My earliest contact, that I can recall, with a sailing vessel, occurred in East Boothbay when I first arrived in Maine.

Phyllis Washington and I taught together at Montclair High School in Montclair, New Jersey. On our last day of school, while putting things away for the next year, Phyllis arrived at my classroom door and said, “Hi Mitch, are you doing anything this summer?” Phyllis and I, though in the same science department, didn't often cross paths. We had differing approaches to teaching.

In all my years on the planet I have never known anyone with the name Isabel. Through 12 years of public school, four years of college, some graduate school and five years of teaching, no one has raised their hand. Bobs, on the other hand, had to fight for space on the cutting room floor. We are a common lot. Maybe that's why many prefer to call me Mitchell, among other things ... but never late for dinner. Ha.

May's last weekend was a bit dreary, chilly and damp. The end of May can be like that.

But, nonetheless, people turned out to pay their respects on Memorial Day. During the gatherings for Newagen and Southport I had a brief visit with Rear Admiral Howard who led veteran marches throughout the region. Admiral Howard flew in from California to participate in the day's events. Come to find out, Admiral Howard is no stranger to the area. He has been coming to Maine since he was 6 months old and supports the view that Maine is “The center of the Universe.” This coming from someone who has had many visits to many places. It is not an uncommon feeling among people I have met here over the years, who, given the opportunity, could live anywhere in the world. Maine is coming home.

I suspect there are manuals for everything. If I were to resume my interest in the rebuilding of motorcycle engines, it would be pretty easy to find, online or otherwise, lots of guidance for “How to do it.” Almost anything one wants to accomplish is well documented. We are an information-rich world now. No excuse not to know.

The yellow-flowered “Magnolia Elizabeth” (pictured above) was planted by Welles and Molly Moore 21 years ago. The tree, the result of a breeding program to create a yellow-flowered variety, at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, began in 1953. The garden center from which they purchased the tree in New Hampshire did not want to sell it to them because it was to be planted in Maine. It was felt that the environment here would not support this hybrid, which apparently is a bit fussy about where it will grow. Not to be deterred, Welles and Molly prevailed and, as you can see, the tree has done very well. “All Brits are gardeners,” Molly says.

This time of year daylight creeps into places around the region which stay shadowed for a large part of the year, especially in the evening. Parts of the Harbor become visible, so to speak, as we head toward our longer days.

For anyone who visits the YMCA regularly, Pat Fraker is no stranger. During my visit with her at the Y, people of all ages checked in for various uses of the facilities – the pool, track, exercise rooms, etc. This was in addition to answering frequent phone calls: “Good morning, YMCA, Pat speaking. May I help you?” And during these most recent and trying times, “Which pool please?” It's been so long since I visited the Y, I didn't realize that folks sign up for a specific time, day and lane to swim – during COVID. It’s a system that appears to work as demonstrated by Pat's notes for scheduling.

I've dug for a clam.

I was a curious soul upon my second arrival in Maine. It was me and Betty Ford, my 1967 Twin I-beam Ford pick up. We were ready and I was determined to blend in. After all, Maine wasn't so different. Just more water.

I met the nicest lady from Rockland on Saturday. It was a spectacular spring day and we met on the Department of Marine Resources lawn. This was our vantage point from which we could view the high school sailboat racing. I was told about the race by friends and they suggested the viewing location. I didn't have a boat, neither did she, at least not one here in the harbor. I suspect she may have a boat in Rockland. She knew a lot about sailing and could tell from my dumb questions that I did not. I was grateful for her answers to my questions.

It’s not every day that we get to introduce a new word to the world. I do not take this opportunity lightly. It seems more likely to find old words being given new meaning. Take “pivot” for example. I am noticing a lot of pivots these days. It seems to be one of those words that have found their way into new uses. You are now pivoting a career. Or, one can pivot. I'm not very hip to new language uses. Having said that, I have enough trouble using the words I know. Maybe I should pivot!?

First off, let me say that Kevin Burnham's photograph of the Maine State Ferry launch at Washburn & Doughty's shipyard is better than mine. But we were in attendance for different reasons. Kevin had a job to do, and he was on the better side of things than I. As you can see, Kevin's photo was just right for good lighting on the boat. I was across the cove at Ocean Point Marina. From our angle the boat was back lit with an overcast sky – not a good combination unless you are photographing water lilies in the community pond.

Since last week's (April Fool’s Day) adventure involving a fake snowstorm went over like a lead balloon, I figured I'd try to redeem myself with a view from a real balloon. Our wonderful neck of the woods viewed from above is fascinating, to be seen as a seagull might and a water buffalo might not.

Last night's snow really caught me by surprise! The mild weather we've been having made me think we were done with the white stuff, but my memory is short. The 2020 April storm should have made me a little less hopeful. Actually there were two storms in April last year leaving over 250,000 customers without electricity. I should have known. Spring is just a figure of speech here in Maine.

I came to Maine by accident twice. My first visit was in 1963 with two hometown friends from our small town in central Pennsylvania. We traveled in a two-door 1961 Plymouth Valiant. John was considering the priesthood and wanted to visit Saint-Anne-de-Beaupre' cathedral in Quebec. John invited his friend Mike and they asked me to join them.

Jenny Bennett used to write for the Boothbay Register. I remember thinking, ahhhh, a new voice at the paper. Lovely. Her writing was clear and sharp, to the point with no messing about. But, things changed at the paper and Jenny, along with others, disappeared. Bummer.

Recently I was asked to take my clothes off four times. This is not a common occurrence although it wasn't the first time! The awkward part was being asked to to do this for different people in different rooms, then to drape myself in what medical folks refer to as a “johnny.” For anyone who has not tried this, please do not feel left out. Looping a cloth string behind your neck and down behind your back is exasperating. Tying my shoes can still frustrate me, especially with laces made from some foreign material that constantly slips loose. I guess that is why, back in the day, I used rawhide laces on my Redwing work boots, knotted, then looped into hooks, bypassing the lacing process.

“Birds of a feather flock together,” or so it seems.

These are not snowy owls, nor were they intended to be. They are, as is abundantly clear, in-flight Canada geese. If you have a sizable stretch of open lawn, you will recognize their profile.However, in this moment of caught-in-flight, there is no sign of the slime noodles we all seek to avoid. I suspect, at one time or another, we zigzagged our way through the Canadian digestive extracts.

Aunt Bea and Uncle Bud MacLeod purchased land in Rangeley in the early 1970s. At the time they were living on a 50-acre farm in Glen Moore, Pennsylvania. As it turned out they were a bit ahead of the organic farming curve and the newly evolving “regenerative agriculture” techniques promoted by Mr. Rodale. Uncle Buddy and Mr. Rodale were contemporaries and friends. Many will recall the Rodale publications of the time, such as, “Prevention” and “Organic Farming.” Bea and Bud's farm was not far, as the crow flies, from Rodales’ property.

Welcome aboard everyone. For this week's adventure we will do a little travel back to a time of Goudy and Stevens Shipyard, eventually a Hodgdon Yachts facility, now owned by Washburn and Doughty. I think before Goudy and Stevens it may have been a Hodgdon Brothers yard--- not sure about that. At any rate, even though the property has seen many changes, it remains sacred ground in the history of boatbuilding on the banks of the Damariscotta River.

I seem to recall from my WBLM “daze” (my misspelling) that Mercury retrograde, as advised by the “Cosmic Muffin,” was probably not the best time to hang the laundry out to dry. Don't ask me why, because I haven't a clue when it comes to astrology, or, for that matter, hanging clothes out to dry. The last time I tried to save a few nickels by not using the electric dryer, the clothesline broke under the weight of frozen personal items.