Today

Stonington’s waterfront is as genuine as it is pretty. Quiet in mid-autumn, it is bustling, indeed, throughout the summer as visitors and fishermen go about their business.   The downtown working waterfront may be picturesque for tourists but it’s all business for fishermen.

photos by alice wilkinson

Like many other coastal fishing villages, Stonington is at the mercy of Realtors and people from away.

It is stunningly beautiful, with the islands of the Stonington archipelago stretching to the horizon, and a harbor dotted with fishing boats and the occasional sailboat. Still a vibrant fishing community, with over 200 registered fishing boats, Stonington is struggling to maintain its identity in an increasingly gentrified world.

Stonington’s beauty is its own undoing. Even the commercial fish pier, lined with pick-up trucks and its docks filled with punts, has a wonderful view.

In the summer, visitors outnumber locals, and Main Street is clogged with tourists strolling down the middle of the road, ignoring the sidewalk. They treat the town as if it were Sturbridge Village, fully stocked with quaint people. Lots of people actually are working, and more than anything else, the congestion on Main Street is a constant irritant.

One fisherman complained about not being able to get through town with his truck and he described his solution. First he trailed them slowly, expecting that they would turn around and move out of the road. They didn’t. So he pressed the accelerator and the brake at the same time, burning a little rubber. They moved then. 

“Why,” you ask, “didn’t you just beep the horn? “

“That would have been rude.” It’s not only perceptions about what is polite that are different.

Fishermen view the harbor and the ocean as a workplace; visitors view the water differently. 

“They think they own the ocean,” complained the wife of a pleasure sailor. 

The locals have their own complaints. Being shut away from the shore is one of them. It’s not only a place to launch boats—it’s a place to walk with kids, to have a picnic, and they resent seeing “No Trespassing” signs sprouting where they and their families have walked and clammed for generations.

Town Manager Richard Avery (who is from away) is cautious about the effect of out-of-staters on Stonington life: “The island has always had a strong self-identity…self sufficiency. Inevitably, the advent of new people and new money threatens the integrity of traditional ways of living and earning an income, as well as access to resources and self-respect. Locals respect that other people from other places have done some interesting things, but they also expect their way of life to be respected. When people come here it is a strength for the town in some ways, but it can be too much. By imposing their values they displace people…who may not want to be dragged into the main culture by people who regularly read The New York Times.”

Avery continued, “My goal for town government is that we don’t, by inaction, yield to pressures because ‘this is the way it’s done in modern America’ and by a series of decisions displace people.”

While admitting that people who migrate here have much to offer, Avery cautions that the town must resist yielding to economic pressure—“ [to see that] somebody’s purchasing power doesn’t give them any more power in town decisions. There has to be a conscious effort to maintain a level playing field and make sure that the town responds to all residents on a level basis regardless of their articulateness or economic power—just because people pay  more real estate taxes doesn’t give them a bigger voice, or more rights.”     

Main Street may be home to Penobscot Bay Provisions, an upscale bakery and sandwich shop, with a small array of imported cheeses and organic vegetables, but it’s also home to Island Fishing Gear, where you can buy charts, compasses, boots and anything else a fisherman might need.

But most of the fishermen climb into their pickup trucks when they get out of their boats and drive home.  They have been squeezed out of downtown by high property taxes and the temptation to sell a house for more money than they would pay for it, and move inland, often to a “double wide” or a new house with lots of space to stack the traps in the winter. The summer people, they reason, can have the houses in the village.

And they do. Many of the houses in the village are empty six or eight months of the year; some are occupied only for a few weeks in the summer. But the town is still a fishing town. That’s how most families get their money. So far.

The recent move of the elementary school to a campus in Deer Isle has left the town with no school but with two extra buildings—the former school building and the former gym building.  Currently the gym building is being used by the Island Community Center, a volunteer group with the goal of incorporating a swimming pool into the complex.

The elementary school building is being rented to a variety of businesses ranging from the Episcopal Church to the Island Fitness Center, a gym. At the next town meeting citizens will consider whether to move the town hall from its current Main Street location up to the school.

Those in favor of the move include many locals who are unmoved by the romantic vision of a town presence on Main Street, and are tired of trying to find a parking space and get to the Town Hall during business hours. Opposed are many people from away, who have seen other towns virtually disappear, and be replaced by art galleries and T-shirt shops, as well as locals who are in favor of hanging on to whatever tradition is left. The current Board of Selectmen is split: three are in favor of the move, one is opposed and one is indifferent.   

Because of the high cost of real estate (a vacant, small lot in the village with partial views of the water is for sale at $160,000) there is no abundance of affordable housing.  Business owners complain that workers can’t afford to live here. Even with an understood minimum wage of $10 an hour, a summer worker would be hard-pressed to find a place to rent. Summer rentals range from about $400 a week and up, and there aren’t many at $400. People whose families have lived here for generations wonder how their kids are going to be able to afford a place in Stonington, or on Deer Isle, and out of staters rave about the fact that they can buy a wonderful big house in the village for under $400,000.