Have you ever happened upon a place and wondered out loud to yourself, “What the heck was going on here?”

In the late 1970s or so, while I was trying to convince myself that a living could be made with photography, Susan and I were out “riding the roads” somewhere north of Route 17. I don't remember where it was exactly, just that general area.

Idle farms. Old machinery standing in fields. Quiet.

When Liz Evans isn't on call for the East Boothbay General Store, she might be playing “Candy Land” with her girls. Or they play something that resembles “Candy Land,” without candy. I never did well with board games — always picked the “lose a turn” card!

Liz's girls, Sabine and Astrid, keep things moving around the house. They are quite the team. When I visited, Sabine was creating new architecture with magnetic building materials. Astrid was helping her mother reorganize interior spaces.

Over the years of photographing here in Maine, I have always tried to respect the private properties of others. But every now and then I slip up.

Sometimes places I have visited for years change hands, and suddenly I find myself in a place without permission. Or shores I used to walk without concern produce signs alerting me to a territorial shift.

How could anyone not be curious about someone named Rinker Buck?

Even if I made bad photos of him, it would be very interesting to meet this person.

As it turned out, Rinker Buck was even more fascinating than his name, and my photos for his latest book turned out OK.

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.