Beech Hill

A wonderful send-off last night for the Land Trust's executive director, who is moving to Hawaii. We gave him a party at the top of Beech Hill, our preserve with the 360-degree views, Penobscot Bay in front, the Camden Hills in back. It was a perfect evening, the islands and sea shining in sharp relief from the setting sun, a brief rain shower dramatizing the hills.

The stone hut with the sod roof is about to celebrate its 100th birthday, and we celebrated too with a lobster and corn boil in a kind of tribute to the Sunday afternoon teas that the original family used to hold there. We too had to carry everything up the half-mile trail, but where the Gribbells drove horses, we drove cars and where they burned firewood, we burned propane. Otherwise, where was the difference of a 100 years?

Best of luck, Doug and family. We'll miss you.

The tanker in the bay

Looking out on a bay that shows no sign of human activity but a monstrous tanker is an odd experience.
Let's assume that oil is being transported - even stranger.
The tanker slips past Fisherman and Sheep Islands as if they didn't exist. I wish the tanker didn't exist.
Here I am, yet another silly romantic, enjoying a balmy August evening and ignoring the world of petrochemicals that got me here.
Is that what we have to do to find peace?