
As seen on Capt. Butch Harris’ Windjammer Whale Watch out of Eastport, Maine.

The Jolly Breeze out of Saint Andrews, New Brunswick, was also scouting for whales and more.

You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

As seen on Capt. Butch Harris’ Windjammer Whale Watch out of Eastport, Maine.

The Jolly Breeze out of Saint Andrews, New Brunswick, was also scouting for whales and more.

Oriental Sauna & Health Spa
Have to admit it’s been an exciting, though not exactly lucrative, past 12 months since Quaking Dover appeared in print. The 255-page volume is quite different from my earlier publications. It’s history, rather than a novel or poetry, and its tone and outlook pushed my journalism training in new ways. I’ve even come to see this as my major creative nonfiction opus.
Reader reaction has been enthusiastic, and the book’s perspective has challenged the conventional take on New England history and its impact on the rest of America.
Friends Journal magazine called it an “eminently well-argued and documented account,“ while others declared it “a rich feast of a book” or said “It’s like you’re speaking right to me! It’s not like a history at all!” or simply “enjoyed your conversational writing style.”
Unlike my novels, its publication led to a festive book-release party in the Dover Quaker meetinghouse, followed by other events – some of them with unique PowerPoint visuals – in Dover, New Hampshire; Haverhill and Cape Cod, Massachusetts; and Eastport and Pembroke, Maine. Ten in all, and all well received. Didn’t get to do that with the novels. I’ve even had strangers stop me in the street to tell me how much they like my reading. And creating the presentations and accompanying illustrations has been fun in a whole new way for me.
One thing that’s impressed me is the way this has connected with people. It’s about places they live in or have visited, about families and communities they know, about values they share. It’s more concrete than fiction but no less personal.
Overall, it’s sold close to the U.S. average of 200 copies a year. Considering that the book is, at its core, the story of a small congregation in a small city in a small state, I’ll take that as a good start.
It’s not all water around here, though the road to the right leads to two lakes.



Sometimes Downeast Maine reminds me of the Far West. This is one of them.
Dover: where New Hampshire started. Leading to the second-oldest state in New England.
And then? Dover was already 200 years old when the textile mills took over the town.
Note, too, that Dover’s mills predate the more celebrated ones at Lowell, Lawrence, and Manchester on the Merrimac River.
It was hardly a fringe settlement in terms of action.
I love big cities, even have a certificate in Urban Studies, but can’t afford them, not for long.
Internet, at least, allows me some important virtual connections that way, not that it includes strolling into ethnic restaurants or great museums.
On the other hand, I’m living in a place others consider ideal for a vacation.
And for me, it’s an ideal writer’s retreat or de facto arts colony.
The ability to walk to so much of what I want in daily life is a huge consideration.




A good frost or two will really bring the color out. Just check the tall grasses or your windshield in the morning.
The two small cities that emerged on the New Hampshire side of the Piscataqua River ultimately found themselves rivals.
While Dover, hidden upstream, developed earlier and had much of early Maine on its side, Portsmouth took on its own character.
Portsmouth had a harbor, for one thing, and as waters upstream became polluted with sawdust from the mills, along with the clearing of forests miles inland from the banks, Dover’s wharves and landings faded in importance. Its goods were relegated to small local vessels called gundalows, which could maneuver the shallow waters, and then repacked into larger ocean-going vessels rather than continuing directly.
All of that then had Portsmouth emerging as the focus for trade, connecting it to towns up and down the Eastern Seaboard and beyond rather than anything much inland.
The center of Dover, meanwhile, kept creeping upstream from its waterfront origins at Hilton Point. Its outlook turned increasingly up-country, powered by the waterfalls along the Cochecho River and the mills, along with farming and timbering.
It was a common pattern in New England, so I’m told. The merchant class of the harbor settlements kept informed on activities along the coastline and destinations overseas but knew little to nothing of what was happening just five miles inland. The inland points, for their part, had little interest in distant locales.
By the time of the American Revolution, Portsmouth boasted of some impressive Georgian houses owned by wealthy seagoing merchants, some of them signers of the Declaration of Independence. (The squalid, roughnecked, red-light neighborhoods that went with all that seagoing were left more unspoken.) Dover was far more modest, about 50 years away from emerging as a major textile manufacturing center, with the red-brick mills.
George Washington visited Portsmouth but not Dover. You get the picture.
The character of the two communities continued to diverge after that, and they still do. Today, Portsmouth is driven in large part by tourism, both as a destination and as a stopping off point for almost all of the motor traffic in and out of Maine. In contrast, Dover sits quietly to the north, though the new bridge at Dover Point makes the place more accessible.
~*~
The other two towns of New Hampshire’s first century also had different personalities.
While Hampton sat on the Atlantic coastline, it lacked a harbor. Nor was it inland enough to have the waterfalls to power manufacturing. Its base remained agriculture.
Exeter, further inland, did have the falls but somehow also took on a more cultured tone. It’s a story I anticipate hearing of more.
~*~
I was often puzzled that so few folks in Portsmouth knew anything about Dover, just a dozen or so miles away. Not so for Dover residents when it came to Portsmouth, the smaller of the two.
That just may be changing, however, with the downtown renaissance in Dover and the increasing commercialization and crowding of Portsmouth from the funky, artsy edge we so enjoyed just 30 years ago.
The one thing that hasn’t changed from the late-Colonial era is that Portsmouth remains more monied. Some of that, at last, just may be migrating northward, toward family-friendly Dover.
With a woman (maybe twenty, long brown hair, a red sweater) again in the sun, playful, morning, but she must go off perhaps to be executed that same day, shot dead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew it would cast a curse over us. We wouldn’t be able to do anything without thinking of that. I just wanted us to be US.”
So later she’s acquitted or pardoned.
Apartment complex in the woods, kissing with a married friend and her sister-in-law, both staying at my place.
Later, I return home, the door’s wide open (how obviously symbolic these can be!), and everything’s gone, especially my computer.
Well, there were all of those years between the divorce and a second marriage.
I doubt this early bird was out for a worm, except maybe for fishing.