Historic St. Croix Island viewed from the north

The first French attempt to colonize North America took place in 1604 on this island in the St. Croix River but ended disastrously. The historic site is now an international park between Maine, USA, and New Brunswick, Canada.

Access to the island itself appears to be problematic.

Here it is seen from Ganong Nature Park (east of St. Stephen, New Brunswick) at the confluence of Pagans Cove, Oak Bay, and the Waweig River while the St Croix River veers off to the west and quickly narrows before continuing the international border.

What do you think about doors?

Most of us, I suspect, seldom think about them at all – they’re just there, open-or-shut as we move on to something else or perhaps seek some privacy. Oh, sometimes they stick or squeak or the knob needs tightening, but for the most part we rarely even see them. As for simply walking into one, BLAM! Sometimes it’s not a joke or only a black eye.

As perspective, when our renovation project began, I was occupying a bedroom that had no door. Ours is an old house, after all, and the back parlor, as we also call the room, sat off the kitchen and our tiny bathroom. At least the bathroom had a door, though it didn’t close fully. As a matter of fact, few of the indoor doors in our house closed fully and the exterior ones were equally suspect.

Adam, our amazing contractor, raised another question about which way each of our upcoming doors would open. I assumed, erroneously, that they would be situated to minimize obstruction of open space. Instead, it seems that doors conventionally open with the right hand. Not the left. From either side, at that. Try it and let me know if I’m wrong.

The discussion thickened, no pun intended, when one of the coconspirators in this renovation declared she wouldn’t have hollow-core doors in the house, not even the bedrooms. My leaning for two of the upstairs bedrooms had been for Japanese-style curtains and for leaving the laundry room open. But then considerations of noise, privacy, and smoke-and-fire emergencies overruled me. A bathroom, of course, needs a solid closure, period. Would ours upstairs have a frosted window, like the one downstairs? As you see, this can get complicated. Those popular flip-this house cable TV programs are so lacking.

But back to topic.

The other coconspirator proposed picking up antique doors salvaged from other renovation projects, and we decided to go that route. They didn’t even have to match, did they?

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Still ahead was what to do with the two exterior doors downstairs.

They were leaky, as far as bad weather went, warped, and rotting. The front door presents a neighborhood impression as well as the challenge of upholding the town’s historical character. Its storm door had already fallen away, due to frame warping.

To see some examples of exterior doors of Eastport homes, take a look at the Doors Fit for a Cape photo album at Thistle Finch editions.

All you can eat

A Penobscot Bay windjammer cruise typically includes a lobster bake, though technically the crustaceans are boiled or steamed with corn on the cob. The event takes place on any of a number of uninhabited islands along the way.

It does mean going ashore, of course.

For the record, last summer I ate 3½ lobsters – hey, they were small chix – but a shipmate managed 6½, just shy of the Louis R. French record of seven. Had she known, I would have cheered her on.

For those of a more squeamish nature, hot dogs and other hot goodies are offered, along with gooey s’mores, as long as the wood fire continues.

For more schooner sailing experiences, take a look at my Under Sail photo album at Thistle Finch editions.

As an added concern: working from home

Thanks to my poetry and fiction enterprises in my supposedly free hours – well, they’ve rarely paid me, unlike my career in the newspaper office – the idea of having workspace at home has been a given all the way back to the mid-‘70s.

For other members of our household, though, it’s something that’s certainly taken hold since, well, before Covid.

When the downstairs became crowded once the renovation overhead got going, we soon felt cramped. That big printer provided by an employer, for instance, took up some prime tabletop real estate and a precious electrical outlet. We still had a smaller one for our own use. Then there were other things, like a traveling table for presentations, a ream of printing paper, hand-out literature, and it all adds up.

The kitchen table typically became overrun with two or three laptops, stacks of documents and notes, and perhaps a few groceries for one coconspirator. Just what would happen when we were joined full-time by the second, who has her own online ventures? We needed to plan for those.

What became obvious was that each of us could use a second room of our own for these labors. Or at least a room that could do dual service. One where we could even close the door on a project without having to pick it up and put it away for the night.

The smaller front parlor, once cleared of “temporary” storage, would return to use as one office and conference room and, as needed, overnight guests.

The back parlor, which had been my bedroom, studio, and laundry room, would become a dining and crafts room, likely also dedicated to the other coconspirator’s business. And, yes, some of those crafts.

The new guestroom upstairs held the potential of also accommodating some of my overflow. It would also need a desk for our son-in-law in his visits. His company had obliterated its own offices long ago, and he was almost always on call.

And you were wondering what we were going to do with all of that new space? Oh, my.

We still had two storage units to empty, too.

As for the clothes washer and dryer

In the original layouts for the upstairs, I thought a laundry room was pushing our limits. On the other hand, I didn’t want a washer and dryer in the bathroom, either. That just would have looked, well, utilitarian. Besides, keeping them separate would avert crowding when competing uses erupted.

So what would be wrong with keeping them downstairs?

That’s when the fact that we would have to carry our laundry up and down stairs was pointed out to me. They’re the bulk of our wash load.

OK, I relented and was willing to go see where the new plan would lead.

I had to admit that no longer having it in my bedroom and studio was going to come as a relief.

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What I’m seeing now is how much this “luxury” really enhances our daily living, starting with the sheets and blankets storage.

I’ve long been a fan of having elbow space as part of my work area. For perspective, I recommend Richard Swenen’s 1992 bestseller, Margin: Restoring Emotional, Physical, Financial, and Time Reserves to Overloaded Lives.

The laundry room – and the slightly wider than normal hallway between it and the stairwell – reflect that thinking.

The laundry tub also fits into that idea of margin, with its deep bowl facilitating household and painting projects cleanup more easily than a bathtub does.

Add to that the ease of ironing.

There’s even thought of running a clothesline out from the window.

Frankly, I’m not so sure about that, though I’m willing to be convinced otherwise.

An air of a ghost town

Much of Way Downeast Maine stirs up echoes of the American Far West, at least in the eyes of some, and that includes impressions of ghost towns.

The downtown of Lubec has some prime examples, including this imposing waterfront emporium that was the headquarters for R.J. Peacock company’s wide-ranging sardine operations.

I think the structure has a slight resemblance to the long-gone steamship wharf that once welcomed passengers just below our house in Eastport. This one is still standing.

To explore related free photo albums, visit my Thistle Finch blog.