
As he had told me:
urchins once filled all the shoreline rocks
till the Japanese market opened up
flights from Bangor
fishery now tightly licensed
hoping for recovery

An old-fashioned farm windmill was doing whatever on one island we passed.
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

As he had told me:
urchins once filled all the shoreline rocks
till the Japanese market opened up
flights from Bangor
fishery now tightly licensed
hoping for recovery

An old-fashioned farm windmill was doing whatever on one island we passed.

The volunteer-run Belfast & Moosehead Lake Railroad can be an adventurous ride. Here are its tracks in Thorndyke, Maine, as seen from a passenger car door.
just passed an old sardine carrier
turned private yacht
Local traffic
sardines as a reminder of where I’ve settled

when the Louis R. French was based out of Lubec
and owned by American Can in Eastport
she had an engine and no masts
faring something like this
I’ve been caught off-guard several times while wearing my gray Louis R. French historic schooner hoodie around Eastport. (Well, one of them. I now have three, but that’s another story.)
The first encounter was at the county courthouse in Machias while researching the deeds to our home. A registrar asked what I knew about the boat and I started replying with the history. She smiled and said, “My dad worked aboard it,” back when it was a sardine carrier based in Lubec, the town just south of Eastport. During that stretch, the masts were removed and the vessel was powered by an inboard motor.
The second time was when a friend, a legendary ship pilot, smiled and said he rode many times aboard it as a kid. Bob did correct me, saying the French wasn’t a sardine carrier but a freighter carrying cat food to Canada. (“Cat food to Canada?” Sounds like a title to me.) His family did own canneries in Lubec, Eastport, Portland, and a few other places. That’s yet another history to consider.
The next incident came while leaving my dentist’s office and his wife ( a.k.a. center of operations) Mary, blurted out, “Lewis R. French? That was my family’s boat.” For 50-some years, in fact, or the time it was based on our waters, when her Burpee and Vose families possessed the vessel. From her I learned that during the Prohibition, the French was an active rum-runner. Sardine carrier? Huh? The missions do get more interesting, no?
She also said something about ghosts. Well, if they could talk.
She does have the book published later, but I do suspect some of those details are missing.
The most recent account came while watching a big cruise ship come into Eastport. A woman standing nearby saw my hoodie and then told me she used to work in the office when the French belonged to Seaport Navigation. (She confirmed that my dentist’s wife’s families were among the owners). The headquarters was on the second floor of a waterfront building that she pointed to, one where friends of ours have their gallery and apartment, and said she never got tired of the view. She remembered typing up many documents regarding deliveries of canned sardines to the railroad line in St. Andrews, New Brunswick. Shipping them from there rather than by truck from Maine was much cheaper. By this point, the French was Seaport’s backup ship.
So sardines were still part of the story.
I’m turned about so much
we don’t connect to the guidebook
in my hand
across from Brooklin
on Blue Hill peninsula
wooden boat school renown
and the magazine

I’m so turned around
the overnight air was humid
we thought the early morning sun
was the moon
we could look at straight
like the nearly full moon


Maine Coastal Heritage Trust
It’s what many people expect when they come to Maine, but rarely like this.

the lobster feast, of course
I had two and a hot dog
and a watermelon slice
skipped the kabobs and corn-on-cob
the cream-colored tamale
quite tasty, delightful
the obscene excess of two lobsters
without formalities
just rip and crack
imbibe

memories of Chaz telling of arranging such feasts
who as a biker in Maine
ripped the tails off
and tossed the rest
my, how I still miss him
Using what I had previously thought of as life boats was a common practice during the cruise.

Babson Island a wet landing
wearing Converse high tops sans socks
a mistake
lucky I don’t have blisters

a fine-shell beach
unlike any we have to the east
I know of

so here we are going ashore again
this time for lobster
Babson Island, Maine Coastal Heritage Trust

Where, for heaven’s sake, would this place be? We don’t have a lot of options in our remote rim of Maine.
And then I was told the restaurant was a late and lamented site a block from my home, now reincarnated as an echo of the grill and bar next door. Only, perchance, a shade better.
Well, as a reaction, I did have an appropriate Greek slang expression I’d found earlier when researching background for my novel What’s Left, not that I’ll quote it here.

this is the great north of my life
including mosquitos
I wouldn’t want to go on a typical
ship cruise
or Navy vessel
the sea’s so blue with a sky to match
in the zodiac, I’m an air sign
