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

Or at least tell you I want to do. Here goes.
As for your list?
Back before Covid, folks in Eastport would kiss the giant sardine sculpture that descends on New Year’s Eve from the Tides Institute’s headquarters as a gesture for good luck. This year, however, the act turned into placing a sticker on a surrogate fish, fun all the same.

To learn about the giant sardine and its companion maple leaf, you’ll just have to stay tuned till next year here. By then, I’ll be anxious to hear how many of your wishes came true.
Here’s wishing you and yours all the best in 2022.
I’m talking about a poem or a novel here as a point of reference, but you can add some of your own perspectives, say as a painter or carpenter or gardener or cook.
Let’s clink to putting Covid behind us, more or less. Even if drinking the toast requires us to take off our masks. And clink again for better things ahead.

On my end, the year included downsizing earlier than anticipated when I uprooted from ducky Dover to diehard Downeast as a vanguard for the rest of the family. It was their idea, for the record. Not that I’m complaining while some old, long-buried dreams finally come to fruition. And in all of this, I’m still in their good hands.
Along the way, I drafted a juicy, unorthodox history of early Dover in time for the 400th anniversary of its settling. Forget what you thought about Colonial New England, this take challenges a lot of the prevailing view. (You’ll be reading more about that here at the Barn in the months ahead.)
I definitely wasn’t planning on researching and writing another book, but here it is, finished.
Clink once more.
It adds up to a lot of change to digest.
So clink again. Remember, in moderation, it’s supposed to help the digestion. Cheers!

At the beginning of the week, we had a tease of the Christmas-card expectations of a white holiday. Whether it holds to the big day itself is always in question, and the forecast seems to shift hourly. Even so, enjoy the scene.


He’s not a synonym for the fat man who comes down the chimney at Christmas, especially in Eastern Orthodox Christianity, where he’s especially revered. Let’s set the record straight.
~*~
So much for Santa Claus, eh?
I’m talking about the poetry, fiction, even letters and blogging. My “personal” stuff, much more than anything I usually did at the office.