Just before the election I managed some time off work for an impromptu road trip up Route 1 to Lubec. The timing couldn’t have been better. The weather throughout was perfect. Fall was in full display. Foliage was at peak performance. Vacationland was pleasantly free of vacationers, more and more so as my own modest vacation headed further and further away from Maine’s more populated coastal charms. Leaf peeping apparently stops where McDonald’s deems unprofitable.

The preoccupations of everyday life were put on hold. The raging political storm battering the nation abated to a far more bearable degree despite inescapable roadside campaign signs declaring that we were unmistakably headed into territory where Trump reigned supreme and Ballot Question 3 was definitely out-gunned. On many front lawns Hillary’s likeness peered out from behind depicted prison bars.

It’d been a while since I’d traveled so far Downeast, and the first time to actually set foot inside West Qouddy Head lighthouse and look across to the Maritimes from the easternmost point in the U.S.. There’s something about the visual imposition of a lighthouse upon an already splendid vista that never appears forced, diminishing or offensive.

From that remote vantage point, Bath-Brunswick seemed a very long ways away, both in distance and time. Mostly, it was the complete disconnect from the hurly-burly. Down here our Midcoast is far further along down the road to embracing that from away. Up there man’s often regrettable mark on the land is still relatively a long ways in coming. Up there nature still rules.

Each scenic and not so scenic mile heading north provided a pleasing mixture of distilled remembrance and deja vu. Mile after mile, Route 1’s mixture of tawdry commercialism and lingering historical grandeur appeared much the same as it does immediately upon crossing the Kennebec. Each town’s approach presented its own ill-considered business sprawl in varying degrees, yet Maine’s innate allure somehow still manages to overcome such disappointments.

Adventurous side trips down any particular peninsular held many similarly picturesque views as those familiar closer to home, constantly reinforcing how the Midcoast must proactively protect its own remaining natural wealth. Once gone, gone forever.

What was noticeably absent heading north and east was any conspicuous affluence. What was noticeably present was a far more regional cultural continuity. No big boxes or other intrusive business presence from away. By choice or not, Downeast remains a Maine unembellished, unadulterated and Wi-Fi challenged.

Observed at 55 mph, coastal Maine above Bar Harbor looked as if not much had happened in the near forty years since I last visited. Global warming permitting, Jonesport appeared as if it will remain unchanged for another forty. Machias was still all about that blue berry.

For the most part, aside from some truly horrific commercial “development” to what was previously the still recognizably “Mainer” outskirts of Rockland and Ellsworth, and a delightful renaissance of Belfast’s downtown, very little seemed to have changed overall.

From Lubec we visited Campobello and then some more of nearby Canada. Looking much like Maine, only noticeably more prosperous, any economic burden of their long standing national health care system wasn’t outwardly apparent at all.

Returning to Calais, we chose Routes 9 and 3 as principal shortcuts back to Bath. Route 9’s remote inland corridor was a revelation of progressive highway design respectful of the otherwise un-violated expanses reminiscent of our nation’s far West. The passing landscape offered repeated spectacular panoramic views of a Maine seemingly totally undeveloped as far as the eye could see. The glaring exception was the full-frontal visual assault of a there at one turn, gone the next, wind turbine farm.

As we swung south off Route 3 the politics of red slowly gave way to those of blue, but not by much until we neared the coast and its increased population density.

Donald Trump will soon be our nation’s president. My escapist road trip did nothing to prevent that harrowing reality. It did drive home the vast differences between Maine’s two congressional districts and the politics of such separation in economics, lifestyle and habitation. As with our nation’s disharmonious whole, Maine is politically divided less north vs south than by urban vs rural. Maine’s 2nd Congressional District comprises 80 percent of the state’s geography. Seventy-two percent of its population is rural. The other half of Maine voters comprise the urban-centric 1st Congressional District which is increasingly becoming indistinguishable from anywhere U.S.A..

Much of what we cherish of Maine’s identity reflects a fierce independence deeply rooted in a remoteness both geographically and culturally. Hopefully, Downeast Maine can continue to stave off exploitative development by outside forces beyond its control, avoiding the perils of Bath, Brunswick, and Topsham’s often over-embrace of growth for growth’s sake.

Unfortunately, growth remains the mantra of Maine politics whether blue or red, or even green.

Growth is seen as good, and well can be so if our quality of place is not sacrificed in the process.

Going forward, is America going to indeed be made great again, or made even more environmentally and culturally diminished?

Gary Anderson lives in Bath.