Latest news with #Penobscot
Associated Press
7 days ago
- General
- Associated Press
Tight rental market keeps domestic violence survivors in shelters longer
Johnnie Walker, director of housing and shelter services at Partners for Peace, has worked at the domestic violence resource center for 25 years. When she started working there, the organization's shelter, which serves Penobscot and Piscataquis counties, was emergency housing in the truest sense of the word. 'People were in and out of our shelter, in safe, affordable, permanent housing, in less than 30 days,' Walker recalled. In recent years, Walker has seen shelter stay lengths increase dramatically. Now, she said, it's common for survivors to stay between six months and a year. Shelters are a vital resource for survivors of domestic violence, but there are not nearly enough beds statewide to meet demand. Maine has 162 beds in 11 domestic violence shelters across the state, according to a survey published in January by the Maine State Housing Authority. In fiscal year 2024, shelters around the state were able to house just 14 percent of those who were eligible and looking for a bed, according to the Maine Coalition to End Domestic Violence. Admittance rates at some regional resource centers were even lower. Partners for Peace told The Monitor they were able to admit only around 6 percent of those seeking a space; Safe Voices, which covers Oxford, Franklin and Androscoggin counties, reported similar figures. Through These Doors, in Cumberland County, was able to provide beds for just 40 of the 358 people who sought shelter with them last year, a roughly 11 percent admittance rate. While a lack of beds has long been a problem, it has gotten worse in recent years, said staff at several resource centers, as people struggling to find more permanent housing in Maine's hot housing market stay longer in shelters. A shortage of housing units, the rising cost of rent and constraints on federal low-income housing assistance programs, particularly Section 8 Housing Choice Vouchers, are compounding the issue. If beds don't open up, those waiting for a space may have to stay longer in unsafe situations. Grace Kendall, director of development and engagement at Safe Voices, recalled a time when survivors stayed for an average of three or four months before they moved on to other housing. Now, Kendall said the average stay is nearly double that, closer to eight months. Krissy Beaton, a residential services coordinator at the Hope and Justice Project in Aroostook County, reported an average stay length of six months — up from the previous average of six weeks. Several other resource centers said it is no longer uncommon for survivors to stay in emergency shelters for six months or longer. The difficulty of finding housing often leaves survivors feeling trapped, said Francine Garland Stark, the executive director of the Maine Coalition to End Domestic Violence. 'The risk of being homeless or being in a shelter for months, maybe even a year, feels like a hopeless alternative to the terrible place that they are.' Resource centers work with those they turn away to find alternate solutions. 'Sometimes, people call for shelter, and really what they need is a security deposit, or first month's rent, or a bus ticket to get to a family or friend that has a safe place to stay,' said Walker, of Partners for Peace. Advocates may also make referrals to other domestic violence or homeless shelters. For those who don't want to leave their homes, advocates turn to safety planning. 'Safety planning is the foundation of advocacy work, because it's really about helping folks navigate how to stay as safe as possible in their current reality,' said Kendall, of Safe Voices, which may mean setting up safety cameras or identifying people a survivor can call if their abuser shows up at their house. Tight housing market, voucher freeze leave survivors with few options Longer shelter stay lengths are a symptom of Maine's housing crisis. Maine's housing shortage was decades in the making, driven largely by the construction of too few homes. During the pandemic, the state experienced a population boom, with more than 20,000 people moving in between 2020 and 2022. The spike in demand exacerbated the housing shortage. From 2020 to 2024, the state's median home price grew by more than 50 percent. Workers' wages, however, grew by less than 33 percent. A 2025 report from the National Low Income Housing Coalition found that a person earning minimum wage would need to work 61 hours per week to afford a one bedroom market rate rental in Maine. During the pandemic, Maine also saw calls to domestic violence hotlines become more frequent — and more dire. According to a 2020 annual report from the Maine Coalition to End Domestic Violence, the number of phone calls to domestic violence helplines increased 24 percent from 2019 to 2020. Advocates were also spending more time on the phone with survivors, an indication that the need for assistance was greater, as The Monitor previously reported. 'Everyone expected the numbers to go up during COVID-19, because people were stuck at home,' said Kendall, of Safe Voices. 'They were in very close proximity with their abusers.' Advocates, however, did not expect the number of cases to remain elevated after quarantine had lifted — and to continue increasing, said Kendall. 'Our numbers go up every year, but the housing market can't respond that quickly.' Rising rents have meant that housing vouchers issued through federal rental assistance programs — which several resource centers said they once relied on to move survivors out of shelters — have not gone as far as they once did. The vouchers, which subsidize between 60 and 70 percent of the cost of rent for those who qualify, are paid for by the federal government and managed by housing authorities around the state. The average cost per unit the vouchers were covering began rising sharply in 2018, according to federal data, and climbed to a high of $992 by the end of May, nearly double what it was a decade ago. It can take years on Maine's centralized Section 8 waiting list to get a voucher, according to the South Portland Housing Authority. The state's housing authorities have exceeded their budgetary authority — meaning that they issued more vouchers than they had the funding to pay for — in four of the past six years, according to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. By the end of May, housing authorities statewide had already spent 97 percent of $147.9 million allocated to Maine this year. When a housing authority goes over budget, the federal government asks it to stop issuing new vouchers. That was what happened in 2024, when several of Maine's largest housing authorities — including Portland, Westbrook and MaineHousing, which oversees towns without a local housing authority — hit pause on issuing vouchers until enough new ones had been returned to circulation. The pause was detrimental to domestic violence resource centers. In fiscal year 2024, New Hope Midcoast helped 15 families obtain a housing voucher. This fiscal year, they have only been able to place one family, who were on the centralized waiting list prior to the pause on new vouchers. According to Scott Thistle, communications director for MaineHousing, the state housing authority resumed issuing new vouchers in April 2025, though they are not issuing as many as before the pause. MaineHousing issues one-third of the Section 8 vouchers in Maine. The remainder are issued by local housing authorities. Several other resource centers said they are no longer able to place survivors into affordable housing through the voucher program, and instead rely on other assistance programs to move them out of the shelter. The lengthy waitlist for vouchers, full shelters and the tight housing market have created a difficult situation for many people looking to flee an abusive relationship. 'Many survivors correctly decide that it is, in fact, safer for them to stay in an abusive relationship, because otherwise they would be living on the street,' said Kendall. 'We are seeing a lot more women, especially, who are staying in unsafe situations — because where are they going to go?' ___ This story was originally published by The Maine Monitor and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.
Boston Globe
31-07-2025
- Boston Globe
After a treacherous night on Mount Katahdin, injured hiker recalls story of survival
'It was so difficult to stay put,' she said. 'I'm incredibly grateful that I listened to my heart.' Rising just shy of a mile above sea level, Katahdin means the 'greatest mountain' in the Penobscot language. The crown jewel of Baxter State Park, Maine's highest peak draws tens of thousands to the northern wilderness each year. But even the friendlier trails carry risks. And the peak's Friends Courtney Doyon, left, and Beata Kosc, right, smiled and posed for a photo on the summit of Mount Katahdin in Maine on Thursday. Beata Kosc Advertisement During the pandemic, Kosc took to the mountains, finding solace and community in nature. Last year, she set out to hike the entire Appalachian Trail, Advertisement Last week, she prepared for the difficult climb with her friend, Courtney Doyon, 32 — researching the weather conditions, trailheads, and the mountain's history. A deeply spiritual person, she was fascinated by the legend of Paloma, the protector of Katahdin. A graduate student of clinical psychology at Columbia University, she meditates and believes in higher powers. The spirit of Paloma resided on the mountain, the Penobscot Indians believed, and fiercely defended it, unleashing brutal cold and storms on those who dared to make the climb. At 7 a.m., Kosc and Doyon began their climb under a warm sun and clear sky. In their backpacks, they carried windbreakers, rain jackets, flashlights, an aluminum foil blanket, water, and more. At the last minute, Kosc chose to leave a thermal base layer hoodie behind, a decision she would come to regret. They reached the 5,269-foot summit with relative ease, taking in the endless green trees over lunch. Mount Katahdin in Maine. Beata Kosc They took off on the treacherous Knife Edge trail around 4 p.m. But as the wind picked up, Kosc lost her footing, awakening an old injury to her knee. The throbbing pain slowed her down, and as the sun set, she decided they should take shelter by two stony ledges. As the night stretched on, the weather took a dangerous turn. When two headlights approached around 10 p.m., the friends thought they were hallucinating. But it was a man with his son, about 13, who pushed forward despite the women's protests. Concerned for the boy's well-being, they decided to call authorities for help. Within the hour, the two hikers had returned to hunker down with Kosc and Doyon, unable to continue after all. Advertisement By 2 a.m., the situation had become dire. Drenched from the whipping rain, they wrapped their arms around the slippery rocks to keep from tumbling over the edge. Over the phone, a park ranger advised the group to make their way to the tree line. But Kosc was lightheaded and overwhelmed by the pain that now seized her entire left leg. They decided to stay in place, trying to share a small thermal blanket as the temperature plummeted. Daylight, and rescue, seemed far away. It felt like a punishment from above, Kosc thought. 'The spirit of Paloma humbles the hikers by the extreme weather changes. ... I'm feeling there is a great chance I will die,' Kosc recalled. 'In that time of desperation, I was really trying to surrender to God's will, and I did.' When dawn arrived, heavy fog obscured their view and delayed their rescuers. But by late morning on Friday, search and rescue volunteers and park rangers reached the group, providing them with dry layers and hot liquids. Some of the team escorted Doyon, and the father and son, down the mountain. Others stayed with Kosc until the sky opened up around 6 p.m., allowing a Injured hiker Beata Kosc with members of the rescue team on the Knife Edge trail of Mount Katahdin in Maine on Friday. Beata Kosc Kosc cried at the sight. As she was lifted up, the view of the mountain took her breath away. The day before the hike, Kosc and Doyon flew over Katahdin in a plane. Everything looked much bigger now. At the hospital, she was treated for bruising and inflammation in her knee. But she is otherwise faring well. Viewing the experience as a blessing, she is determined to climb Katahdin again. Advertisement 'This mountain taught me to be prepared for the unknown,' Kosc said. 'It reminded me how strong I am.' She remains filled with gratitude for her 'trail angels' who made their way in the poor weather for hours to reach her, then stayed by her side for just as long. 'It was truly just unconditional love, so much compassion,' Kosc said. 'I'm very thankful for every single person who came forward to help us. Because I know I am here today because people chose to be in service to others.' Shannon Larson can be reached at
21-07-2025
- General
How a federal monument's new welcome center in Maine honors Native Americans
ATOP LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, Maine -- The founder of Burt's Bees envisioned a tribute to Henry David Thoreau when she began buying thousands of acres of logging company land to donate for what would become the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument. But there was a major pivot: The monument's new welcome center tells its story not from the perspective of the famed naturalist but through the eyes of the Wabanaki tribes who were the land's original inhabitants. Roxanne Quimby's family collaborated with four tribal nations, private entities and federal officials to create the $35 million center that the National Park Service opened to the public on June 21, providing a focal point for the 87,500-acre (354 square kilometer) monument. Dubbed "Tekαkαpimək' (pronounced duh gah-gah bee mook), which means 'as far as the eye can see' in the Penobscot language, the contemporary wood-clad structure atop Lookout Mountain provides a stunning view of Katahdin, a mountain of key importance to Penobscot Nation, one of four Wabanaki Confederacy tribes in present-day Maine. 'It's a sacred mountain. For Penobscot people, it's really the heart of our homeland,' said Jennifer Neptune, a Penobscot who contributed artwork and written interpretations for the exhibits. Philanthropic funds covered the construction costs and land purchases for the monument, which is now now maintained by the park service. Tekαkαpimək donors included L.L. Bean, Burt's Bees and the National Park Foundation, funneled through the Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters, along with the Quimby family. Quimby sold Burt's Bees, maker of lip balm and other products, as she turned her attention to philanthropy. Off the grid and reachable only by unpaved roads, the center features an amphitheater and eastward lookout for sunrise ceremonies led by the Maliseet, Mi'kmaq, Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes, known collectively as the 'people of the dawn.' The vista stretches over land the tribes traversed for thousands of years. The other side faces Katahdin, which at 5,269 feet (1,606 meters) is Maine's tallest peak. Inside, exhibits and artwork teach visitors about birch bark canoes, ancient fishing techniques, the night sky and local wildlife, with translations in Wabanaki languages. Floor tiles reveal an intricate map of tributaries to the Penobscot River, which flows past the island home of the Penobscot reservation to the ocean. The welcome center has opened amid President Donald Trump's campaign to eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives nationwide, including by issuing an executive order aimed at 'restoring truth and sanity to American history' that prompted Interior Secretary Doug Burgum to order a review of signs, memorials and statues. While the Trump administration's moves have created some unease, a formal management agreement between the federal government and the tribal nations involved should protect the center's focus on the Native Americans who were stewards of this land for centuries, said Quimby's son, Lucas St. Clair, who marshaled his mother's effort to have the land donated to the National Park Service. 'We can do better about teaching the real history of the United States," and the welcome center attempts that, he said. "It's not an insult to America. We're not trying to talk badly about America,' he said. When Quimby began buying the land in the 1990s, she was inspired by Thoreau's travels through the region, which included an 1857 journey led by a Penobscot guide, Joe Polis, that he chronicled in 'The Maine Woods.' But the focus began to shift in 2014 when her son joined a group led by tribal leaders that retraced Thoreau's lengthy travels on the 150th anniversary of that book's publication. St. Clair realized there was a richer story to tell. St. Clair began consulting with the tribes, only to be humbled two years later, after President Barack Obama's interior secretary traveled to Maine to celebrate the land's designation as a national monument. A tribal leader chided St. Clair because no tribal members were invited to speak. The omission had revealed a cultural blind spot: 'It just felt like, oh my gosh, I missed the boat on this one,' St. Clair recounted. Another pivotal moment came after the unveiling of the first welcome center design, which Neptune said was inspired by a New England farmhouse-style structure that once served loggers in the area. Tribal representatives felt the design smacked of colonialism and oppression, Neptune said. Lawyers were brought in to protect tribal heritage and intellectual property, while the non-natives involved made deeper efforts to understand Wabanaki culture, and the architect collaborated with an expanded tribal advisory board on a new design evoking a moose's antlers, inspired by a story of a tribal hero. James Francis, the Penobscot Nation's tribal historian, hopes this collaboration serves as a template for future projects involving Native Americans. 'The real achievement of this project was the connection to Maine and how it was done — bringing in the Wabanaki people and giving them a voice,' he said. Quimby said the original design was beautiful, but the discussions with tribal members were eye-opening. 'The more we went along with it, the more we realized that they could make an enormous contribution,' Quimby said. According to the tribe, Thoreau made a major contribution to Penobscot history by documenting their place names, and once wrote in a journal that 'the Indian language reveals another wholly new life to us.' Thoreau would approve of Quimby's steps to conserve land for future generations, said Will Shafroth, former president and CEO of the National Park Foundation, which raises money to assist the National Park Service. 'You have to believe that Thoreau would basically sit on the side of the river and thank God she and her family did this,' Shafroth said.
News18
19-07-2025
- General
- News18
How federal monuments new welcome centre in Maine honours Native Americans
Agency: PTI Last Updated: Atop Lookout Mountain(US), Jul 19 (AP) The founder of Burt's Bees envisioned a tribute to Henry David Thoreau when she began buying thousands of acres of logging company land to donate for what would become the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument. But there was a major pivot: The monument's new welcome centre tells its story not from the perspective of the famed naturalist but through the eyes of the Wabanaki tribes who were the land's original inhabitants. Roxanne Quimby's family collaborated with four tribal nations, private entities and federal officials to create the $35 million center that the National Park Service opened to the public on June 21, providing a focal point for the 87,500-acre (354 square kilometer) monument. Dubbed 'Tekakapimk" (pronounced duh gah-gah bee mook), which means 'as far as the eye can see" in the Penobscot language, the contemporary wood-clad structure atop Lookout Mountain provides a stunning view of Katahdin, a mountain of key importance to Penobscot Nation, one of four Wabanaki Confederacy tribes in present-day Maine. 'It's a sacred mountain. For Penobscot people, it's really the heart of our homeland," said Jennifer Neptune, a Penobscot who contributed artwork and written interpretations for the exhibits. Reflecting the land's Native stewards Philanthropic funds covered the construction costs and land purchases for the monument, which is now now maintained by the park service. Tekakapimk donors included L L Bean, Burt's Bees and the National Park Foundation, funneled through the Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters, along with the Quimby family. Quimby sold Burt's Bees, maker of lip balm and other products, as she turned her attention to philanthropy. Off the grid and reachable only by unpaved roads, the center features an amphitheater and eastward lookout for sunrise ceremonies led by the Maliseet, Mi'kmaq, Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes, known collectively as the 'people of the dawn." The vista stretches over land the tribes traversed for thousands of years. The other side faces Katahdin, which at 5,269 feet (1,606 meters) is Maine's tallest peak. Inside, exhibits and artwork teach visitors about birch bark canoes, ancient fishing techniques, the night sky and local wildlife, with translations in Wabanaki languages. Floor tiles reveal an intricate map of tributaries to the Penobscot River, which flows past the island home of the Penobscot reservation to the ocean. The welcome centre has opened amid President Donald Trump's campaign to eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives nationwide, including by issuing an executive order aimed at 'restoring truth and sanity to American history" that prompted Interior Secretary Doug Burgum to order a review of signs, memorials and statues. While the Trump administration's moves have created some unease, a formal management agreement between the federal government and the tribal nations involved should protect the centre's focus on the Native Americans who were stewards of this land for centuries, said Quimby's son, Lucas St Clair, who marshalled his mother's effort to have the land donated to the National Park Service. 'We can do better about teaching the real history of the United States," and the welcome centre attempts that, he said. 'It's not an insult to America. We're not trying to talk badly about America," he said. Pivoting the focus When Quimby began buying the land in the 1990s, she was inspired by Thoreau's travels through the region, which included an 1857 journey led by a Penobscot guide, Joe Polis, that he chronicled in 'The Maine Woods." But the focus began to shift in 2014 when her son joined a group led by tribal leaders that retraced Thoreau's lengthy travels on the 150th anniversary of that book's publication. St Clair realized there was a richer story to tell. St Clair began consulting with the tribes, only to be humbled two years later, after President Barack Obama's interior secretary travelled to Maine to celebrate the land's designation as a national monument. A tribal leader chided St. Clair because no tribal members were invited to speak. The omission had revealed a cultural blind spot: 'It just felt like, oh my gosh, I missed the boat on this one," St Clair recounted. Another pivotal moment came after the unveiling of the first welcome centre design, which Neptune said was inspired by a New England farmhouse-style structure that once served loggers in the area. Tribal representatives felt the design smacked of colonialism and oppression, Neptune said. Lawyers were brought in to protect tribal heritage and intellectual property, while the non-natives involved made deeper efforts to understand Wabanaki culture, and the architect collaborated with an expanded tribal advisory board on a new design evoking a moose's antlers, inspired by a story of a tribal hero. James Francis, the Penobscot Nation's tribal historian, hopes this collaboration serves as a template for future projects involving Native Americans. 'The real achievement of this project was the connection to Maine and how it was done — bringing in the Wabanaki people and giving them a voice," he said. Would Thoreau approve? Quimby said the original design was beautiful, but the discussions with tribal members were eye-opening. 'The more we went along with it, the more we realized that they could make an enormous contribution," Quimby said. According to the tribe, Thoreau made a major contribution to Penobscot history by documenting their place names, and once wrote in a journal that 'the Indian language reveals another wholly new life to us." Thoreau would approve of Quimby's steps to conserve land for future generations, said Will Shafroth, former president and CEO of the National Park Foundation, which raises money to assist the National Park Service. 'You have to believe that Thoreau would basically sit on the side of the river and thank God she and her family did this," Shafroth said. (AP) RD RD (This story has not been edited by News18 staff and is published from a syndicated news agency feed - PTI) view comments First Published: July 19, 2025, 19:30 IST News agency-feeds How federal monuments new welcome centre in Maine honours Native Americans Disclaimer: Comments reflect users' views, not News18's. Please keep discussions respectful and constructive. Abusive, defamatory, or illegal comments will be removed. News18 may disable any comment at its discretion. By posting, you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.
Hamilton Spectator
19-07-2025
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
How a federal monument's new welcome center in Maine honors Native Americans
ATOP LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, Maine (AP) — The founder of Burt's Bees envisioned a tribute to Henry David Thoreau when she began buying thousands of acres of logging company land to donate for what would become the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument. But there was a major pivot: The monument's new welcome center tells its story not from the perspective of the famed naturalist but through the eyes of the Wabanaki tribes who were the land's original inhabitants. Roxanne Quimby's family collaborated with four tribal nations, private entities and federal officials to create the $35 million center that the National Park Service opened to the public on June 21, providing a focal point for the 87,500-acre (354 square kilometer) monument. Dubbed 'Tekαkαpimək' (pronounced duh gah-gah bee mook), which means 'as far as the eye can see' in the Penobscot language, the contemporary wood-clad structure atop Lookout Mountain provides a stunning view of Katahdin, a mountain of key importance to Penobscot Nation, one of four Wabanaki Confederacy tribes in present-day Maine. 'It's a sacred mountain. For Penobscot people, it's really the heart of our homeland,' said Jennifer Neptune, a Penobscot who contributed artwork and written interpretations for the exhibits. Reflecting the land's Native stewards Philanthropic funds covered the construction costs and land purchases for the monument, which is now now maintained by the park service. Tekαkαpimək donors included L.L. Bean, Burt's Bees and the National Park Foundation, funneled through the Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters, along with the Quimby family. Quimby sold Burt's Bees, maker of lip balm and other products, as she turned her attention to philanthropy. Off the grid and reachable only by unpaved roads, the center features an amphitheater and eastward lookout for sunrise ceremonies led by the Maliseet, Mi'kmaq, Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes, known collectively as the 'people of the dawn.' The vista stretches over land the tribes traversed for thousands of years. The other side faces Katahdin, which at 5,269 feet (1,606 meters) is Maine's tallest peak. Inside, exhibits and artwork teach visitors about birch bark canoes, ancient fishing techniques, the night sky and local wildlife, with translations in Wabanaki languages. Floor tiles reveal an intricate map of tributaries to the Penobscot River, which flows past the island home of the Penobscot reservation to the ocean. The welcome center has opened amid President Donald Trump's campaign to eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives nationwide, including by issuing an executive order aimed at 'restoring truth and sanity to American history' that prompted Interior Secretary Doug Burgum to order a review of signs, memorials and statues. While the Trump administration's moves have created some unease, a formal management agreement between the federal government and the tribal nations involved should protect the center's focus on the Native Americans who were stewards of this land for centuries, said Quimby's son, Lucas St. Clair, who marshaled his mother's effort to have the land donated to the National Park Service. 'We can do better about teaching the real history of the United States,' and the welcome center attempts that, he said. 'It's not an insult to America. We're not trying to talk badly about America,' he said. Pivoting the focus When Quimby began buying the land in the 1990s, she was inspired by Thoreau's travels through the region, which included an 1857 journey led by a Penobscot guide, Joe Polis, that he chronicled in 'The Maine Woods.' But the focus began to shift in 2014 when her son joined a group led by tribal leaders that retraced Thoreau's lengthy travels on the 150th anniversary of that book's publication. St. Clair realized there was a richer story to tell. St. Clair began consulting with the tribes, only to be humbled two years later, after President Barack Obama's interior secretary traveled to Maine to celebrate the land's designation as a national monument . A tribal leader chided St. Clair because no tribal members were invited to speak. The omission had revealed a cultural blind spot: 'It just felt like, oh my gosh, I missed the boat on this one,' St. Clair recounted. Another pivotal moment came after the unveiling of the first welcome center design, which Neptune said was inspired by a New England farmhouse-style structure that once served loggers in the area. Tribal representatives felt the design smacked of colonialism and oppression, Neptune said. Lawyers were brought in to protect tribal heritage and intellectual property, while the non-natives involved made deeper efforts to understand Wabanaki culture, and the architect collaborated with an expanded tribal advisory board on a new design evoking a moose's antlers, inspired by a story of a tribal hero. James Francis, the Penobscot Nation's tribal historian, hopes this collaboration serves as a template for future projects involving Native Americans. 'The real achievement of this project was the connection to Maine and how it was done — bringing in the Wabanaki people and giving them a voice,' he said. Would Thoreau approve? Quimby said the original design was beautiful, but the discussions with tribal members were eye-opening. 'The more we went along with it, the more we realized that they could make an enormous contribution,' Quimby said. According to the tribe, Thoreau made a major contribution to Penobscot history by documenting their place names, and once wrote in a journal that 'the Indian language reveals another wholly new life to us.' Thoreau would approve of Quimby's steps to conserve land for future generations, said Will Shafroth, former president and CEO of the National Park Foundation, which raises money to assist the National Park Service. 'You have to believe that Thoreau would basically sit on the side of the river and thank God she and her family did this,' Shafroth said. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . 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