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.

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.