Story and photo by Joe Dehler

It was 5:00 pm on a Tuesday. I was late for an Environmental Activist meeting that I was supposed to be covering for the SMCC Beacon. When I reached the conference room the lights were off. I knocked and entered. Nobody. I suppose that goes to show the commitment- or lack thereof- to environmental activism that SMCC students have. I shrugged it off and left.

Not wanting to waste my half-hour commute, I made my way out to the old lighthouse on Spring Point. It was a foggy and particularly cold day, the air wet with low lying clouds and ocean spray. I saw no one on my walk to the jetty. I appreciated what the campus had to offer on this day. Willard Beach and Bug Point are all but abandoned, yet still beautiful and serene. I watched the aqua blue of low tide lap against the rocks I hopped across and balanced on, taking care not to slip into the water. There’s a responsibility about the campus that comes from having crumbling fort ruins and a slick promontory- things that I’ve heard called dangerous, but never heard of actually leading to injury. Soon I found myself at the end of the rocks, circling the lighthouse. What other college has this? I stood and felt the air, taking in the quiet and soothing noises of the coast. That is, until I started hearing voices in the fog.

Naturally I assumed some others had made their way down the jetty. Not wanting to scare them by appearing like a ghost in the mist, I rounded the lighthouse to make myself more visible. The fog was thick, but I could see at least thirty feet. The voices were much closer than that, but I didn’t see anyone on the jetty. I scanned the waters for a boat but there was nothing in the water.

When all the lights in the lighthouse turned on and the bell began to ring I spun around, startled. I took a few steps back to get the full thing in sight. At the top stood three people, hazily illuminated through the fog, looking down at me. My nervousness dissipated as I assumed these were likely just some vandals making use of the providential evening fog. The fact that anyone was able to get into the lighthouse was interesting enough for me to drop my thoughts of baleful figures in the mist, and I called up to them. They didn’t respond immediately, but soon one appeared on the lowest level.

“Ayo, can I come up, into the lighthouse?” I called up to her, supplementing my request with a toothy smile.

“We work for the lighthouse committee. Normally no,” She trailed off, studying me and considered for a minute. She was certainly no vandal, so I reduced my grin to a more subtle smile, and waited for an answer. “But consider this your lucky day. The ladder’s over there,” she pointed.

I thanked her and clambered over, thumping up the ladder. I had to duck at the bottleneck entrance to the first platform before I pulled myself up.

She gave me a tour of the inside of the lighthouse. I had been there once before, years ago, but the panoply of artifacts that were once everyday tools and commodities for a wickie (a nickname for a lighthouse keeper, and something I learned writing for the Beacon) were very interesting. Seeing everything organized on the walls of the cylindrical building was strange.  The prospect of living here for a long period of time was a striking thought. I pitied whoever manned this post, yet admired the honor in keeping people safe from the rocky coast. Up the next ladder I climbed, leaving the bedroom and entering a study that was slightly smaller due to the building being its widest at the base.

Similarly, the study was small and filled with items like binoculars, books, and a homespun table and chair. I carried on, finally finding myself at the top of the lighthouse. The steel platform and simple railings were consumed by the fog. Despite the low visibility, I could see the rocks at the bottom and enjoyed them from among the clouds. The ocean sounds and cries of gulls were almost louder when they traveled upwards to me, and I listened to them carefully as I wandered around the loop that encircled the top of the lighthouse. I stopped to watch the bell automatically ring itself and saw the flashing light that shone through the slots in its glass housing. It was much bigger than it seemed looking at it from the ground.

I went to the campus that day with a purpose, yet even when I couldn’t complete it I was still happy to be there. Its pristine set up as well as its integration with historical landmarks and the natural coast make this campus what it is. It’s truly a gem of a location, and for it to be a low-cost community college is something even more special. I’d argue that few if any other colleges in the US have these features, and if they do it would certainly be factored into a much higher tuition. The availability of this campus to a student body composed of working people, those pursuing education later in life, some who have traveled from other countries to find a better life- often escaping very harsh conditions- and more, is something that cannot be undervalued. The Southern Maine Community College campus isn’t just the home of the sea wolves; It’s their treasure too.