The legs of the former American Can Company factory on the Eastport waterfront are revealed at low tide if you’re out on the water. To see what’s behind them, go to my photo album, Can Factory Caverns, at Thistle Finch editions.
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
The legs of the former American Can Company factory on the Eastport waterfront are revealed at low tide if you’re out on the water. To see what’s behind them, go to my photo album, Can Factory Caverns, at Thistle Finch editions.
In a transaction dated December 27, 1859, Elise purchased the property from the Shackford estate heirs for twelve hundred dollars. In addition to Captain John senior’s sons Jacob, John, and William and daughters Esther and Hannah, grandson Samuel Shackford,, and their spouses as the sellers, we find the name Myrick D. Bibber, the furniture merchant who built at the corner of Water and Shackford streets around 1840.
Note that daughter Sarah Shackford Lincoln is not mentioned in this agreement (she died in 1846). In December 1841 she had sold “my right title and deed [?] to the estate of my Father John Shackford, late of Eastport” to William Shackford and Bibber.
In the 1860 Census, the household was enumerated under Elsie’s daughter, Abigail C. Olmstead, 46, dressmaker, personal value $15 or $1,500 — the script is difficult to read. Elsie — or Eliza, as the Census recorded her — was 83 and had a real estate value of two thousand dollars.
The household also had boarders: storekeeper Peter Kane, 21; Sarah Leighton, 72; and Sophia Gleason, 67.
Ten residents in our house would be tight, even if the two ells attached at the time had living space.
An inventory of Elsie’s estate was ordered in August 1868 after she had been declared non-compos mentis and placed under the guardianship of her step-grandson John S. Pierce [Pearce], by way of Hannah Shackford Pearce.
Her death, October 19, 1868, was reported in the Eastport Sentinel as “Mrs. Elizabeth, relict of the late Captain John Shackford, 78 years.” The age would correspond to Elsie’s.
In 1880, her daughter-in-law, Abigail Olmstead, was recorded as age 65 living in the household of her youngest daughter, Mary A. Roberts, 31, in Boston.
The linkage to Fisher Ames Buck and later owners was finally apparent.
That sale was by Abigail’s daughters.

Working in the thralls of daily newspaper journalism in the heartland was not my dream. Literary fame was. Of the critically acclaimed sort, as if bestseller status would follow.
Whoa, expressing that so boldly feels harsh, yet true. Even so, I did plod away on both fronts.
And now? I’m a survivor wondering what would have resulted if I had narrowed my focus.
I had no idea how crassly market-driven the shrinking book-publishing world was. So much for idealism.
~*~
Still, I pursued, working on my own into the wee hours.
These days, I have the luxury of revisiting my earlier work and wondering just who wrote it. The pages are so unlike what I’d venture today – wilder, for sure, and more profuse, often leading to an Oh-Wow! of admiration. The dross, fortunately, has been stripped away.
That’s been my reaction in presentations at our monthly open mic night here in town even when I’ve veered toward the edge of embarrassment yet still being warmly applauded.
Passages in both my prose and poetry make references I no longer understand but trust to leave untouched, perhaps for others to reconnect.
Writing? It’s like talking to yourself, ‘cept sometimes you have to get up to allow the rest of you to reply.
~*~
Another recent experience has come in assisting a friend to create a remarkable novel, one he finally presented to a literary agent whose thoughtful response seemed quaint, actually – the perspectives of three people in the agency, even though no. Somebody actually has time these days for such reflection?
It really did feel like an earlier era. I was rather envious.
~*~
I’m also recalling another experience after I had returned “back east” and was reading an essay about Snyder, Whalen, and Kerouac in the North Cascades, I felt sharp pain, knowing the lookout stations and High Cascades were so far behind me and the rest of my generation.
~*~
Add to that the fear of being discovered once your early book approaches publication. How strong are you in its potential storm?
Except, that you instead encounter indifference.
~*~
It can lead to bitterness, considering all the years and lost potential.
As for inscriptions at book signings?
Keep the faith!
Share your Light, too!
Or much else, for that matter.
He was my introduction to philosophy professor, and then a semester of logic.
I expected to learn pithy bits of wisdom but discovered that philosophy is mostly about bottomless questions. I did find symbolic logic enticing, akin to geometry a few years earlier.
He was young, apparently Greek, as I recognize today – that curly hair and beard resembled any of a slew of statues. Rumors were that he was madly in love with his girlfriend and spent most of his nights talking long-distance to her in Europe.
What fascinated us was his clothing, the same cheap gabardine suit and tie and pair of scuffed brown oxfords every time he showed up for class. We assumed it was the same pair of socks and same shirt, too.
The next semester he wore a different suit but only that one to every class.
Later, hearing of his finals question from the previous year, I was grateful I hadn’t had him then.
The question he assigned for the blue-books scribbles was just one word:
“Why?”
Nothing else.
Most of the students labored away, hoping to chance across an acceptable answer.
The “A” grade went to the one who wrote a one-world answer:
“Because.”
And the “B” went to the one who used two: “Why not?”
It’s a striking breed, seldom seen outside Scotland.
Here’s a small flock in neighboring Robbinston.
I really do think the ram in front should have a cartoon quip balloon attached. Any idea what he’d say?
The Chinese mystic Lao Tsu, the founder of Taoism, once said, or I think he did, that when it comes to food, we should eat what’s in season and from the region where we live.
Living in a so-called temperate climate, as I have, makes the adage difficult to maintain day to day through a full year, but as a guideline, I’ve appreciated its merits. Besides, it’s not a bad concept to keep in mind when sitting down to ponder seed catalogs and ordering, and then getting the mailings and planting the seeds under grow lights, as many folks do at this time of the year.
Here are some foods as I see them applying. Many but not all are items foodies pay dearly to obtain. Others are the basic reason for gardening – or is the practice itself the reason and any harvest arrives as one more blessing?
Fresh cider and pick-your-own apples, peaches, and pears were things we enjoyed in Dover but haven’t yet located here in Way Downeast Maine. We’re lookin’, though.
I’m not writing poems lately
but I’m not praying much, either
Let me elaborate:
Consider the act of writing as prayer. Neither is done for outward compensation, much less any guarantee of results, but rather to open one’s heart and mind to what is eternal and true – and attune oneself to that, regardless.
the snake
within the gull

A gap between two islands presents a quick glimpse at the town of Castine beyond. A landscape explored from the water connects places in a much different sense than you get from land.
That’s one of the lessons I savored aboard the historic schooner Louis R. French last summer.
Remember, so much of Maine is water.
The Shackford children had their joint holdings surveyed in January 1833, with Hannah Shackford’s husband, Darius Pearce/Pierce, performing the task. A flurry of real estate transfers followed, formalizing their agreements.
By 1820, according to the Census, the sons were heads of household.
Trying to follow the transactions gets rather confusing.
William and Jacob had even gone into business together in 1833, turning their attention away from seafaring. Their dealings included waterfront between the high-tide and low-water stretches as well as bands of shorefront below our house that would be developed into wharves.
From what I see, the boys weren’t getting a family discount. In 1830, John junior paid his father $1,000 for one parcel next to his brother William’s. In a transaction dated December 30, 1831, John senior specifies a band of waterfront “partially in front of my own dwelling house,” with the sellers being himself and “my wife Elsie.”
Among the deals were one on the easterly side of Water Street “to the fence of my homestead” and then westerly to Water Street, confirming that his homestead included both sides of the road.
Of special interest to me in confirming that our house was the one John senior occupied are the two deeds conveying adjoining land along Water Street. First was a sale to Myrick Bibber, a furniture merchant, on June 13, 1839, for a lot on the southwest corner of Water and Shackford streets, and then on July 10, to Daniel Aymar for the lot between the two.
Each of them is measured to the line of “the yellow house lot owned by me.”

Here’s how the description appeared on the two deeds recorded at the Washington County courthouse.
I was surprised to see that he signed the deeds with his mark, X, as did his wife in several instances. New England was noted for its nearly universal literacy, both men and women.

Here’s his X on his will.
Grandson Samuel Shackford said Esther, John’s first wife, “had been well reared and was a woman of superior intelligence” and that her children “were indebted to their mother for nearly all the educational advantages they ever enjoyed.” Unlike her husband, she signed some of the documents, as noted in the record, “her seal.” “School-teachers were rarely obtainable, in those days, in this then out-of-the-world. For a brief period, the services of William Lloyd Garrison’s [future] mother were secured to teach in the family” when she lived on neighboring Deer Island, Canada..
The real estate transactions indicate the children were all literate.
Esther died June 21, 1830. His second wife enters the picture rather obliquely soon thereafter.
His will of June 14, 1832, bequeathed “to my beloved wife Elsie the use during her life of my homestead or the house in which I now live, together with the lot and privileges thereto.”
Further down, it directs his six children and grandson Samuel to pay “to my wife Elsie the aforementioned annuity of one hundred & fifty dollars. And on my demise the homestead on house in which I now live with the lot come privileges pertaining thereto, and the one of which I have willed I am bequeathing to her during her life, I am bequeathing to them, my six children … in the same proportion of my other property.”
A harder to read codicil of October 5, 1839, raises the amount of the annuity to “my wife Eliza Shackford” to $200 during her natural life and “all my furniture and my pew in Baptist meetinghouse forever.”
After Captain John’s death, as Samuel Shackford confirmed, Elsie (or Elise, in his account) obtained the Revolutionary War veteran’s pension based on his service.
Elsie was later recorded in the 1850 Eastport Census as Eliza Shackford, 70, living in a household headed by Abigail Winslow, 37, along with four children — Anna E, 12; Lucy M., 6; James F., 4; and Mary A., 2; as well as Ethel Olmstead, 37, with his occupation as “gold digger” in the metal mining industry. An index to that Census listing placed Ethel as the head of household, even though he was at the bottom in the family. I am perplexed by the Winslow identity.
All of it, of course, has relevance on the house we bought.