Michael has followed my lead for weeks; however, he did tell me one thing he wanted to do was to drive up the Penobscot River to Bangor. So this morning, it is on our list of things to see. But the drive is a bit of a disappointment as far as river views go. Unlike the river roads at home and in Colorado, so far, a forest of towering trees hides the Penobscot from sight.

When I checked out our proposed route last night in The Maine Atlas and Gazetteer, I noticed a living history site just north of Bangor; hopefully we are on our way, and this will be one thing we do get to see.  I’ll admit this road seems to be the path less taken, but I have faith.

“I hear dueling banjos…are you sure you know where we are going?” asks Michael.

“Of course I know where we are going.  Look, it’s on the map…” I begin my reply.

“I can’t look.  I’m driving.”

“…and it’s in my guidebook,” I say, finishing my statement.

As we continue bumping our way along the narrow gravel road, tall trees encroaching on each side, we almost miss the turn.  Correction.  We miss the turn.  However, as I check out a photo I took of two old rusted trucks serving as giant flower pots in an inviting green field (and the sun was in the wrong position and the picture did not turn out—but I had to try) Michael sees a sign that mentions a logging museum. I didn’t realize that is what we were looking for. 

We back track.

Because Michael has no faith, we pass up the entrance and drive several miles down a government forest road. Even though he still doesn’t trust me to know what I am talking about, I convince him to turn back.  We find a parking lot of sorts—a field—and we are the only car. At my urging, he unwillingly parks the car.

Leonard’s Mill

Following the road that specifies NO VEHICLES BEYOND THIS POINT, we walk past a closed gift shop, and a sign that lists the hours the logging museum is open.  The way I read it, they are OPEN. Mike reads it as CLOSED.  We walk through a covered bridge to an open clearing full of old buildings, and what could be construed as a village green.

Silence greets us.  There is no one home. The day is warm and beautiful—the quiet, palpable. We are indeed far from the madding crowd of the past few weeks.  Despite the deserted atmosphere, it is apparent someone cares for this place.  The garden is in full bloom. The grass mowed.

Michael looks at me and says, “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Of course we should be here,” I say.

 I wonder if there are bears in the woods.

Penobscot Indian Reservation

Leaving the pastoral solitude of Leonard’s Mill, we decide to continue thirty miles north till we reach  Howland and take 116 to 1A back to Searsport.  Checking our Maine Atlas, it looks like 116 is so close to the river it might as well be in it.  Surely no trees will bar our view. And driving down the west side of the Penobscot, we do see the river—for about five minutes. 

Continuing our drive south, as we approach Old Town, we pass by a perfect New England vignette. Realizing what we missed, we turn around, stop, and both grab our cameras.  After doing a little bit of reconnoitering, Michael has determined that the bridge across the water leads to an island, not the other side of the river.  We have no choice but to explore.

We have wandered into the Penobscot Indian Reservation; there are political signs in yards for the election of the next Chief. It appears to be a perfect image of a pristine Maine village except for a sign on a large building that boldly states HIGH STAKES BINGO…

…totally unexpected.

Note:  Looking beyond the map I Google Leonard’s Mill when we get home.  Here is what I find. 

MAINE FOREST AND LOGGING MUSEUM

We are an event based Museum. The grounds are available during regular hours to picnic and walk around the site, but the buildings are not regularly open.

8/26/2014 6:25:42 PM