the 9/11 attacks.
Feeling a sense of powerlessness and in search of a productive outlet, Swift volunteered to restore a fire apparatus of their choice. In December, a team of fire commissioners arrived in Hope to deliver the hose wagon that they wanted him to refurbish.
“This was shortly after 9/11, and everyone’s hearts were tenderized,” Swift recalls, his eyes welling with tears. “One of the fire commissioners, Tom Fitzpatrick, looked around and said, ‘It’s being done in a town called Hope.’”
“So, being in a town named Hope is indeed quite special,” Swift added, his voice quavering.
When asked about what gives them hope, the residents of Hope, Maine, repeatedly pointed to their community.
“We crave connection,” explained Kyle Rittenburg, who, alongside his wife Anna, assists in running Hope Orchards with the Davises. They organized a potluck for participants in their community-supported agriculture program, aimed at fostering direct connections between people and the food from the land.
The Davises are fully supportive of this initiative and take pride in its roots in Hope.
“The name ‘Hope’ inspires us to remain optimistic and to live with hope,” Emily Davis remarked. “Live in hope, die in hope.”