A Past Life: Martin Head

People are often interested and surprised to learn that at one time, about 50 years ago Martin Head was an active lumbering community much like Big Salmon River. The remains of a break water have succumed to the constant Bay of Fundy tides but are still evident out from the main beach area. Picture lumber barges tied up waiting to be loaded at the mill or waiting for the high tide, perhaps sitting on cribs at low tide.

The head land had a light house and you can still see the remains of the basement. Think of the light house keeper and his family living out on that wind swept and fog shrouded place.If you look carefully on the shore side of the head land you will also find a white grave marker on the ground.

In the Quiddy River estuary you will see the remains of the lumber milling industry, a sawdust pile and cement sections remain to mark the site of the old mill. In the salt marsh the upright posts that supported log booms and remains of a dam can be seen. If I close my eyes I can imagine the hustle and bustle of a busy dockside where men work loading lumber barges destined for New England ports like Boston or New York City.

For me Martin head is full of ghosts and images of the past, I can vaguely remember an early childhood visit to Martin Head when there still remained the deserted buildings that had housed the workers and their families. The structures gave the impression of an abandoned ghost town of the American west wind swept full of sand , dark interiors broken glass abandoned rudiments of daily life.

On my last visit to Martin Head I found it ironic to find the remainns of a more modern ghost laid to rest on the beach. People still leave their mark on this surreal, harshly beautiful landscape. The skeletal remains of a burned out car is telling evidence of the wildness this place evokes in people. On summer weekends this place could be the set of a Mad Max movie, all descriptions of wild folk and lookers-on might appear down over the hill in all types of motorized conveyances. Sometimes they do not go back up over the steep washed out trail and like the burned out car join the ghosts of this place.

To pass judgement is not my purpose, I know this place means many things to different people. My hope is that we all can come to recognize the ethereal specialness of this place and come to love it and keep it beautiful.