Literature
Words by Katie Zarrilli | Photo by Matthew Doyen
Oh. My. ’GASH.
“We don’t have a street light. We don’t have a police officer. So, what do you want to do?!”
Darlene Dumond laughs across the table, and I laugh back.
She’s not wrong. Oh, the trouble the two of us could get into in this small town with what feels like ultimate freedom.
Welcome to Allagash, Maine. Population: fewer than 250. Known to some as “Moosetown.” Home to 92 miles of protected wilderness waterway. And apparently, a place where they don’t worry about traffic laws. My first visit—and even as someone who lived in Aroostook County for seven years, I don’t know what to expect.
To put it in perspective—Presque Isle is four and a half hours north of Portland. Fort Kent is an hour north of Presque Isle. Go another 35-40 minutes northwest, and THEN you’re in Allagash.
What’s next after Fort Kent? Bumpy dirt road? Nothing but trees? Spotty cell service? What if we break down?
Yes on the sporadic cell service … but a paved road with the St. John River to our right makes for a beautiful drive.
We pull into Two Rivers Lunch, the only restaurant in town. I open my car door and hear a gentleman trying to get his dog out of the middle of the main road. As he shouts louder and louder, the dog becomes less and less concerned. Our furry friend must know about the “no cops” thing.
We walk in, and it feels like the whole place greets us. We choose a decorated table by the window. Before I can decide what I want (let’s be honest, it’s going to be eggs sunny side up with bacon and toast, as it always is) I’m drawn to the corner of the menu with a charming photo of a sweet old couple. Tylor and Leitha Kelly opened this spot as a hot dog stand back in 1976. Years later, it would become a full service restaurant, built slowly but surely as the Kellys had the means to do it.
As a matter of fact, the story is that in 1991, ice jam flooding destroyed a number of bridges in town—one of them made of wooden planks. Tylor Kelly and his sons went out in canoes, lassoed the wreckage, brought it to shore, and treated and used the wood to expand the restaurant.
I’m sold on the place then and there, and I haven’t even had a bite of the homemade toast, which honestly, deserves an article of its own. To this day they’re using recipes from Leitha’s mother.
Tylor and Leitha’s daughter Darlene (referenced earlier) isn’t just running the restaurant. She’s running the entire town. There isn’t a thing that happens or a person who visits here that Darlene doesn’t know about.
This morning, she’s both cooking eggs and making sure everyone’s attending the 2nd Annual Tylor Kelly Allagash Dash, a canoe race to honor her late father. My husband and I hustle to get to the water for 10 a.m. start.
Silly us—we forget we’re in the northwest corner of Maine, and time is more of a suggestion. There’s no hurry here. The question isn’t, “What are we waiting for,” but, “Who are we waiting for?” Then we actually wait for that person.
The canoes finally take off and so do we, following in our cars. Darlene says to “meet at the bridge” for a good view. She doesn’t clarify which bridge. This is Allagash—we’ll know the one.
“So, we just park anywhere?” I ask my husband.
“Well, yeah! There’s no police officer.”
The rest of the spectators arrive—there’s no more than 10 of us. We run from one side of the bridge to the other—hooping and hollering and cheering the racers on.
I’m so wrapped in warmth here, it’s hard to want to leave. I feel like I’m part of the family and we’ve been here only three hours. It might’ve been a brief trip, but it’ll stay with me forever. There’s something about a slow-paced, people-first, humble, and hardworking area that’ll remind you what really matters.
Maybe they don’t have a street light. Maybe they don’t have a police officer. But somehow, they have everything.
Especially the homemade toast.