The art and lore of maps
When I bought my house in Maine, on Mount Desert Island, about 10 years ago, I knew very little about the history, geography, and topography of the beautiful island where I was planning to spend so many vacations. More than halfway up the coast of Maine, Mount Desert is best known for its largest town, Bar Harbor, and for Acadia National Park and its highest peak, Cadillac Mountain. I had spent a few weekends visiting the island over the years, and dreamed of owning a little bit of that woodland seaside paradise.
Once I found Skylands, the former home of car designer and tycoon Edsel Ford, I began to immerse myself in the history of the region, reading the books on the area that I discovered at island booksellers, and studying maps on display in antiques shops and hiking shops.
I learned a tremendous amount and became fascinated with the many beautiful maps I discovered. They were so varied -- some in color, some black-and-white, some illustrated, some antique. I purchased a few unframed examples and, while searching for a local framer, came upon Ahlblad's Frame Shop in Bar Harbor, where the walls were hung with rarities relating to local history.
I liked owner Raymond Strout immediately, primarily because he is so knowledgeable and forthcoming, but also because he is an eccentric, a collector himself and locally respected. He encouraged me to become even more curious and to search for information. Raymond started framing, and I continued collecting.
The Skylands house is divided into three distinct zones: the family living quarters; the kitchen, pantries, and the staff's quarters; and the laundry rooms. In the '20s, '30s, and '40s, the family never ventured into the back kitchen area -- the butler served, and the housekeepers and ladies' maids waited on family and guests. All that had to change now, for there are no maids or servants.
The servants' dining room was transformed into the pre-hiking room, with a large table with maps and guidebooks. Two benches provide seating for pulling on and taking off boots and hiking shoes. The back is now the liveliest part of the house.
The pre-hiking room was the logical choice for a map room. I papered the walls with a faux-bois wallpaper on which the cherry-veneer frames look wonderful. When matting is necessary, it is acid-free and uniform in color, and all the maps are set under framing glass to protect them from the vagaries of weather.
When we ran out of space, the office at Skylands was hung with some of the largest maps, and after those walls were covered, we started down the long hallway. No direct sunlight hits any of the maps, and yet there's lots of natural light during the day to allow easy gazing at the wonders of the island.
On his Sunday morning breakfast visits, Raymond fills me in on missing specimens, auctions, and recent island happenings. What is so unusual about Raymond is his impeccable memory. I now have 59 maps, and, even without a written inventory, he knows which ones I have and which I still need.
I am still looking for a few more maps, but I am thrilled to have learned a tremendous amount about my beloved Mount Desert Island -- where the railroads were and are no longer, when roads were built, and how man's ability to map has evolved over the past 400 years or so.
Adapted from Martha Stewart Living Magazine. Questions should be addressed to Ask Martha, care of Letters Department, Martha Stewart Living, 11 W. 42nd Street, New York, N.Y., 10036. Questions may also be sent by electronic mail to: mslletters@marthastewart.com. Please include your name, address, and daytime telephone number. Questions of general interest will be answered in this column; Martha Stewart regrets that unpublished letters cannot be answered individually. For more information on the topics covered in the Ask Martha column, visit marthastewart.com. 