I was doing some chainsaw work in the back field at home and thoughts of Cozy Harbor came into my mind. Not to worry; I was well beyond the set back from high tide — no need to call the Shore Patrol. When we get water in the back field, “Oliver's” restaurant will be selling submarine sandwiches.

It's odd.

You can live here in this wonderful but relatively small, fairly tight knit community and know someone for years and never cross paths. Not even at the dump or Hannaford. Such was the case with Jimmy Bryer until the other day.

Wild weather we've been having! Below zero with winds one day then 50 degrees and rain the next. What's a mother to do?

It's often quite challenging for me to find a photo and words each week. But I like to think that people at least look at this stuff before crinkling the paper up for fire starters.

I stopped in to see Tom Peaslee for our annual Christmas tree shopping adventure. In my 20-minute visit, I learned an unbelievable amount of extraordinary information chatting with Tom.

The Peaslee family has been in the Christmas tree business for 100 years or more. I don't recall exactly. Tom told me about his family's 1,500-acre farm up in Jefferson where his father, one of 15 children, thank you very much, provided trees for thousands. He recalled trainloads of trees being shipped to New York City, when he helped out as a child. In later years, he and his father took truck loads of trees to Boston.

Every year, when the temperatures are consistently above freezing, we drag our house plants out to what used to be the dog's fenced in playground. Since we no longer have dogs, this is a safe move. When Rooby and Buddy were still part of the family, anything that was the least bit obstructive to their freedom was in peril. They were nice dogs, don't get me wrong, but severely destructive. Rooby, our Jack Russell, could fly through the dog door en route to squirrel patrol under an aging birch with the agility of a seasoned pole vaulter, barely touching the ground before roaring half way up the tree, snapping at an unsuspecting red squirrel. She was a fearless hunter. Buddy, our Golden, on the other hand, would merely crash into the door until it opened, disregarding the dog door altogether. They got along well.

Jenny Joseph and I met through the mail in 1990. Her poem, “Warning,” was read by Ann Richards (then governor of Texas) on TV program “Sunday Morning.” I loved the poem and wrote to Jenny. We became friends. “Warning” was written in 1961.

Jenny proposed a book idea and came here to Maine to visit and write. She selected photos for our book, “Beached Boats,” from her visit and my two trips to her home in Minchinhampton, Gloucestershire, a village in the Cotswolds region of the United Kingdom.

This is the big moon that everyone has been talking about. I mean, its a smaller version of the BIG MOON because its not big yet. The image was made a few days before the much anticipated “Super Moon.” I got impatient.

I was grappling with an armload of firewood at what seemed like 10 o'clock, after the time change, which really messes me up. It takes me a good month to adjust to the earlier darkness that happens when some genius makes us move our clocks back.

I hope folks won't think me too weird for this week's adventure in paradise. My weird has been well documented over these past some 40 years of life here on the peninsula. I would call myself, moderately weird.

You can ask Merritt Grover at Grover's Hardware. But, then, on second thought, be careful what you ask Merritt — proceed with caution

Rinker Buck, local firewood cutter, entrepreneur and author, reached his destination in New Orleans after a three month journey aboard flatboat, Patience.

Rinker started from Elizabeth, Pennsylvania, 15 miles upstream of Pittsburgh in early July on the Monongahela River. He, flatboat Patience and crew, set out to retrace the river trip to the Mississippi with final destination New Orleans. Historically, river commerce was a way of life presenting the adventuresome an opportunity to sell and barter goods while passing river towns along the way.

Our world is so well documented these days. The internet has revealed so much. Images are everywhere.

Mobile devices record with incredible resolution. New cameras, which do more every day, all but make photos without us. We see so much all the time on our computers, phones and TVs. So much to sort out, so much information.

Jimmy Waugh is Maeve O'Connell's grandfather — he is 90 and lives in Reno, Nevada, now. He used some of my photos in his publication “Regionaire” long ago. This was in the pre-Maeve era. At that time there were three Jim printers — Jimmy Waugh, Jimmy Hanna and Jim Behringer. I've had printing done by all the Jims.

But Maeve is not a printer. She is more of an imprinter I'd say. Maeve, despite her limitations, has managed to leave an indelible mark here in the region and beyond.

Chip Griffin plays lead guitar when it comes to the history of Damariscove. He has spoken, written, and dreamed about the island for years. It may be fair to guess that he is somewhat of a reincarnated inhabitant of a life once lived there. It's difficult to consider so much knowledge coming from pure research.

But, as my father used to say, “Hard to imagine frozen toes until you've had some.” So, I'd like to suggest, then, that there is nothing quite like floating into Damariscove harbor and walking the island.

Matthew Forgues of Boothbay has walked further and faster than any person I know!

Since the age of seven, Matt has trained and competed in state, national and international race walking competitions.

If someone were to ask me (heaven forbid) to build a boat in an unusual place, I'd contact Herb and Doris Smith. They've built a pretty good batch of boats and given them serious workouts, even sailing around the world, more than once!

The last time I visited Herb with a boat under construction was on a dairy farm in Albion, Maine. The barn where the boat was being built was very filled up with parts and pieces. Herb seemed very small alongside what was to become the sailing vessel, Eastwind, which we now often see cruising the waters around Boothbay Harbor and the outer islands. 

Football is less interesting to me these days. But I am reminded of my six plus years “on the gridiron” in an earlier life growing up in the Pennsylvania hills between Penn State and Pittsburgh, when I get out of bed in the morning. Friday night lights, baby!

Many of my memories recur with nagging knee and neck malfunctions, but I guess that's part of the game.

For almost a year now I have visited the Boothbay Harbor Shipyard to check on the Ernestina-Morrissey project. It has been a fascinating process to watch and photograph.

Over the years I have photographed many projects at local shipyards - Samples, Goudy and Stevens, Hodgdon, Washburn and Doughty,  but the restoration of Ernestina is quite unique.

Do you think we are creatures of habit?

I have noticed myself doing things that make no sense at all to me here in 2016. Stuff that should be long gone.

You would think, living as we do in a relatively tight knit island community, that there would not be much new to discover after 15 years. Well, such is not the case, for me at least.

Recently an email arrived from Barbara Baseman (lady unit in above photo), the just retired president of the Southport Island Association, aka, SIA. Donald Duncan was also about to retire after 18 years as treasurer of the association and a gift of some “iconic” island scene might be an appropriate thank you for many years of service. Cuckolds Light came to mind. As it turned out, a view of the Cuckolds is pretty accessible from Mr. Duncan's location on the island.

Last Wednesday we sneaked in a quick bus trip to New York City for our oldest daughter Megan's birthday and new play. Interesting to leave Maine during peak summer.

For those of us who occupy Maine year round, travel aboard Concord Coach “Plus” bus is pretty cool — direct to downtown NYC. The Maine to New York run offers a little perspective when considering what its like to go the other way, NYC to Maine. Imagine arriving in Sprucewold from downtown New York City. “Tennis anyone?”

It's always interesting to see what will pop up on the magic screen, aka computer, to my weekly journeys. Doing things on a schedule with a deadline has never been one of my strong suits. I don't know how people do it. Maybe full-time writing makes it a bit easier. For me, the writing is mixed in with yard work, carpentry, chainsaw and even some photography now and then. Recently, more now than then. Things hop along pretty good in July and August.