who owns danversport yacht club

Danversport Yacht Club Marina

Danversport, Massachusetts - MA, United States

• Reviews (1)

Resort Style Amenities the Family Will Love at Danversport Yacht Club Marina

Danversport Yacht Club Marina has been family owned and operated since 1970, nestled on the shoreline of a fully protected harbor in Danvers, Massachusetts. The gorgeous marina is the perfect getaway for the entire family, with beautiful amenities and fun-filled events going on constantly. The marina has a 60’ Family Pool and a separate 18” deep Kiddie Pool with beach-style entry. The gated pool area is equipped with comfy lounge chairs and umbrellaed tables, perfect for enjoying lunch in the shade while the kids splash around. There is a restaurant on-site as well, making lunch and dinner as convenient as possible, especially when you don't feel like cooking.

The dog-friendly marina is conveniently a full-service marina as well, placing a high priority on safe and worry-free boating. The services offered include Engine and System Repair, Hauling and Launching, as well as Boat Systems and Electronic Installations. With 35 plus years of experience on their Servicing Technicians team, your boat will leave in tip-top shape after your stay. A fully-stocked Ships Store, fuel dock and pump-out station are conveniently available to boaters as well.

Danversport Yacht Club and Marina is close to many other attractions, including 30 minutes from the open ocean. You will find additional restaurants, grocery stores, and hotels nearby as well, in case you want to explore the surrounding town away from the marina.

42.557638 / -70.917896

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Cancellation Policy: This Marina has a 24 hour cancellation policy. Please contact Snag-A-Slip or the marina at least 24 hours prior to your stay to receive a full refund.

Joseph on February 6th, 2024:

Nice amenities, well protected. Short drives to stores of all kinds. Need a car or uber to get there. Close to major roadways to most large MA cities.

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Ahoy! Here are some booking tips:

Please try the options below to get your booking in ship shape!

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• Consider alternate shore power options with converters or splitters.
• For holidays, there might be a 2+ minimum night requirement; try extending your stay.
• Check availability for different dates.

If you have tried the above and still do not see availability, the marina may be full for your dates or unable to accommodate your vessel size. Use our search bar to find nearby marinas or private listings.

If you still need assistance, contact the Snag-A-Slip team at hello...snagaslip...com or via our online chat.

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Danversport

161 Elliott St

Danvers, MA 01923

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Danversport Yacht Club INC Review

Write a review, customer: i recently visited a yacht club and had ....

Customer: I recently visited a yacht club and had a great experience. The staff was friendly and attentive, and the atmosphere was very relaxing. The views from the club were beautiful, especially during sunset. The food and drinks were delicious, and the overall service was excellent. I would definitely recommend this place to others looking for a nice waterfront venue.

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Claim your business to immediately update business information, respond to reviews, and more, customer: i absolutely ❤️ danversport yacht club ....

Customer: I absolutely ❤️ Danversport Yacht Club! The staff is 👍 and the views are 🌟. The food and drinks are 🤤, and the overall experience is 💯. I highly recommend this place for any special occasion or simply enjoying a nice meal by the water. Can't wait to come back again!

Customer: I had an amazing time at Danversport Yac...

Customer: I had an amazing time at Danversport Yacht Club! The staff was incredible, the facilities were top-notch, and the overall atmosphere was perfect. The views from the club were stunning, especially during sunset. The food and drinks were delicious, and the service was outstanding. I cannot wait to come back and enjoy another memorable experience.

Customer: I recently visited a beautiful yacht clu...

Customer: I recently visited a beautiful yacht club and had a wonderful experience. The staff was friendly and helpful, and the environment was relaxing. The food and drinks were delicious, and the service was excellent. I would definitely recommend this place to anyone looking for a great waterfront spot.

Customer: Danversport Yacht Club is a fantastic ve...

Customer: Danversport Yacht Club is a fantastic venue! The staff is friendly and accommodating, and the facilities are top-notch. The views from the club are breathtaking, and the food is delicious. I recently attended an event there and had a great time. I highly recommend this place for any special occasion.

Customer: The experience at Danversport Yacht Club...

Customer: The experience at Danversport Yacht Club was excellent. The staff was helpful, the facilities were clean, and the overall atmosphere was amazing. I would highly recommend this place for any event or gathering. The views from the yacht club were breathtaking, and the food and drinks were top-notch. We had a wonderful time and will definitely be returning in the future.

Customer: I recently had the pleasure of visiting ...

Customer: I recently had the pleasure of visiting Danversport Yacht Club, and it was a truly wonderful experience. The staff was friendly and attentive, the views were breathtaking, and the food was delicious. I would highly recommend this place to anyone looking for a beautiful waterfront venue. Can't wait to visit again!

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Danversport Yacht Club INC

Who Owns Which Superyacht? (A Complete Guide)

Have you ever wondered who owns the most luxurious, extravagant, and expensive superyachts? Or how much these lavish vessels are worth? In this complete guide, we’ll explore who owns these magnificent vessels, what amenities they hold, and the cost of these incredible yachts.

We’ll also take a look at some of the most expensive superyachts in the world and the notable people behind them.

Get ready to explore the world of superyachts and the people who own them!

Table of Contents

Short Answer

The ownership of superyachts is generally private, so the exact answer to who owns which superyacht is not always publicly available.

However, there are some notable superyacht owners that are known.

For example, Larry Ellison, the co-founder of Oracle, owns the Rising Sun, which is the 11th largest superyacht in the world.

Other notable owners include Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich and Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen.

Overview of Superyachts

The term superyacht refers to a large, expensive recreational boat that is typically owned by the worlds wealthy elite.

These vessels are designed for luxury cruising and typically range in size from 24 meters to over 150 meters, with some even larger.

Superyachts usually feature extensive amenities and creature comforts, such as swimming pools, outdoor bars, movie theaters, helipads, and spas.

Superyachts can range in price from $30 million to an astonishingly high $400 million.

Like most luxury items, the ownership of a superyacht is a status symbol for those who can afford it.

The list of superyacht owners reads like a whos who of billionaires, with names like Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos.

The most expensive superyacht in the world is owned by the Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani.

While some superyacht owners prefer to keep their vessels out of the public eye, others have made headlines with their extravagant amenities.

Some of the most famous superyachts feature swimming pools, private beaches, helicopter pads, on-board cinemas, and luxurious spas.

In conclusion, owning a superyacht is an exclusive status symbol for the world’s wealthy elite.

These vessels come with hefty price tags that can range from $30 million to over $400 million, and feature some of the most luxurious amenities imaginable.

Notable owners include the Emir of Qatar, Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos.

Who are the Owners of Superyachts?

From Hollywood celebrities to tech billionaires, superyacht owners come from all walks of life.

Many of the most well-known owners are billionaires, including Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos.

Other notable owners include Hollywood stars such as Leonardo DiCaprio and Johnny Depp.

However, not all superyacht owners are wealthy.

Many are everyday people who have worked hard and saved up to purchase their dream vessel.

Other notable billionaire owners include Oracle co-founder Larry Ellison, Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal, and former US President Donald Trump.

These luxurious vessels come with hefty price tags that can range from $30 million to over $400 million.

For many superyacht owners, their vessels serve as a status symbol of wealth and luxury.

Some owners prefer to keep their yachts out of the public eye, while others have made headlines with their extensive amenities – from swimming pools and helicopter pads to on-board cinemas and spas.

Many of these yachts are designed to the owner’s exact specifications, ensuring that each one is totally unique and reflects the owner’s individual tastes and personality.

Owning a superyacht is an exclusive club, reserved for those with the means and the desire to experience the ultimate in luxury.

Whether they are billionaires or everyday people, superyacht owners are all united in their love of the sea and their appreciation for the finer things in life.

The Most Expensive Superyacht in the World

When it comes to superyachts, Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, the Emir of Qatar, certainly knows how to make a statement.

His luxury vessel, the 463-foot Al Mirqab, holds the title of the world’s most expensive superyacht.

Built in 2008 by German shipbuilder Peters Werft, this impressive yacht is complete with 10 luxurious cabins, a conference room, cinema, and all the amenities one would expect from a vessel of this magnitude.

In addition, the Al Mirqab features a helipad, swimming pool, and even an outdoor Jacuzzi.

With a price tag of over $400 million, the Al Mirqab is one of the most expensive yachts in the world.

In addition to the Emir of Qatar, there are several other notable owners of superyachts.

Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos all own luxurious vessels.

Bezos yacht, the aptly named The Flying Fox, is one of the longest superyachts in the world at a staggering 414 feet in length.

The Flying Fox also comes with a host of amenities, such as a helipad, swimming pool, spa, and multiple outdoor entertaining areas.

Bezos also reportedly spent over $400 million on the vessel.

Other notable owners of superyachts include Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal, who owns the $200 million Kingdom 5KR, and Oracle founder Larry Ellison, who owns the $200 million Rising Sun.

There are also many lesser-known owners, such as hedge-fund manager Ken Griffin, who owns the $150 million Aviva, and investor Sir Philip Green, who owns the $100 million Lionheart.

No matter who owns them, superyachts are sure to turn heads.

With their impressive size, luxurious amenities, and hefty price tags, these vessels have become a symbol of wealth and prestige.

Whether its the Emir of Qatar or a lesser-known owner, the worlds superyacht owners are sure to make a statement.

Notable Superyacht Owners

When it comes to the wealthiest and most luxurious owners of superyachts, the list reads like a whos who of the worlds billionaires.

At the top of the list is the Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, who holds the distinction of owning the most expensive superyacht in the world.

Aside from the Emir, other notable owners include Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos.

All of these owners have made headlines with their extravagant vessels, which are typically priced between $30 million and $400 million.

The amenities that come with these vessels vary greatly from owner to owner, but they almost always include luxurious swimming pools, helicopter pads, on-board cinemas, and spas.

Some owners opt for more extravagant features, such as submarines, personal submarines, and even their own personal submarines! Other owners prefer to keep their vessels out of the public eye, but for those who prefer a more showy approach, they can certainly make a statement with a superyacht.

No matter who owns the vessel, it’s no surprise that these superyachts are a status symbol among the world’s wealthiest.

Whether you’re trying to impress your peers or just looking to enjoy a luxurious outing, owning a superyacht is the ultimate way to show off your wealth.

What Amenities are Included on Superyachts?

Owning a superyacht is a sign of wealth and prestige, and many of the worlds most prominent billionaires have their own vessels.

The most expensive superyacht in the world is owned by the Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, while other notable owners include Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos.

The cost of a superyacht can range from $30 million to over $400 million, but the price tag doesnt quite capture the sheer extravagance and amenities of these vessels.

Superyachts come with all the comforts of home, and then some.

Many owners will equip their vessels with swimming pools, helicopter pads, on-board cinemas, spas, and other luxury amenities.

The interior of a superyacht can be custom-designed to the owners specifications.

Some owners opt for modern, sleek designs, while others prefer a more traditional look.

Many of the most luxurious yachts feature marble floors, walk-in closets, and custom-made furniture.

Some vessels even come with a full-service gym, complete with exercise equipment and trained professionals.

Other amenities may include a library, casino, media room, and private bar.

When it comes to outdoor amenities, superyachts have some of the most impressive features in the world.

Many yachts come with outdoor entertainment areas, complete with full kitchens, dining rooms, and lounge areas.

Some owners even opt for hot tubs or jacuzzis for relaxing afternoons in the sun.

And, of course, there are the jet skis, water slides, and other exciting water activities that come with many of these vessels.

No matter what amenities a superyacht has, it is sure to be an experience like no other.

From the sleek interiors to the luxurious outdoor features, these vessels provide a unique, luxurious experience that is unrivaled on land.

Whether you’re looking for a relaxing escape or an exciting adventure, a superyacht is sure to provide.

How Much Do Superyachts Cost?

When it comes to superyachts, the sky is the limit when it comes to cost.

These luxury vessels come with hefty price tags that can range from anywhere between $30 million to over $400 million.

So, if youre in the market for a superyacht, youre looking at an investment that could easily break the bank.

The cost of a superyacht is driven by a variety of factors, including size, amenities, and customization.

Generally, the larger the yacht, the more expensive it will be.

Superyachts typically range in size from 100 feet to over 200 feet, and they can be as wide as 40 feet.

The bigger the yacht, the more luxurious features and amenities it will have.

Amenities also play a significant role in the cost of a superyacht.

While some owners prefer to keep their yachts out of the public eye, others have made headlines with their extensive amenities.

From swimming pools and helicopter pads to on-board cinemas and spas, the sky is the limit when it comes to customizing a superyacht.

The more amenities a superyacht has, the more expensive it will be.

Finally, customization is another major factor that will drive up the cost of a superyacht.

Many luxury vessels have custom-designed interiors that are tailored to the owners tastes.

From custom furniture and artwork to lighting and audio systems, the cost of a superyacht can quickly escalate depending on the level of customization.

In short, the cost of a superyacht can vary widely depending on its size, amenities, and customization.

While some may be able to get away with spending a few million dollars, others may end up spending hundreds of millions of dollars on their dream yacht.

No matter what your budget is, its important to do your research and find out exactly what youre getting for your money before signing on the dotted line.

Keeping Superyachts Out of the Public Eye

When it comes to owning a superyacht, some owners prefer to keep their vessels out of the public eye.

Understandably, these individuals are concerned with privacy and discretion, and therefore tend to take measures to ensure their yachts are not visible to outsiders.

For instance, some superyacht owners opt to keep their vessels in private marinas, away from the public areas of larger ports.

Additionally, some yacht owners may choose to hire security guards to patrol and protect their vessels while they are moored or sailing.

In addition to physical security, some superyacht owners also use technology to keep their vessels out of the public eye.

For example, a yacht owner may choose to install a satellite-based communications system that allows them to keep their vessel completely off-radar.

This system works by bouncing signals off satellites rather than transmitting them, making it virtually impossible for anyone to track the yachts movements.

Finally, some superyacht owners also choose to limit the number of people who have access to their vessels.

For instance, the owner may only allow family members and close friends to board the yacht.

Additionally, the owner may choose to employ a limited number of staff to help maintain the vessel and keep it running smoothly.

These individuals may be required to sign non-disclosure agreements to ensure they do not disclose any information about the yacht or its owner.

Overall, while some superyacht owners may choose to keep their vessels out of the public eye, there are still plenty of other ways to show off the opulence associated with owning a superyacht.

From swimming pools and helicopter pads to on-board cinemas and spas, there are many luxurious amenities that can make a superyacht the envy of any jet setter.

Final Thoughts

Superyachts are a symbol of luxury and status, and the list of yacht owners reads like a who’s who of billionaires.

From the Emir of Qatar’s world-record breaking $400 million yacht to Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen’s vessel with a helicopter pad and on-board spa, the amenities of these luxury vessels are truly stunning.

With prices ranging from $30 million to over $400 million, owning a superyacht is an expensive endeavor.

Whether you’re looking to purchase one or just curious to learn more about the owners and their amenities, this guide will provide you with all the information you need to stay up to date with the superyacht scene.

James Frami

At the age of 15, he and four other friends from his neighborhood constructed their first boat. He has been sailing for almost 30 years and has a wealth of knowledge that he wants to share with others.

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The new Minnesota Yacht Club Festival enjoys breezy opening on Harriet Island

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Beyond one big name band jumping ship at the last minute , it was otherwise smooth sailing Friday for day one of the new Minnesota Yacht Club Festival at St. Paul’s Harriet Island Regional Park.

Yacht Club, which continues Saturday, is the first major rock and pop festival on Harriet Island since Live Nation’s River’s Edge Music Festival in 2012. Despite promising St. Paul a five-year commitment, the concert promoting giant lost enough money to convince them to pull out after a single year.

Live Nation owns 51% of Yacht Club organizers C3 Presents, an Austin, Texas, company that’s also behind Austin City Limits Music Festival, Voodoo Music + Arts Experience and the modern-day Lollapalooza. But Live Nation apparently allows C3 to follow its own path.

Some concertgoers complained about food and drink prices, and long lines, but in terms of getting in and around the site, the infrastructure and general vibe, C3’s experience in mounting festivals became quite clear by late Friday afternoon, when Joan Jett and the Blackhearts played an hourlong set to a large, grinning and dancing crowd. (Organizers did not release an attendance number, but have said they expect more than 30,000 people each of the two days.)

On Thursday, Yacht Club’s social media announced reunited Southern rockers the Black Crowes had pulled out of their planned set at 8 p.m. Friday due to “illness in the band.” (The Crowes, however, did not address their absence online.) Rather than drafting an 11th hour replacement, the festival reworked the schedule and gave several acts more time on stage. Local band Durry got pushed nearly two hours later into the schedule for a set that started at 5:40, while Seattle indie folk act the Head and the Heart graduated to the Black Crowes’ planned 8 p.m. slot.

Local favorites Gully Boys opened the festival at 1 p.m. on the smaller stage followed by fellow homegrown act Harbor and Home on the main stage. From that point on, performances alternated between the two stages, with just minutes between bands.

Sets from buzzy country artist Morgan Wade and indie rockers Michigander paved the way for Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, who earned cheers for their famous covers “Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah),” “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll,” “Crimson and Clover” and “Everyday People” as well as band originals “I Hate Myself for Loving You” and “Bad Reputation.” They also covered the Replacements’ “Androgynous,” with Jett giving a shout out to the late Minneapolis band and their leader Paul Westerberg.

St. Paul Mayor Melvin Carter took the stage prior to Gwen Stefani ’s performance and asked the crowd to applaud the police and other city workers who helped make the festival happen. He also suggested it would return for a second year in 2025.

Stefani — who was promoted as a headliner along with Friday’s final act Alanis Morissette and Saturday’s main attraction the Red Hot Chili Peppers — performed with dancers and video at what sounded like a louder volume than the previous bands. She told the audience her brother-in-law is from Minnesota, so that sort of makes her a local. She then pulled out her husband, former “The Voice” coach Blake Shelton, to sing their current single “Purple Irises.”

It’s been some 18 years since her last substantial solo hit, but Stefani has remained in the spotlight thanks to her high-profile husband and the semi-regular duet singles they’ve released over the last eight years. Stefani and her band No Doubt reunited in April to headline Coachella to much acclaim, but have yet to announce any future plans together. Whatever happens, Friday’s crowd — which was heavy on geriatric millennials and Gen Xers with a smattering of boomers — gave Stefani a warm reception that matched the ideal summertime weather that graced the festival on Friday.

The Minnesota Yacht Club Festival wraps things up Saturday with a bill that includes Soul Asylum, Hippo Campus, Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue, the Hold Steady, Gary Clark Jr., the Offspring and Red Hot Chili Peppers.

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I Put Up a Fence in Maine. Why Did It Cause Such a Fuss?

The goal was to shield our house from the road, but it soon turned into something much more revealing.

The author, Heidi Julavits, at her home, which was built in 1815. Credit... Fumi Nagasaka for The New York Times

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By Heidi Julavits

Heidi Julavits is a writer who grew up in Portland, Maine.

• July 15, 2024

When we bought our house in Maine 23 years ago, people welcomed us to town with tales of local mishaps and gaffes. Barns that almost burned down. Pipes that burst. The man a mile down the road who built a fence. This chatty imparting of intel functioned simultaneously as a gesture of hospitality and a comical how-not-to primer, containing valuable survival and etiquette tips. Our town of about 830 residents more than doubles in size during the summer, when part-time residents like me arrive. The fence story suggested what types of behavior on your personal property were, and were not, considered neighborly in a town where zoning ordinances are few.

Listen to this article, read by Kirsten Potter

“You won’t ever get rid of the magazine room, will you?” people asked. The magazine room is on our house’s second floor. It’s basically a vintage mood board, and more of a windowless crawl space than a room, accessible through what looks like a cupboard door. A much earlier resident, or successive generations of earlier residents, had patchworked the pitched, unpainted walls of the magazine room with clippings from what appeared to be fashion, adventure-story and homemaking periodicals dating to the first half of the 1900s.

We promised never to renovate the magazine room.

We promised to change very little about our house, at least what was visible from the road, including the 11-foot-tall deciduous hedge that ran the length of our yard and seasonally blurred our view of the traffic coming in and out of town.

But then the hedge began to fail. An expert from a nearby nursery arrived with a clipboard and pronounced our hedge an invasive, nonnative weed, not worth saving. But we loved the weed. We topped it. We fertilized it.

It was on the leisurely upswing when, 16 years after we bought our house, a woman driving a fancy S.U.V. jumped the culvert, plowed through the hedge, jumped the culvert again and sped off. Had the man behind her not followed her home, she might have tried to get away with her (as everyone agreed) very impressive stunt driving.

We weren’t in town at the time, and so could only view photographic evidence of the damage: the gouged earth, the long hedge like a smile missing some of its teeth. Our reaction was impulsive and in retrospect, baffling: We would use the money we received from the stunt driver to put up a fence.

Even one year earlier, we might have planted a new hedge, possibly even a native one. But the person driving over our front lawn felt like a slapstick escalation of a recent trend I had observed. Previously, living on our road was like living on the ocean, but with much lower property taxes; its perils could be charted and managed, like the tides. But then the unofficial speed limit outside our house increased from 35 m.p.h. to 45, even occasionally 50. At this time, I had younger children, and many friends with young children, and a trampoline in the backyard that, even if we weren’t home, was “open” to bouncing enthusiasts, which sometimes included middle-aged men when the neighborhood threw parties. The slight curve near our driveway made it difficult to see cars coming at higher speeds, which meant even adults, people arguably in possession of better judgment than a 7-year-old, were nearly hit a few times trying to leave on a bike.

At first, I accepted (even embraced!) the road as my problem to solve, and thus I indulged many energizing, problem-solving fantasies. I would pay my daughter to wear a cop costume and stand at the end of our driveway and point a hair dryer, which at high speeds would register as a radar gun, at oncoming cars. I would put up the sort of signs that make me slow down. FREE STUFF. YARD SALE. I would buy a baby doll, strap it into a stroller and leave the stroller in the middle of the road.

But I also felt resigned to a foregone fate. The intensifying situation on the road, I suspected, was the natural progression of an economic agreement struck more than a century ago between transportation advances and Maine as a nonexportable resource. The state’s slogan “Vacationland” first appeared on car license plates in 1936 and still appears on the Maine border sign that greets drivers as they enter via I-95, the state’s primary national highway. But Maine’s identity as a seasonal purification rite for urbanites dates further back than even the invention of cars, to the years following the Civil War.

I’m neurotically attuned (some might say) to this history’s lingering rumbles. I was born and raised in Maine, and so I’ve been versed since my earliest moments of sentience in Maine’s identity as something both staunchly fixed and, during the summer months, menaced from all directions, including the sea, by visitors — “From Aways.” While my parents moved to Portland in 1965, after which my brother and I were born, we were also, according to some measures of nativeness, invaders ourselves. Rather than “Mainers Who Can Trace Their Mainerness Back Through Many Generations of Other Mainers Who Lived Only in Maine,” my parents, and by eventual extension my brother and I, were the type of Mainer defined as “Year-Round Resident, Seasonally Irritated.”

Yet my father was and is Mainer enough that this history still irks him. He recently, while visiting, groused of summer people (to me, now technically a summer person), “They showed up thinking we should adapt to their ways, rather than them adapting to ours.” His frustration was not about “us” demanding compliance, and failing to get it, from part-time residents or tourists; he was reacting to the outsiders’ hubristic refusal to value local knowledge that a person might share as a form of wary welcome.

He and my mother still love to tell the story that they heard from friends of an 1980s invasion by the New York Yacht Club, when their annual summer cruise came to Maine. The story, which the Yacht Club denies ever happened, has to me the true-ringing feel of what was then a century’s worth of encounters between Mainers and summer people, efficiently condensed into a colorful how-not-to tale. The club members, ignoring the cautions from local bystanders, piled onto a dock as if it were a commuter-train platform and waited for a launch to take them to their individual yachts, presumably sailed north for them by hired captains. The dock float sank lower and lower and finally swamped, dumping into the harbor the club members, some of whom had flown to the Portland International Jetport straight from New York in their business suits and were still, when they hit the ocean, holding their briefcases.

During the summer of 2016, when the speed of cars driving past our house was frequently 10 to 15 m.p.h. above the posted limit, I did something I’d never done before. I complained. I visited the town selectmen, one of whom asked, “Are you related to Bill?” He and my father worked together, we eventually determined, back in the ’90s. This is how encounters tend to start in a state with just over a million people, in a town with just under a thousand people, when you have a last name that not even your close childhood friends can spell.

The selectmen were sympathetic to the speeding issue — I was not the first to complain, and nor were these complaints coming only from seasonal residents — but their message of thoughtful, if cautious, consideration reflected those I’d encountered in casual conversation. Possibly, the town’s attitude toward speeding was like the attitude toward zoning laws, or the ongoing lack of them — a respectful attempt to manage new civic challenges while preserving the state’s historical spirit of self-determination.

My husband and I honored that spirit after the stunt driver busted through our hedge. Our small son, when informed about our plans to build a fence, stared melancholically through the ragged gap, as if we’d just told him that we intended to continue the damage that the stunt driver had only begun — which in a sense, we had.

“Only depressed people build fences,” he said.

We didn’t lecture him on the difference between depression and anxiety, between anxiety and acute situational awareness, between acute situational awareness and instant, awful death, because first we needed to fully kill the hedge we had spent nearly a decade trying to save. Then we needed someone to install the fence. We settled on a fence company located a little over an hour away. The reviews were good. Their customers — whoever they were, and in whatever bizarre, fence-loving towns they lived — seemed happy.

But as we scrolled through fence styles online, none seemed like the obvious choice. My inability to know which fence was the right fence should have suggested: There was no right fence. True, I was not fluent in the language of fences. I didn’t know how tall a fence should be. I didn’t know what kind of fence would look best with our house, because our house, and most houses like it, did not have fences marking a property boundary. Maine was more of a “sign” place. This was how you knew you were crossing, or trespassing, a border.

Signs change, however; or maybe it’s more accurate to say that the messages on signs do. Despite what would seem to be its wild success, the “Vacationland” state slogan was updated in 1987 by Maine’s Office of Tourism to “The Way Life Should Be.” (A giant sign posted on I-95 near Kittery read in full, “Welcome Home/The Way Life Should Be.”)

This new slogan, while on its surface more breezily aspirational, caused perplexity, and signaled different things to different people. If, for example, a person had recently met with their local elected officials, they might think that Maine, as a matter of no-frills pragmatism (and increasingly, it seemed, as a marketing virtue) wasn’t hampered by the sometimes-unnuanced oversteps of federal governance. Others might find the slogan puzzlingly out of touch, given that poverty rates were on the rise; what, too, might the slogan imply in a state whose racial demographics were 98 percent white? Others might worry the slogan could risk insulting tourists, presumably the target audience, about their way of life.

“The Way Life Should Be,” depending on the song that happened to be playing in your car after you drove over the border and first beheld the welcome sign, could also thrum with minor-key warning: Don’t come here thinking that things need to change.

But one thing that kept changing was the state’s highway signage. Gov. Angus King, an independent who held office from 1995 until 2003, installed two additional signs flanking I-95, “Maine. Worth a Visit. Worth a Lifetime” — the equivalent of a person seeding your subconscious as you entered the state and then handing you a tempting real estate listing as you left. Later, in 2011, Gov. Paul LePage, a Republican, sharpened King’s suggestive soft sell into what sounded like a deregulated fire sale by attaching, beneath the original northbound sign, a supplemental message. Now it read, “Welcome to Maine/The Way Life Should Be/OPEN FOR BUSINESS.”

Our choice of fence may have abided by some, all or none of these slogans. Seven feet tall, the fence was solid, not lattice-y, made of vertical cedar tongue-and-groove boards. (The invoice we received from the fence company bluntly itemized it as a “privacy panel.”) We had decided that if we were going to build a fence, we should seize the chance not to see cars, and to muffle the rise and fall of their engines. Before the stunt-driver incident, some friends were visiting with their dog when it ran into the road and was killed. (My father, standing in our yard at the time, said, “At least it wasn’t a kid.” He might have tabled this observation for a few hours or weeks, but he wasn’t wrong.) At that point, I was still hearing a large animal being struck every time a car drove by, especially because of what my father had said: The dog might have been a kid.

The fence we chose was topped by a mini-fence detail that ran the length of it, to visually soften the highway-sound-barrier vibe. The cap rail read “fence” in the way the fence did not, which further suggested: This fence was not only a fence. It was also an overreaction — a fearful response to what might have happened, rather than what did. And if the fence was meant to decrease the chances that a person might drive into the yard again, or that one of us might be hit on the road, it did not make us safer from either threat.

I wasn’t home the day the fence was installed. I left in the morning, and by the time I returned, it was there. It was far too tall for our tiny house behind it. It was an unweathered cedar slab, practically neon-yellow when the sun hit it. It gave me an awful feeling of remorse in the pit of my stomach from the moment I first saw it.

The fence caused an immediate stir, which I found highly distressing, but also affirming, because I agreed with the dissenters, some of whom were my dear friends. Other members of the community conveyed their feelings publicly, in writing. Our town is home to at least one, and maybe more, anonymous activists who express their opinions via handmade signs; they’re like an online comments section, posted high — often very high — in the air. One of these commenters posted a sign on the road, just north of our house, which, on the plus side, possibly caused the average speed limit to temporarily decrease. TRUMP’S BORDER WALL 1 MILE AHEAD. The sign was nailed to the top of an electrical pole; the inability to remove it without a bucket truck reinforced the permanence of the opinion.

At first, this message, much like “The Way Life Should be,” contained a multiplicity of possible readings. What might, however, initially be interpreted as a protest by a left-wing resident was in fact — at least I think it was — in 2017 a much more layered calling-out of our presumed liberalism, as city-dwelling From Aways. If so, I took their point. Look at these hypocritical people who are probably opposed to Trump’s wall, putting up a wall.

After the initial furor died down, circumspect friends would say, consolingly, “It’ll gray up eventually.” One or two congratulated me. I had every right to build a fence. Others refused to countenance my regret. When I shared my thoughts about future plants or bushes that might take the fence’s place, should it magically disappear, one person said, “I think you have to accept the fact of the fence.”

These varied responses summed up the paradox of the fence. It was the most From Away thing I could have done; it was also the most Maine thing I could have done. People were discouraged from building fences, but because it was our property, nobody had the right to tell us what we could do on it.

This also probably explained why no one vandalized the fence, even though it was a long, blank canvas that honestly might have looked a little cheerier with a hit of spray paint. It was my psychological boundary line made material. People respected it. In some ways, they respected it too much. The fence altered our social weather patterns. Before the fence, friends and acquaintances would stop by regularly. After we built the fence, these impromptu visits slowed. Some people started to text beforehand to announce they’d be dropping by, or to ask if it was OK; they suddenly felt they needed permission to see us.

As the summer wound down, acquaintances and friends would ask ribbingly, “How’s your wall?” Most people had an opinion, or a teasing-yet-not comment, which at a minimum illustrates how visible our house is and how many people drive past it.

Yet on the plus side, which I strove to see, we were becoming the future tale to be told to newcomers; our fence, and the community response to it, would be entered in the oral history, and we would be immortalized. It wouldn’t be the first time: After taking ownership of our house in 2001, we wasted no time starring in a cautionary story about arrivals to town who didn’t know much. Our very first winter, we turned off the breaker to the sump pump instead of the well pump, and then there was a violent rainstorm, then the basement flooded, then the furnace became submerged and broke, then the temperature plummeted, then the pipes burst, then the well pump continued to empty the well water into the dining room, and because our foundation slumps toward the woods, then the water flowed out below the roofline and formed a thick, frozen waterfall on the exterior wall that threatened to pull down the back half of the house.

Not for the last time, we were a source of comedic incompetence; we had failed to understand how winter works, and how water works, and how electricity works. But the story of the fence was proof of a different, more publicly visible failure to understand. Or worse: understanding, but not caring.

We did care. This made the fact of the fence inscrutable even to us. Not even a year after building the fence, my husband stood outside one evening, assessing it with a look of bewilderment. “I don’t know why we did that,” he said.

The following summer, we planted a row of native, climbing hydrangeas to cover the exterior of the fence in green so that, to those driving by even at moderate speeds, it might be indistinguishable from the previous hedge. The hydrangeas grew quickly, but not quickly enough. I found myself caught between guilt and annoyance when greeted by someone with another “wall” joke. If the people who lived in town weren’t thrilled with the fence, they had every good reason to feel that way, because we’d permanently altered their view; also, they had learned to coexist with the road without building a fence, so why couldn’t we?

I had less patience for the seasonal people who lived on the water, far from the busy road. They were cranky that their scenic drive to the grocery store had been changed; they could no longer be cleansed by the preindustrial beauty of Maine as they sped past our old farmhouse to buy food. I had to hold my tongue when a patrician summer person who lived on the coast, down two private dirt roads, announced to me, “It is a person’s community duty not to change the front of their house.”

Which sentiment I did not entirely disagree with. Our house, for example, was both ours and not. For nearly a decade, our house was referred to by the former owner’s name; for the FedEx delivery person to find us, we had to repeatedly clarify that we lived in their house. In our town, maybe in many small towns, the houses are a way of recording recent human history. Our house was communal property, in a sense; a public holding of the historical society.

This was also why we were so committed to preserving the magazine room. It functioned as a museum to the generations who preceded us. I often took visitors up to see the clippings, though the room had become harder and harder to access. First there were five, then 10, then 15 years’ worth of books and clothing barricading entry. Only the most agile person could squeeze past the threshold, or a committed, bushwhacking person like my daughter, who always found a new cache of clothes that interested her as the fashion trends in her present made renewably relevant the leftovers of our past, which we had stuffed into trash bags and taken to hurling from the doorway into the middle of the room.

Yet questions of preservation — and how a slogan like “The Way Life Should Be” might freeze a place in time, or raise questions of what should be, rather than what is — could, depending on your interpretation, suggest a widespread consensus that never existed. In 2019, Gov. Janet Mills, a Democrat, replaced LePage’s “Welcome to Maine/The Way Life Should Be/OPEN FOR BUSINESS” with, simply, “MAINE/Welcome Home.” (Three months later Mills added back the 1987 slogan; the sign currently reads “MAINE/Welcome Home/The Way Life Should Be.”) This latest tweak might announce the state’s increased openness, not just to seasonal visitors but also to people relocating from other states and countries. It might be an exhortation for residents, new and old, to consider the state not as a fixed entity but as an increasingly porous and diverse one, built atop a sturdy foundation of resourcefulness and autonomy.

The responsibilities a newcomer might have, or not have, in a place they call home, even for part of the year — these are questions that I think about constantly. When is inaction in the name of respect, or preservation, an abnegation of civic duty? When is preservation used as noble cover to forbid new people’s access to a place? When is a newcomer’s confident sense of what should be actually an imposition of their values?

But “Welcome Home/The Way Life Should Be” is also the epigraph to every person’s childhood memories, assuming they associate home with happiness. That nostalgia — also the sense of melancholy or outrage — can intensify in direct proportion to the amount of change that has happened to your home since you left it.

The fence is seven years old now, but it is still occasionally a source of friendly teasing. Last winter, I drove up alone, and arrived after dark, and left my car in the road so I could move a branch that had fallen across the driveway. A friend pulled up beside me and said, smiling, “Are you locked out of your compound?”

Each passing year also deepens a paradox; to add more months to the time I’ve spent in Maine adds more months to the time I’ve spent not in Maine. If time is the singular measure, the longer I live in Maine, the more of a From Away I become.

Yet even when I’m not in Maine, I represent a demographic causing an increasingly dire housing crisis. Mills’s welcome sign became prophetic; during the pandemic, people from out of state bought places that had been on the market for years, in some cases more than a decade.

In 2019, the average sale price in our county was down about 25 percent from the previous year. But between 2020 and 2021, the average sale price increased by almost 41 percent. Our house, for years a depreciating-to-stagnant money pit, was suddenly worth so much that we might have nearly broken even had we decided to sell; but the price point would dictate that buyer would probably be a From Away, and a well-off one.

This trend extends beyond our county. In May, Portland, my former hometown, was named the “hottest luxury housing market in the United States” for the third quarter in a row, its prices up 22 percent from 2023. And yet, despite the rise in housing costs and the state’s evolving national appeal — from wilderness idyll for those who enjoy freezing water, no-sand beaches and insect sieges to a differently commodified version of escape — certain local numbers might suggest that little has changed. The number of children in the public elementary school has remained roughly the same. The town voting rolls haven’t increased much; there were, however, 30 or 40 more car registrations during the pandemic.

Some in town seem invested in change, and more of it may be on the horizon. Given that the community isn’t a monolith and never was, these shifts are not unanimously viewed as either losses or improvements. A committee formed to consider hiring a harbor master. The anonymous sign-posters were busy again when the selectmen decided to no longer allow an annual ritual in which people drag busted docks and boats and appliances into the center of town and host a gathering late into the night, after which, at dawn, a man with a crane takes the junk pile to the dump. Some of the signs were historically indignant: “100+ YEAR … TRADITION.” Others, hung on top of electrical poles, were more taunting: “NICE TRY SELECTMEN.” Others spoke to a broader crisis: “WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO?”

The town installed a permanent speed monitor, which I believe is meant to flash when a person is driving above the posted limit, but it’s hard to know for certain. The current monitor is actually the second of its kind, because the original sustained a fatal shooting, and the new one soon acquired half a dozen bullet holes, and so doesn’t work either. The monitor, in alerting nobody to anything save someone’s opposition to it, was maybe more a public referendum on speed management than a speed-management strategy.

Other things are changing, too. The magazine room, like the hedge before it, is failing. Allowing a thing to simply be, it turns out, is a slow path to its extinction. The uninsulated space heats up these days to what must be over 100 degrees during the summer, and for that reason I tend not to go there, and so was surprised to find, while we were supposedly preserving it, that the magazine room is in ruins. The glue is decomposing; the desiccated clippings, when touched, turn to dust. Someday, the walls will be bare.

Our fence, meanwhile, has weathered to a medium-dark gray. The climbing hydrangeas look like goofy, bungling creatures, their paws pushing through the railings on top of the fence, so that I can see them even when I’m behind it. Their invasion is a welcome one. I’ve started to wonder whether if, in the future, the person who owns this house decides to take the fence down, such a decision will prove controversial; might the fence, a once-glaring newcomer, be considered part of the town’s history and thus, like the magazine room, qualify for protection? If nothing else, and in the meantime, will people wish to preserve the tradition of teasing us about it?

I might even wish to preserve that tradition. The familiar ribbing — “How’s your wall?” — is practiced by fewer and fewer people, to the point that now it feels like an affectionate and even nostalgic way of greeting me after I’ve been away. The once-habitual exchange preserves a record, the way the historical society preserves photos of buildings and residents that no longer exist, of the occasional challenges of coexistence, even or especially among well-meaning people who like and respect one another.

One day last summer, as I was standing at the end of my driveway, a woman I’d never seen before walked by. She might have been a new resident, or someone’s guest, or a person on vacation. I experienced an odd mixture of relief and sorrow when she smiled at me and said, “That is such a beautiful fence.”

Heidi Julavits is a writer whose recent memoir is “Directions to Myself.” Fumi Nagasaka is a photographer in New York whose work over the last few years has focused on documenting America. For this assignment, she traveled to three different towns in Maine.

Read by Kirsten Potter

Narration produced by Emma Kehlbeck and Krish Seenivasan

Engineered by Lance Neal

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