Over the years I have owned and used many chainsaws. In my younger years, the metal of choice was either Homelite or McCulloch. The McCulloch saw was enormous, heavy and loud with a bar that was over two feet long. It was like lugging a small Evinrude outboard through the woods. But, once you set that baby on a log, it was so heavy, you needn’t do anything but wait for it to finish the cut. No pressure needed. Don’t get it bound up though, it --- took a backhoe to dislodge.

Delores “Lola” deHoyos O’Byrne.

Without even knowing Lola, her “official” name, to me, was a bit of a mystery. Quite a combination of vowels, for all you English teachers out there. When I first heard her name I couldn’t help but wonder where on Earth had this woman come from. And you know, even now, as she has made the big turn, I’m not sure I know where Lola came from.

When I was a kid growing up in the central Pennsylvania land of hunters, my father and I would sometimes head off into the woods in search of elusive wild things to shoot at. Dad used to joke that our rigorous excursions were more like exercise programs for regional wildlife than actual success filled killing missions. I’m not sure we ever actually “hit” much of what we shot at, excepting the occasional hemlock tree or mountain laurel bush. We often laughed on our drives home about what the woods' animals must be saying to each other as we entered their domain. Something perhaps like, “Oh boy, here comes Goober and Festus again, let’s get ready to rumble. These turkeys couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door.”

For anyone who reads this column you shouldn’t be surprised by my inability to stay on task for very long. I do have a tendency to wander. Well, this week’s adventure will confirm any suspicions you might have regarding my distractability. Not like Damariscove or Eastern Egg Rock distracted. We’re talking California boys and girls. So set your GPS for the gold rush days and settle in. I hope you will find this interesting.

I have been reluctant to share today’s ditty for a variety of reasons, many of which I ignore because it’s not in my nature to follow instructions. I think this may be the result of being over instructed in my youth. That’s just a guess, but we'll go with that for the time being.

This photograph makes me smile. Interestingly, because it reminds me of Captain Morton's son, Ernie, who I used to bump into frequently when he worked at Hawke Motors with Richard Latter. Man, what a team!

What's the first thing you notice about this photograph? Is it the power lines? Ugh. I know. I would have tried to eliminate them with some fancy Photoshop magic, but I don't know how and figure it would take me 87 hours to learn. And then it would probably look like jet contrails ghosting across the front of the buildings!

I made this week’s photo of Danielle Ames last summer by accident while photographing from the East Side. You never know what you might find when not looking.

Danielle has quite a story, I came to discover, as she helped process pogies at Harbor Bait which shares space with Eddie's “Atlantic Edge” and the town pier. I had never witnessed this process and was amazed by what Danielle (who I did not know but asked her permission to photo) had to do to keep up with the flow of pogies spewing out of conveyors and shutes, flying every which way and into blue barrels. It appeared to me to be a herculean task, not to mention, for a woman. I soon realized that Danielle knew her stuff and was extremely capable and experienced.

Every now and then I get the urge to blast off from the island and adventure out. So late Saturday morning I wound up the Jetta and headed up to Wiscasset to annoy my old pal Erika Soule at Rock Paper Scissors. She always freaks a little when she sees me coming through the door. Over the years I generally do not land lightly. She’s been in her shop for 20 years now in 2020, and generally has reason to fear my arrivals. We usually get hysterical in about five minutes, driving all customers from the store. Even her pup runs for cover.

This past weekend some New York City area friends visited.

Tom, a retired Wall Streeter, and Dwight, a retired Navy Seal and current real estate consultant. Both old salts of sorts. Tom a veteran of “Outward Bound” and Dwight a veteran third generation sailor, and, of course, military service. Both had spent time in Maine but never visited our Boothbay region.

Jack Sherman grew up on Southport. He spent lots of time in his youth climbing rocks on Pratt’s Island and riding bikes around Southport, and fishing. His family has great ties to the island for generations with many strong connections to the area.

For as long as we have lived here, we have collected pot buoys. They float onshore everywhere.

When I first lived in Maine at “Treasure Island” on Little River in East Boothbay, I did not collect much of anything. I didn't even know what a pot buoy was, or did. But one day while out messing about on the rocks near the Treasure Island pier, Winfield “Cooney” Dodge and I crossed paths as he was on his way out to haul his traps from his modest outboard powered skiff. Our visit turned out to be a bit more than bargained for, but a good lobstering primer. My knowldege of many things was further expanded as I joined a group of esteemed elders for weekly “bid wist” card encounters at the American Legion, which, by the way, Mr. Dodge did not tolerate losing very gracefully.

We are gaining daylight, I think, finally.

You’d think after all these years that I would be a little more accustomed to the lack of winter daylight, but I'm not. The short daylight of winter gets to me. It may actually have to do with that seasonal lack of light thing. The one where it can be pretty dark at 4 o’clock on a heavy overcast day. I become a slug.

Now honestly, who wouldn't want to have lunch with this lovely young lady? There were people lined up into the hall at the elementary school waiting to be greeted and served by Kathy Page. Grilled cheese? Maybe a little lasagna? How ’bout some milk? Any dessert? I was on the wrong side of the glass, and my tray was empty.

I got an email from Mark “Village Troubadour” Stover last week letting me know that there was a launching at Washburn & Doughty. Liz Richmond, a welder at W & D texted me too. They both know how much I enjoy the launching process, especially from aboard one of Captain David Winslow's tugboats.

It appears that more winter-like weather has arrived here on the peninsula. So far, since just before Thanksgiving, we have had mixed signals from our well seasoned delivery systems. Which front will prevail. Will the cold fronts from Canada overpower the fronts coming up the coast from the south. Will the blizzards from the storm battered west and Midwest reach us? When will it all turn to rain?

I’ve realized over many years of photographing that there can be a wide range of reaction to any given subject. One person’s meat can be another person’s poison, to paraphrase an old saying. It’s a lesson all who chose to put their work on view for public consideration learn.

I watch the weather. Not in the same way some of my fishing folk friends do as they track the temperatures, winds, wind directions and weather-related sea activities. They have a lot at stake and need to know how weather will impact their work. It’s pretty amazing to see how instinctively they know when to go, when not to go and when to know the difference.

In our house things tend to happen spontaneously or not at all. I mean, it’s not like we don’t plan, but it’s just that what we plan never seems to happen in a “normal” way.

For example. Our family planned to be together for Christmas. To many families that would seem like a fairly normal thing to hope for. But, as I said, for us, if there is a way to complicate, we'll find it.

Long ago and not too far away, around this time of year, I visited Knickercane Island one morning. During this festive time of year, I thought it might be nice to dig back in the shoe boxes under the bed and pull out one of my faves.