If you were to take a stroll (safely accompanied by shipyard staff) around the historic Boothbay Harbor Bristol Marine property, you would be amazed by the amount of activity at every turn.

Full disclosure. This week’s photo adventure was pre-flighted on Facebook. I put the image up for public view a week or so ago and got so many interesting and funny comments that I thought it might be fun to share with the “Register” crowd, given that not everyone looks to Facebook as a reliable news source. Sometimes it’s a little challenging to get accurate information online, especially with all the new ways to manipulate what is posted. I can confirm that the photograph shared in this issue is completely real and superbly incriminating. I screwed up, but in so doing, managed to tickle a few interesting memories out of the viewership! 

My first landing zone here in Maine, Treasure Island, rests on a small point of land, facing south near the mouth of Little River in East Boothbay. It was where, serendipitously, my life, as I have come to know it, began. Oddly enough, in the scheme of things, my string of good luck and lack of game plans, once again gave me another gift.

Years ago, when we lived on Barters Island, our mail delivery person Edith Lewis mentioned the January thaw. In the late ’70s there were some pretty tough winters when cold and snow settled in early. Mrs. Lewis, who braved some pretty tough winter weather, would remind us that there would be a break in the weather. She also mentioned the “onion snow” of late winter/early spring. These were unfamiliar weather-related phenomenon, but we were always interested in information acquired through the long years’ observations of local residents. Mrs. Lewis certainly experienced considerable weather-related events over her lifetime, so we were inclined to honor her predictions. More often than not, she was correct in sharing patterns she had observed over the years. Back then we were not particularly familiar with weather specific to the area, so it was always a little encouraging to become aware of possible tendencies.

Eventually, most residents on the peninsula pop in to Grover’s Hardware for something. It’s the answer machine for troubled homeowners and beyond. Someone there will help you figure out what it is you need, or don’t need, to fix or repair or replace. I, for one, have been visiting “Hardware Therapy” for as long as I occupied a seat at the table. It’s a good bunch. 

My new year's resolution ..."Out with the old and in with the old." Getting potted with the old buoys!

Last week was a tough week, locally, nationally and internationally. An awful lot going on, much of it sad, heavy stuff.

It seems to me that our local cormorant population has packed up and headed elsewhere. Elsewhere, I suspect, is someplace warmer than Maine. Even southern Maine may not be far enough.

Music is wonderful.

No matter where you go in the world, music is part of the journey. It connects culture and supports regional history. Music is as much of a cultural identity as the very people it accompanies.

Our old barn road winds down through some aging spruce, through a wet area, on its way to Southport State Road 27. About 100 feet from the end of the barn road, there is a small jog off to the right which skirts some ledge in a particularly dense and scrubby section of pucker brush. Not an area to hang out in but one which requires some trimming back from time to time so entry onto Southport Route 27 doesn’t result in conflicting interests!

First off, let me preface this week’s adventure with a small disclaimer:  “I don’t get out much!” 

And that’s not an accident. It’s not that I am antisocial; it's just that there isn’t much incentive to leave the ranch. Plenty to do here! But last week was completely not hermit time. 

A friend from Maryland, not far from Washington, D.C., told me about his drive to Maine on Friday, Oct. 10. It wasn’t pretty!    

It has been a while since I set foot on Burnt Island. The last time I visited was the 200th anniversary of Burnt Island Light, one of the oldest lighthouses on the Maine coast, in November of 2021. There were fireworks and a significant gathering across the bay viewed from the Spruce Point Inn. Everyone was excited to see the Light lit, which it was, as soon as daylight diminished, which it did. Elaine Jones and a devoted group of “Keepers of the Light” made great effortsto bring justified attention to one of the area’s most historic structures.

Joe Gelarden shared a story, as he often does, with me about his first writing job attempt in his hometown of Indianapolis, Indiana, at The Indianapolis Star.

My first encounter with Mr. Cronkite was in the mid-80s when he and an entourage were visiting Boothbay Harbor during a Windjammer Days event. He was selling and signing a book he co-authored titled “North by Northeast” regarding sailing to Maine from New Jersey.

Try this one on for size!

Before going out on any job there are a few things to check over with my equipment. In the age of technology, and I am not a technologist, things can go wrong without really knowing. The new generations of digital cameras have so many buttons and controls that it's entirely possible to inadvertently move a setting that can send a camera system into orbit. I like to avoid orbit, especially when in the midst of an assignment.

The front entrance door of Boothbay Harbor United Methodist Church, on Townsend Avenue, was open on a beautiful sunny day. I was a bit early for my visit, but as soon as I walked into the church, Tammy Judkins greeted me from her office beside the central sanctuary behind the access wall to the church organ.

I met Rhonda Selvin in 1977 when we both worked at the Tugboat Inn. Rhonda was part of a talented restaurant waitstaff and I was the night janitor. Back then the thefood service area occupied the entire length of the building with seating for a ton of people. Also, back then, Tugboat Inn was owned by George McEvoy, Dan Derepentigny and Clem Brewer, an interestingly diverse trio.

Our daughters attended Sheepscot Valley Children’s House on Federal St. in Wiscasset in the early 1990s. That’s where we met (Miss) Ethel Stansfield. Recently we returned to the school, along with probably, at least 100 other folks to pay our respects, honoring Ethel and the gift she gave to us all. Ethel passed in July after some serious health challenges.

It was not easy to schedule a visit with Alana LaCourse, recently crowned Miss Maine’s Teen. 

But between her very demanding commitments and my leisurely random sunbathing at the beach, we finally connected during a dance class at the YMCA annex. Unforeseen complications caused me to be a bit late for our meeting. Twenty minutes waiting at a long opening of the Southport bridge was followed by difficult access to the Y Annex while CMP worked on lines. Then I inappropriately walked through the construction site for which I was not awarded a gold star! Finally, I breached the perimeter and entered a large room full of dancing children learning new moves accompanied by famous Bruno Mars “Uptown Funk” music! Alana led the class with some pretty jazzy moves.