For several years we have been visited by owls. I’m not sure if we are on their stopover route or if it is just a good food area. At any rate, it's fun to see them from time to time, even if they don't seem to stay around for long.

The other morning, on the sheep shed roof, one of our occasional visitors turned up. Perched on an overlooking corner, Owlie surveyed the neighborhood, presumably hoping to harvest a vole or a skittish red squirrel.

Activity around the shed went quiet quickly as our visitor patiently watched for a possible meal.

Imagine being a farmer who raises one crop that takes between three and five years to mature. A water crop, no less, that must survive and flourish in the Damariscotta River, through coming and going tides, ice flows, temperature variations, boat traffic, predators and unwanted contaminants. And I used to think a good crop of winter wheat was challenging!

Barbara Scully has farmed the world-famous Glidden Point Oysters for 28 years. With the help of an energetic and well-coordinated crew of young folk (including her son Benn and daughter Morgan), Barbara runs the whole operation.

She has encountered many obstacles along the way, both personal and professional, but the woman's energy and knowledge is palpable.

Uncle Rupert let me borrow his snowshoes to check on a couple cottages I look after. I had never used snowshoes before. Can you say, “buns of steel?” Who needs those fancy video workout programs.? It was all I could do to get back in the car.

Where's the Advil? Trying to get out of bed the next day was, shall we say, challenging. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here. I should get out more.

Anyone who sits or stands in front of the computer screen to collect email knows it’s not always fun or interesting.  

Our computers, not unlike our old mailboxes, can fill up with unwanted junk, despite ambitious efforts to prevent that from happening.

So it was with great surprise and pleasure that I saw an email roll in from Hodgdon Yachts and Audrey Hodgdon.

So (as my sister would say), here's the thing.

Over the years, it's come to my attention that two subjects are frequently recorded by many who paint, photograph, sculpt, etch and just generally observe.

When the lights are on, somebody's home.

More than likely you will find Barbara Rumsey studying this or that in her office at the Boothbay Region Historical Society building on Oak Street.

This week's image was made the same day I booked reservations for St. Lucia — not!

But I am reminded by less than secret yearnings, near and far, for someplace less winter-ish.

Where is St. Lucia? I seem to hear frequently of people heading there, planning to head there, or there.

Dean Morrison was checking back into Southport late fall as I drove by his house.

Darned if I hadn't just been wondering how he was doing, and presto! Dean appears.

Appearances are part of Dean's way. Disappearances too. Never quite know where or when he might show up, but the appearance is guaranteed to be worth the price of admission when he does.

Here's a multiple choice question for you.

Select the thing you would be least likely to consider doing this time of year:

Here's the plan. Pick the coldest day of the year so far, pack up the camera gear and waddle off into the great unknown. Which I did.

Remember, Mitch, in this marvelous age of the digital, “Live and die by the battery!” Take lots of extra, fully charged, warm milliamps so you have plenty of juice to run these electronic devices.

This isn't the old days of manual equipment when film got moved by a hand crank and focus required an eye. But I digress.

While shopping recently at Home Depot, I had to use the restroom.

The gentleman who was polishing up the facility asked me, “What's going to happen with the weather?”

I said, “Well, it sounds like its going to get messy. It's been a pretty confusing season so far. Sure wouldn't want to be in the weather forecasting business.”

I had my heart set on sharing a photograph of my only Jan. 1 “Trap Day” on Monhegan, but do you think I could find that folder.

Maybe I couldn't find it because even to this day, I get chills thinking about how cold it was.

I contacted Doug and Harry Odom to see if I could stay with them. Not a problem they said, and then they gave me a grocery list. They offered me the guest bedroom, which I thought was pretty darned nice.

Reconnecting with old friends is one of the most enjoyable parts of this time of year. We really look forward to news from people all over the world who love Maine and remember us.

Selling our calendar, in many ways, has encouraged and expanded our connections.

Every year we hear from people who grew up here. Their stories and recollections of life on the peninsula are priceless and fun.

The evening weather on Channel 6 reminds me of our diminishing daylight. It was just 8 hours and 55 minutes at a recent check.

With all the clouds and overcast it seems like even less. And full sun has been unavailable for almost a week.

At 3:30 in the afternoon I start looking for my pajamas. Maybe Chip Haggett has it right: 3 a.m. get the work coffee on, and 3 p.m. boom it for home!

In 1977, before “Low 'T'” was invented, I was working three jobs, one of which was “The Bun Man” at the Ebb Tide. It was the “night shift.”

Buns were made the old fashioned way, using ingredients from un-prepackaged yeast packets, then mixed, raised, kneaded and baked. I'm not sure who came up with the original formula, but the buns were good — a special Ebb Tide staple.

During my tenure there and beyond, Cheryl Rice waited tables. She has handled a lot of plates, Congo bars, chowder and fries.

There is less going on over the water this time of year.

The look out from Ocean Point between Negro Island and Ocean Point Inn appears quiet. A few months ago, there was a lot of activity. There still is, but it's different.

Betsy Wing has written a new book.

This is not a review. I haven't had time to read the whole book — it’s just out. I'm a very slow reader.

Betsy lives in East Boothbay, near the end of a long road that ends in the woods, just back from the edge of Linekin Bay. A perfect place to write.

When my mother toned, “James Robert Mitchell! “YOU know better than that!” I knew.

Like the time my sister's pony ate a box of prunes I accidentally spilled into the feed box. I was sorry it happened the day before her cart driving competition. Mother found my behavior reprehensible. I think that's what she called it.

Admittedly, I have behavior issues. Even today, things happen. It’s sort of fun to be 12 years old, especially when you become 65!

I wasn't ready for the storm.

No snow tires on anything. Leaves in all the gutters. Grass that needs a final mowing. Storm doors to install. Painting.

I didn't intend to practice procrastination so efficiently

If my grandmother were alive today she would be 120 years old.

Although I'm sure she'd still like to be making oatmeal for me in a double boiler, cooked overnight with swollen up raisins and brown sugar, she can't. So, my choice for a new grandmother is Jean Thompson, our next door neighbor on Southport.