[Above photo: One of the “simpler” Jeremy Frey baskets, woven of ash and sweet grass. His is the first exhibit of a Wabanaki basket-maker in a major museum. It was stunning, enriched by the video which shows the entire process from selecting the ash tree to fell to the completion of a beautiful basket. ]
10 August 2024
I’ve spent most of the summer on the Island. One high point was a visit to Vinal Haven.
I set out alone on a sunny day in Tern, our 19foot Seaway skiff with a 70hp Yamaha, running east past Butter Island, cutting south between Butter and Eagle islands and then heading southeast across open ocean for the long run to Carver’s Harbor on Vinalhaven.
The occasion was a 3 day weekend gathering that Lindsey cooked up, with several planning suppers in Hallowell, for us to visit his colleague, Sarah, and her husband, Matt, at their 1830’s Cape in Vinal Haven. It was built by her great grandfather, a fisherman, and has been maintained by successive generations. The plan evolved into spending two nights there, with a visit on the middle day to Beach Island for lunch and exploring.
Once out of Eagle Island’s protective shores, I was into ocean swell. It was a pretty and lonely ride, meaning that if I got in a pinch, I’d have to solve the issue myself. Rounding the bottom of Vinal Haven, there were some lobstermen and a choppy sea stretching directly to Ireland. I suddenly realized it was foolhardy to come here in a small open boat, but there I was.
The town harbor is dotted with ledges and the direction I should take was not entirely clear as I approached but just at the right moment the ferry from Rockland appeared and I followed it in. The harbor is amazingly protected, sheltering the 2nd largest lobster fleet in Maine.
I asked a boater and, subsequently, a worker on shore about a mooring. Each suggested that if I circled the harbor, I would find buoys with cans on top into which I could put $, renting it by the night. After carefully circling twice I found none. I landed at the float for Hopkins Boat Yard but, it being a Saturday, no one was home. Nor did the Harbormaster return my call. With gradually increasing concern, I finally found a fellow from North Carolina rowing to his boat who gave me the correct number for the Harbormaster. Jim answered promptly, despite being on holiday in Portland, and grudgingly—“I’m not supposed to do this.”—gave me permission to tie up at the town dock for 2 nights. It was crowded and after improvising extra fenders from seat cushions, I left the boat and met my friends up the street.
The weekend was such easy fun, getting to know them and two of their 4 daughters. The eldest is a nurse at Boston Children’s Hospital. She, her boyfriend, and her bestie with her guy and the 4 of us, along with the youngest girl and a regular summer tag-along drove to the head of the island, ferried across the Fox Island Thorofare to North Haven Island, and met Lindsey’s son, Sam and his recently affianced girlfriend, Alex, at a pizza joint. Sam has a place in Pulpit Harbor on North Haven. By the time we were served, it was especially delicious pizza.
After returning to their home, we played “Silent Hitler” until 11:30PM, 3 rounds. Basically, 3 of the players are secretly Fascists and one of them is Hitler. The rest of the group are Liberals. Through a series of questions the Fascists try to disguise their identities and the Liberals try to suss out the Baddies. It’s much more subtle than the sides currently lined up in our country. It was fun.
The next day was a ride to Beach Island where I fed them lobster salad before we hiked around the perimeter. Given my apprehension about a small boat on open water, I decided to take Stella, our larger diesel powerboat, for the ride back. The last morning on Vinalhaven we went for a swim in one of the two granite quarries the town has acquired. The place was deserted, the water clear and warm, and the shelves of granite fringed with spruce, an inviting backdrop.
The only discordant note for me in the entire weekend, for I enjoyed each of the people I met, was my swim across the quarry. Because of missing my right upper lobe, I sink even more easily than before. Also, with strenuous exercise my O2 saturation drops from 99% to 91%. In the middle of the swim I was gasping and pretty concerned; I had carried a foam noodle which would likely have kept my head above water if I stopped to rest. But I didn’t stop and made it to the far shore, exiting the water and walking back after a catching my breath. It’s a good thing to know about my limited ability to swim, as my reflex, having grown up swimming off our dock every day each summer in Seattle, is that I am part fish. No longer so.
The rest of the summer has been spent kayaking, socializing, and planning for a construction project on the house. The T-111 siding on the south side has deteriorated and moisture is getting in so it needs to come off and be replaced. I have the scaffolding system—it is a two story affair: pump jacks—which Ari and I will assemble and erect tomorrow. Then demolition, Zipboard, and cedar shakes, cleaning up the mess as well. She has recruited a carpenter to join us for a week. After the transom repair, I didn’t think we’d undertake another major construction project but with a cabin on a Maine coastal island, the weather wreaks havoc.
I hosted a 4th of July barbeque, followed by a stroll to the Eastern Prom where we watched Portland’s glorious fireworks display, musing on our country’s uptick contribution to global climate change on each 4th. Maybe we should settle for sparklers. Then, again, perhaps a unifying celebration will allow us to come together in other ways, like recognizing and combating our contribution to atmospheric (and oceanic) pollution.
I also spent a 10 day stretch with my 95yo sister, extending her stay on the island. She loves it here. It is the site of many of her happiest memories from early girlhood. As she says now, “My memory is shot.”, which it surely is. But we had a good time together and I marvel at her spunk and ability to get about.
We’ll have a memorial service, as we do the summer following any Islander’s death, for Anadine Luyster. She was beloved by many and we’re running numerous boat trips, as well as hiring a private ferry, to bring a host of people here for the day. The island definitely feels different, less, without her presence.
As I type this, I am looking at our harbor where Michael Morse is sailing his sunfish, The Blue Onion, back and forth. He often puts Gaby, his wife, and their two dogs aboard and they set out for a long sail. It is remarkable to me, knowing how small and tippy the boat is. But it’s fun and Beach Island is, among other things, for fun.
Time for lunch and then I’ll run a departing group ashore, 40 minutes each way. Island rhythms.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 