The cost of Maine scallops
Season, catch are limited, conditions dangerous
BY STEPHEN RAPPAPORT
If you’ve got a yen for succulent, right-off-the-boat Maine sea scallops, now is the time to get them.
Most consumers can’t get scallops that really are “right off the boat” unless they live in the Midcoast or Downeast and, perhaps, know a fisherman. For those with the opportunity, it’s well worth a drive down to the harbor to buy a gallon or two of freshly shucked scallops when the boats come back from fishing.
Even if they’re not right off the boat, good, fresh scallops are readily available, if expensive. In Portland, the waterfront Harbor Fish Market was recently offering fresh “dayboat” scallops at $32.99 per pound for “mediums”—a mix of 10-20 per pound—and $38.99 for “jumbos” all weighing in at fewer than a dozen per pound.
A little farther up Commercial Street, Browne Trading Co. offered Maine diver-harvested scallops, rare as hen’s teeth and comprising only a tiny portion of the state’s total scallop landings, for $64 per pound, size 10 to 20 per pound, and jumbo scallops “wild caught in the Gulf of Maine,” for $82 per pound.
Portland isn’t the only source for dayboat scallops. Many local markets, especially along the coast, carry these delicacies which usually sell out quickly, and
NEW GEAR MAKES A SPLASH—
even Hannaford had fresh Maine scallops for $32.99 per pound.
So, why are Maine scallops so expensive? It’s really a matter of how they’re harvested.
While Atlantic sea scallops are available pretty much year round, the vast majority are harvested
by boats, most home ported in New Bedford, Mass., which make days-long fishing trips far offshore. The scallops they land may have been sitting on ice soaking up water in a fish hold for a week or more before reaching the market.
continued on page 11
Lobster landings dip, but price was up
Total landings of all species at $709 million
BY TOM GROENING
Lobster harvesters earned $528.4 million in 2024, with an average per-pound price of $6.14,
according to data released by the state Department of Marine Resources.
The so-called boat price, that which is paid to lobstermen, was up last year from the 2023 value of $464
million. The price is the second highest recorded, according to DMR.
The lobster fishery landed a little over 86 million pounds in 2024, down from 96.9 million pounds in 2023.
The catch has hovered around 100 million pounds in recent years, with 97.9 million pounds landed in 2020, 110.7 million pounds in 2021, and 98.9 million pounds in 2022.
Fishermen have reported changes in long-standing patterns in the lobster fishery over the last decade, with shedders arriving at unpredictable times and the size of the lobster found in traps also changing.
Blue Hill. Years ago, they wouldn’t be seen in great numbers until early August, he said.
Much of the catch last year would have been thrown back if the proposed gauge increase had gone into effect, Sawyer said.
“It’s a scary thing, not knowing where the industry is going.”
“To me, it’s a good sign for the future,” he said.
Wilson Boone, who works on John McCarthy’s True North out of Vinalhaven, thought the 2024 catch “was very similar to” the previous year.
“We’re certainly seeing changes out there,” he said, with far fewer shedders. “They didn’t show up the way they sometimes do. In some ways, it was more gradual.”
“Hard shells are there all season,” said Bob Sawyer of Bucksport, a stern man working on the Whistler out of continued on page 5
Megan Ware, left, and Rory Morgan of Maine Department of Marine Resources deploy a ropeless lobster trap in a demonstration of some of the new technology for community leaders and fishermen at Jonesport’s town landing on Feb. 18. See the story inside for more information about the new gear. PHOTO: JACK SULLIVAN
‘What’s going on here?’ Book explains photos of fishing history
BY TOM GROENING
Michael Crowley’s long relationship with the fishing trade publication National Fisherman began at a bar.
“I was in a bar in Kodiak, Alaska,” he remembered recently, “in between halibut trips. I was a halibut fisherman. I saw something I’d never seen before— this publication, National Fisherman.”
That relationship continues, as photographs from the magazine are the subject of his new book, Working the Sea: Historic Images from National Fisherman.
Crowley, who grew up in Laguna Beach in Southern California, was drawn to the fishing and seafaring world as a young man. When he and his brother were in their early 20s, they traveled by train from California to Nova Scotia, at least in part to see the legendary schooner Blue Nose.
But they didn’t exactly have first-class accommodations.
“We were jumping freight trains the whole trip,” he remembers. Why travel that way? “For some adventure. Something different,” he says in his offhand manner.
The six-year fishing stint in Alaska was similarly inspired. He’d been living at that time in Berkeley, attending San Francisco State, and remembers observing student protests over the war in Vietnam. Once, police fired shotguns at the protestors and Crowley, merely a bystander, ended up with pellets embedded in his coat.
“I just needed a different scene,” he said, “so that’s what took me to Alaska.”
And the Blue Nose and National Fisherman— together—brought him to Maine. “It had an ad in it,” he said of the publication he saw at the bar, “for a scaled-down replica of the Canadian schooner Blue Nose for sale in Camden. I flew back, took a look at it, and bought it.”
National Fisherman, coincidentally, was based in Camden, “so I started hanging around” at the office, hoping for work, and began writing freelance for the magazine. By 1989, Crowley would be on the editorial staff of National Fisherman.
Such niche journalism work can make an editor a bit of an expert on a topic, but for Crowley, it was experience that informed his work. The halibut fishing years were the real deal, with trips lasting three-plus weeks, with the 70-foot boat he worked on venturing into the Bering Sea which could see “very high winds, and hellacious seas.”
On one trip along the Aleutian Islands, facing 140-knot winds, the captain took the boat into a cove for protection, anchored her from the bow, and kept the throttle at quarter speed through the night to reduce the strain.
“When we hauled the anchor aboard the next morning, half of it was gone,” he said.
Crowley still writes regularly for National Fisherman and WorkBoat, another trade publication, and the connection to National Fisherman has led to his new book, a collaboration with Searsport’s Penobscot Marine Museum.
In it, Crowley has chosen dozens and dozens of images from the museum’s collection and explains what is being depicted. In 2012, Diversified Communications, publisher of National Fisherman, donated its thousands of pre-digital (that is, film) photo archives to the museum.
The museum has been building momentum over the last 20 years as the go-to source and repository for maritime photography. To browse through the image collections at PenobscotMarineMuseum.org is to witness, at a safe remove, the way fishing, boatbuilding, and shipping operated along the Maine coast and beyond.
And that’s what Crowley has done with the book. In fact, beyond the intriguing perusing a reader might enjoy, the book succeeds as a history, documenting changes in commercial fishing.
He explained that he is a frequent visitor to the museum’s photo archives for research work for his magazine writing.
“The museum has thousands of pictures” from the magazine, he says, and they are powerfully affecting.
“This is fascinating, this is glorious,” and in some cases, “I’m the first person to see this in years,” he says of those visits.
Crowley approached museum photo archivist Kevin Johnson and curator Cipperly Good about the possibility of a book, and they came aboard.
“It’s expansive in that it covers from Alaska, to Maine, to Florida,” he says.
In the book, the history of commercial fishing through the 20th century unfolds in striking photographs, with Crowley’s task being to explain what’s going on in the images, which are divided in sections: Launch Day, At Sea, Selling the Catch, and Drama at Sea.
“Pictorially, you’re seeing the evolution of the technology,” he says. Still, the task of explaining the activity wasn’t easy.
“It’s trying to understand that way of life,” he says, especially when fishing was mostly done from sailing vessels. “I’ve always been enamored with the days of sail. Guys going out, day after day, trying not to capsize. That was a rugged way of life.”
The text is clear and accessible, even to those who don’t bring a lot of knowledge to the subject. A question he asked himself before committing to an explanation for a photo, he says, is: “Am I really sure this is what’s happening?”
Crowley has written the text for other books focusing on that maritime world, including Down The Shore: The Faces of Maine’s Coastal Fisheries, featuring photos by Nance Trueworthy.
Working the Sea may be purchased at penobscotmarinemuseum.org or at independent bookstores.
Aristocrat Ben & Josephine
Michael Crowley, a former editor of National Fisherman.
PHOTO: COURTESY EMILY CROWLEY
Greenpeace
A year later—
Waterfront business owners reflect on storms
Rebuilding efforts focus on higher, stronger
BY TOM GROENING
It’s an anniversary no one is celebrating. But it demands acknowledgement.
A group of waterfront business owners gathered for an Island Institute webinar on Jan. 16 to discuss the aftermath of the devastating coastal storms a year ago.
The stories that were shared elicited emotion, gratitude, and lessons.
Moderator Sam Belknap, director of the Institute’s Center for Marine Economy, was more than a curious observer; his family operates a wharf in Round Pond that purchases lobster and it was impacted by the storms.
The panel included Christina Fifield, who with her brother owns Fifield Lobster Company in Stonington, one of five buying stations in Maine’s largest lobster landing port.
“We’re on the smaller side,” she said, buying from about 40 boats.
“We thought we were prepared,” as they had raised the dock surface about 18 inches a year earlier after seeing a storm surge bring water within 6 inches of the decking in 2018.
“We were shocked and kind of disappointed” that building higher “didn’t really work out,” she confessed.
As the storm raged, they loaded heavy totes full of salt onto the decking to hold it in place. Despite that effort, “Our dock looked like a roller coaster,” Fifield said.
“We didn’t end up losing any of the actual planking,” but the business sustained substantial damage. Fishermen and neighbors arrived at the business, “trying to problem solve” ways to save the structures.
Some 800 lobster traps, stored on the wharf, washed away.
The wharf, which the two Chipman brothers and their father “built with their own hands,” served about 30 fishing boats. Chipman’s Wharf also is a tourism-oriented business, serving lobster and other food on the shore of Narraguagus Bay.
“That afternoon, all the fishermen showed up to help,” Chipman recalled, a theme among the panelists, crediting the larger community with assisting in stabilizing the properties.
She grew emotional in remembering the brief respite after the first storm, bracing for the second that came three days later.
The Chipmans were able to get dump trucks and an excavator on the property to begin repairs.
“Within days, the Island Institute was there for the business,” she said, offering information and support. “After the initial shock of losing the wharf, we went into planning mode.”
The family met with their insurance representatives and learned the damage wasn’t covered. FEMA—the Federal Emergency Management Agency—wasn’t able to help because the property is privately owned.
Then it was on to the federal Small Business Authority in search of a loan.
“It was an extremely frustrating process,” Chipman said, because staff were very slow to reply.
“After the initial shock of losing the wharf, we went into planning mode.”
—Amity Chipman
Fifield’s husband brought an excavator to the business, and a barge later was brought to the site to help with repairs. That barge was in demand, though, as it is the only one available in Stonington, she said, and some 25 docks needed work.
Two-ton mooring rocks now have been anchored under the dock, Fifield said, along with adding large steel I-beams and chains. One of the buildings has been raised 18 inches.
“We’re still rebuilding a year later and trying to figure it out,” she said.
She remembers people from the community “just driving in and jumping out of their vehicles, just trying to be helpful.”
Amity Chipman, who, along with her husband and his brother and their family own and operate Chipman’s Wharf in Milbridge, saw the business’s wharf drift by her house.
“It was heartbreaking to see that,” she said.
“On Jan. 10, my sister-in-law called me and said, ‘It’s gone.’ I said, ‘What’s gone?’ She said, ‘The wharf is gone.’”
The family finally learned the business could secure a loan at 4% interest, but only if their homes were put up as collateral.
Chipman’s Wharf finally secured a $271,000 state grant, half of the rebuilding cost, along with funds from Island Institute.
An engineer recommended that the new wharf be 42 inches higher, in a shorter, wider structure supported by cribwork. The surface will be concrete to make it heavier and less prone to lifting by storm surge. Plans call for extending the wharf farther into the bay.
Until the project is complete challenges remain.
“The boats are not able to access the end of the wharf for two hours either side of low tide,” Chipman said, and have to use the public wharf to unload.
“It’s been a challenging fishing season for our business,” she said. The rebuilding “has been a huge financial strain. We’re doing the work ourselves,” with the help of fishermen.
“It was very humbling to see the fishing community surround you. They’re family. They really support you when you’re in need,” she said. “We will persevere.”
Derek Lapointe and his wife moved to Bass Harbor on Mount Desert Island 12 years ago to run the Thurston’s Lobster Pound business for her parents.
She is the fifth generation of the family to operate there.
Despite building retaining walls before the storm, the surge disturbed about 100 pilings, Lapointe said.
Utilities also were damaged, and “a 20-foot by 100-foot section of wharf” was damaged beyond repair.
The business started rebuilding immediately, he said, so those who fished in the winter months could still sell their catch.
Even with three kinds of insurance costing $32,000 annually— covering piers and docks, flooding, and storms—Thurston’s was unable to successfully file a claim. The business did land a state working waterfront grant to help with the rebuild, and
permits are secured and a contractor lined up, Lapointe said.
Lissa Robinson, an engineer with GEI Consultants, listed the steps waterfront businesses should consider in rebuilding: conducting a site evaluation to assess overhead wires and sensitive environmental features; deciding whether rebuilding or a new build is appropriate; understanding the loads a pier will carry; and understanding what kinds of pilings to use. She said designing the project typically costs 10% of the total budget. Design is recommended in gathering bids, Robinson added, making it easier to compare proposals.
In concluding the webinar, the Island Institute’s Sam Belknap noted that “Our strongest assets are our people.”
Fifield Lobster Company - Stonington
Chipman’s Wharf - Milbridge
Thurston’s Lobster Pound - Bass Harbor
Portland’s
‘Big Dig’
Long-awaited harbor dredging project begins
BY CLARKE CANFIELD
Work has begun on a long-awaited project to remove hundreds of millions of pounds of contaminated muck from around wharves, marinas, boatyards, and public boat launches in Portland Harbor.
For decades, wharf owners and vessel operators have watched helplessly as sediment has slowly piled up along the Portland and South Portland waterfronts. As the deposits have accumulated, berths for boats of all types have disappeared—one by one for years on end.
A new multiyear dredging project that kicked off in January will remove sediment from dozens of areas along the working waterfronts. Dredging places that haven’t been cleaned out for over 70 years—and more than a century in some cases— will open up space for fishing vessels, work boats, ferries and cruise ships, recreational craft, and other vessels in Maine’s busiest port.
If all eligible waterfront property owners participate, dredging will take place along 19 piers and ten marinas and boatyards in Portland and South Portland, as well as at Portland’s public boat launch and commercial boat landing at East End Beach.
According to Bill Needelman’s estimates, the central waterfront on the Portland side of the harbor has lost more than a quarter of its berths over the years. They have become unusable because of shallow water depths brought on by accumulated sediment.
“A harbor without boat berthing is not a harbor,” said Needelman, the waterfront coordinator for the city of Portland. “The foundational resource of a harbor is its ability to serve the vessel and the ability to transport goods, people, and services. So by maintaining the berthing stock for Portland Harbor, we maintain all the commercial activity of the harbor.”
Parker Poole, owner of Determination Marine salvage and towing company, said his two largest boats now rest on the mud at their berths on two wharfs during extreme low tides. That’s not a good
thing when your business includes responding to boaters in distress.
“We’re the guy you call when you’re having a bad day,” he said. “In my business, seconds and minutes matter. If we get down to the boat to go on emergency call of a boat sinking and we can’t get the boat off the dock for an hour, that really doesn’t work for anybody.”
The navigational channel in the middle of Portland Harbor is dredged every 15 years or so by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. But the harbor bottom closer to shore—along the wharves, marinas, and other spots—is left up to individual property owners.
Dredging that material is cost-prohibitive because of the high levels of heavy metals, pesticides, and other pollutants from shipyards, tanneries, metal foundries, and other industrial sites that were once common in the Portland area, dating back to the mid-1800s. Toxic pollution has also come from nonpoint sources, particularly contaminated stormwater runoff.
Because of that pollution, the dredged muck is too contaminated to dispose of at an approved dredge disposal site about seven miles offshore. Instead, wharf owners would have had dispose of the material at a hazardous waste disposal site on land, a costprohibitive alternative.
The solution is to get rid of the polluted dredge material in a nine-acre containment pit near the South Portland side of the harbor. Cashman Dredging, out of Quincy, Mass., began digging the pit, known as a “confined aquatic disposal cell,” or CAD, in mid-January.
The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency considers CADs to be an environmentally safe and permanent solution for isolating contaminated sediments. CADs have been successfully used to dispose of contaminated dredge material in a number of other New England ports and waterways, such as Boston, New Bedford, and Providence.
After the CAD is dug, the contaminated sediment from around the waterfront properties will be put into the hole and covered with clean material at the end of each dredge season. In all, it’s estimated that
about 245,000 cubic yards of contaminated material—enough to fill more than 20,000 standard dump trucks—will be dredged.
The dredging around the waterfront properties began on a small scale this winter after the CAD was completed in early March. It will continue through two more dredging seasons (November through mid-March) into March 2027.
To fund the project, property owners, the cities of Portland and South Portland, the Portland Harbor Commission, and others have worked together for years to find funding sources. They created a video called “Help Dig Us Out” two years ago to make their pitch for funding to federal and Maine officials and state lawmakers.
The final piece came together a year ago when the state released $10 million of federal funding toward the $25 million price tag. Another $6 million is coming from state transportation funds; $4 million from Portland; and $1 million from South Portland. The remainder will be paid for by wharf owners who will pay tipping fees based on how much material is dredged from around their waterfront properties.
John Henshaw, the vice chairman of the Portland Commission, said the project has been a long time in coming because of the complexity, the difficulty in securing funding, and the amount of people involved.
“It took longer than any of us ever thought, but we’re excited to see it happening,” Henshaw said. “It’s a novel approach where the cities of Portland and South Portland and the state got together to say ‘Let’s solve this problem.’ It’s not commonly done in other places.”
A few days after Cashman Dredging began digging the CAD in Portland Harbor, more than 100 people showed at a celebration in the former Snow Squall restaurant adjacent to a South Portland marina. Tom Meyers, chairman of the Waterfront Alliance, an organization committed to protecting and promoting the Port of Portland, said wharf owners have been anxious for the waterfront dredging to begin.
“They’re ready to go,” he said. “They’re champing at the bit.”
John Martin, Bud Staples, and Elsie Gillespie chat around the woodstove at the annual town meeting.
Gerald “Punkin” Lemoine
Levi Moulden
Bud Staples
A dredger loads dredged materials onto a barge by the Maine State Pier.
PHOTO: COURTESY ERNO BONEBAKKER
LOBSTER continued from page 1
Like Sawyer, Boone said his boat saw lots of lobster right on the edge of being legal. He speculates that the return of menhaden—known locally as pogies—could mean more predation of juvenile lobster.
“It’s a scary thing, not knowing where the industry is going,” he said.
David Black of Belfast, a long-time fisherman in upper Penobscot Bay, said lobster seemed to be moving to deeper waters. He also noticed a lot of sea squirts—known by marine scientists as ascidians—in his traps, making them extremely heavy to haul.
Tariffs on trade with China and Canada may impact Maine’s lobster fishery, observers have said, but in mid-March, details have yet to emerge.
Overall, Maine commercial harvesters earned $74 million more in 2024 than in 2023, with total landings across all species valued at $709 million, according to DMR.
“During a year shaped by unprecedented storms and damage to our
working waterfronts,” Gov. Janet Mills said in a prepared statement, “Maine’s commercial fishermen, aquaculturists, and seafood dealers once again delivered a major economic benefit to our state. They did so through hard work and their time-honored commitment to producing and delivering the best seafood in the world.”
The softshell clam fishery was the state’s second most valuable in 2024 at $15.4 million, with harvesters earning $58,971 more than in 2023.
Patrick Keliher, who is retiring this year as DMR commissioner, noted that the softshell clam fishery continues to be lucrative.
“In 2024, DMR began several projects to improve management of this important resource,” he said. “DMR conducted programs to train municipal marine resource officials, held informational meetings, and provided mini grants to support municipal shellfish management and conservation work.”
Maine oysters were again in high demand in 2024, earning growers and harvesters $14.8 million on the strength of an eleven-cent price per pound
PHOTO: JACK SULLIVAN
increase for harvesters, which placed the fishery as Maine’s third most valuable.
Menhaden, a favorite bait of lobstermen, earned Maine fishermen $13.2 million at the dock, ranking it as Maine’s fourth most valuable fishery.
Elver harvesters earned $12.2 million, with harvesters seeing a per pound price of $1,239. Still, it was a challenging year, Keliher noted.
“The storms that destroyed docks and piers along the coast put these industries at serious risk. But thanks to Gov. Mills’ success in securing funding, the state has been able help rebuild damaged coastal infrastructure, make it more resilient to the effects of climate change, and protect critically important waterfront access for those who make a living on the water.”
Massachusetts pilots culvert-replacement project
Preventing damaging saltwater incursions is the aim
BY CRAIG IDLEBROOK
New Englanders may only think about culverts when they fail. Often, we don’t know a road even has a culvert until it has collapsed or is dammed with sediment, causing flooding.
What may be less obvious is that culverts can protect against storm surge and tidal flooding, especially as sea levels rise.
Massachusetts is piloting an initiative to help municipalities think about how to replace or upgrade culverts and other infrastructure with resilience in mind. The Massachusetts Department of Fish & Game’s Division of Ecological Restoration is working with two municipalities to plan how to replace two culverts under roads near the ocean, with the goal of making the culverts, and the municipalities, more resilient to projected sea level rise and storm surge. The culverts in Gloucester and West Newbury currently connect freshwater waterways, but these waterways will likely be increasingly impacted by saltwater intrusion in the future. Such saltwater intrusions may be hard to see on the ground, but aerial photos show the saltwater may already be infiltrating upstream, where a band of dead trees ring the periphery of the marshy areas, said Georgeann Keer, the Division of Ecological Restoration’s wetland restoration program manager.
“Sometimes when you look at photos, particularly in the summer growing months where you see that gray edge, that platform of dead trees, it’s typically called ghost forest,” Keer said.
Coastal environments change over time, but they can change rapidly
if culverts fail. Saltwater intrusion brings a different set of dynamics for culverts, bringing tidal flooding and increased sediment flow that can dam up the culvert, which can trap saltwater storm surge upstream. If a culvert system isn’t built to handle these surges, flooding can occur very quickly and have an impact on the ecosystem that can last for years.
“The negative impacts can be a sudden acute situation rather than a chronic [one],” Kerr said.
Unmanaged tidal flooding could impact nearby homes, wash out roads, and damage commercial fisheries.
The National Park Service estimates that coastal marshes provide nursery habitat for some 75 percent of commercially fished species.
Municipalities have learned the art of planning ahead to replace aging infrastructure, but planning ahead for rapidly changing storm surges and rising sea-level rise is more complicated. Effective planning to make infrastructure more resilient to these changing conditions takes coordination and forethought among many stakeholders, including state agencies, municipalities, and abutting landowners.
DER is providing expertise and resources to help Gloucester and West Newbury think of the steps needed to complete the culvert replacement projects.
“Our understanding and our concerns have shifted from not just focusing on the existing conditions and coastal systems, to what the future will hold for these environments and these systems and the infrastructure that’s around them,” Kerr said. “How do we now build this into our thinking and
planning about projects as the goalpost is literally shifting beneath us?”
DER is just one of many state agencies which are working to help Massachusetts communities become more resilient to rapid ecological change. The hope is that the processes these two communities undertake will be instructive for other communities facing similar challenges.
Similar efforts are being undertaken throughout New England, and there is growing interest to work together to help critical coastal infrastructure be future ready, said Robert Van Riper, a tidal habitat restoration coordinator with the Maine Department of Marine Resources.
Van Riper has helped form a group of regional stakeholders who regularly share ideas about climate change and infrastructure in New England. In his opinion, these efforts in Maine lag behind those in Massachusetts, and
that’s largely because smaller Maine municipalities have fewer financial resources for them. Another hurdle is red tape, as infrastructure changes require a more rigorous permitting process than wetland restoration.
Parker Gassett, the Marine and Coastal Communities Specialist with UMaine Cooperative Extension, said the key to help cash-strapped municipalities invest in such processes to make their infrastructure future-ready may be in centering such efforts in economic pragmatism.
“The cost of culvert replacement and of replacing gravel washed away in heavy rainfall is one of the first serious exposures that Mainers have to climate change,” Gassett said. “Budgeting for those costs in advance… is a good way to start thinking about long-term community investment in storm resilience.”
Linda Nelson, economic development director for Stonington, makes a point at a presentation during the Maine Fishermen’s Forum in Rockport on Feb. 28. Amanda Smith of the Sunrise County Economic Council is at left, Val Peacock of the Rural Aspirations Project is to Nelson’s right, and Island Institute’s Christa Thorpe is at far right.
Hopeful persistence
Island Institute’s values align with a changing world
BY KIM HAMILTON
IT IS IMPORTANT every now and again for an organization to test its values. The process reinvigorates the idea that how an organization works is as important as what it does. It engages new team members in the fundamentals of the mission. It reminds us that values are more than slogans on a wall; they are meant to be lived. They are muscles we need to stretch and build.
I am pleased to share Island Institute’s new values with readers of The Working Waterfront. They are the result of deep discussions about Island Institute’s work, how we engage with communities, how we navigate a complex and constantly changing world, and why we center our work in Maine.
While organizations may share some fundamental values, like respect, integrity, and accountability, we have worked to identify those characteristics that make us unique among our peers (or, in fact, our piers).
For those of you who know Island Institute well, I hope you can see the heart of our work in the values below.
rock bound from the sea up
Hopeful Persistence: We are reliable, nimble, and relentless with a bold vision for Maine’s future. We move forward enthusiastically in the face of changes.
Connection to Place: We appreciate the value and the beauty of the natural resources unique to where we work and live. We approach challenges creatively while respecting history and culture.
Authentic Collaboration: We are present, engaged, and build long-term connections to foster trust and deeper understanding. We respect different perspectives and adapt based on input.
Clarity of Purpose: We work where community needs align with our mission. We focus our efforts where we add the most value.
Resourcefulness: We solve real world problems with practical solutions and an innovation mindset. We allocate and manage the financial and human resources entrusted to us with thoughtfulness and integrity.
Of all these values, the one that we are exercising quite a bit these days is “hopeful persistence.”
I am old enough to remember when the acronym VUCA became a common term in the policy and organizational leadership worlds. Volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity. VUCA described a world that seemed at the time unpredictable and opaque with entangled and complicated parts. This was the world of the famous “unknown unknowns.”
It is not unlike today, where the unknown certainly seems to overshadow the known. Will the intensity of last January’s storms revisit us, and if so, when? What dynamics will shape Maine’s critically important fishing industry and the jobs that rely on it?
Can small rural, coastal towns hold fast against eroding infrastructure and the soaring cost of housing? What is lurking outside of our line of sight?
There is no one right way to approach such overwhelming uncertainty. For us, hope and perseverance provide much needed purchase on this shifting ground.
Preserving our island and coastal history Island
Journal’s place in documenting culture is secure
BY TOM GROENING
THEY SAY DAILY journalism is history’s first draft. The idea is that impact and context often take time to emerge, and so truly understanding what happened isn’t possible in the moment.
So what draft of our coastal and island history is contained in Island Journal, Island Institute’s annual publication, whose first edition was published in 1984?
A few years ago, I received an email from Robin Alden, co-founder of what is now the Maine Center for Coastal Fisheries in Stonington and a former commissioner of the Department of Marine Resources. She was looking for a story she remembered from a longago edition of Island Journal.
I think we then spoke by phone and when I told her we didn’t have most of the Journals in digital form, she gently scolded me, noting that the publication contained important history about our communities and should be more accessible.
She was right. And that prodded me to action, however slowly.
We hired a young woman I know, Danielle Weaver—a part-time fisherperson, from a fishing family on the St. George peninsula—to take each page
of every Island Journal, from the first edition in 1984 through the early 2000s when the content began to appear online, and scan them at our office.
Our Jack Sullivan, whose photos and stories began appearing in the Journal in recent years, took over integrating those scanned pages with our website.
It was a slow, arduous process, but all those stories and photos are now saved as PDFs and available to view on our website: islandinstitute.org/stories/ island-journal/. When I arrived at the Institute 12 years ago, I was excited about having my writing appear in of the Journal. What a privilege, to have my work presented in such an esteemed publication, accompanied by such beautiful photography.
The concept of hopeful persistence, where pragmatism and hope find common cause, is both aspirational and grounded. We know that hope, when linked to goals and willpower, is not a piein-the-sky feeling. It is a framework that allows us to plan for a better tomorrow.
From the first day I stepped into this role, I have never wavered in my hope that Maine’s coastal communities will chart their own future. I alluded to this two years ago in this column where I wrote, “even in the most challenging times, we’ve seen ingenuity prevail.”
Our newest value, “hopeful persistence,” captures that ingenuity and compels us to be reliable, nimble, relentless, and, yes, enthusiastic in the face of change. Hope tethered to pragmatic solutions has never failed us, and persistence in the face of so many hurdles is our only path forward.
Kim Hamilton is president of Island Institute, publisher of The Working Waterfront. She may be contacted at khamilton@islandinstitute.org.
spy it. Many a Saturday morning, I’d sit with a cup of coffee and immerse myself in these offshore worlds.
And those stories did transport me to what was, especially then, a different world. Peter Ralston’s photos rendered a spare, sometimes monochromatic scene that matched the struggles of an endangered way of life explained in the text.
Ideally, you should be able to pick up an Island Journal from 15 years ago and still find something interesting to read.
Rob Snyder, a former Institute president, would say Island Journal aimed to capture island life and culture. Culture, he would explain, was not what artists and writers were up to (though it’s included in the publication), but, having an anthropological background, he meant the Journal was immersed in what made island life different from that on the mainland.
preference. I hope in recent years that timeless standard is being met.
On the 20th anniversary of the publication, the editors noted that Island Journal had shaped the organization. It was a daring venture, they admitted, with half the Institute’s annual budget devoted to the first edition.
Going back farther, I remember, as editor of the weekly newspaper in Belfast in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Island Journal would appear in the mail each year and I rather selfishly took it home before anyone else could
Ideally, you should be able to pick up an Island Journal from 15 years ago and find something interesting to read.
Early in my tenure editing the magazine, I leaned too heavily on stories that were newsier, and I heard from some readers that this was not their
“Island Journal … would be a meeting place for ideas, a forum for discussions, a venue for poetry and literature, a showcase for photography and the visual arts,” they wrote. It would represent “a new way of thinking about the isolated communities that stretch along the Maine coast” by telling their stories. Click the “View and Download” option for an individual issue. But a warning: it’s very easy to begin reading and then look up to realize an hour or more has disappeared.
Tom Groening is editor of The Working Waterfront and Island Journal. He may be contacted at tgroening@ islandinstitute.org.
MACHIAS GETAWAY—
This image shows the Machias riverfront and a sort of billboard advertising what appears to be a Dodge Brothers auto dealership. The text reads “it gets away instanta-neously.” The building behind the billboard features a sign that reads “Crane Bro’s Garage Automobile Supplies.” Can readers provide more information? Contact editor Tom Groening at tgroening@islandinstitute.org.
Cooke not minding its Maine pens
Die-offs, disease, and parasites plague sites
BY DWAYNE SHAW
FORTY-THREE years ago, anglers from five fish and game clubs in Washington County formed the Downeast Salmon Federation. Today DSF employs 12 staff and conducts a variety of conservation activities to recover all species of searun fish in Maine.
Over the years, DSF has taken positions on many fisheries, land use, and watershed management matters. As part of our position on the practice of farmed salmon aquaculture in our coastal waters, we are issuing a call to action. This comes after close examination of the facts and the documented impacts.
As with other industries in the region that have the potential to impact wild fish, privately operated salmon farms must be subject to careful and ongoing review. It is well understood that activities in Maine’s waters must be regulated to some extent if the natural bounty of the sea, in the form of wild fish, is to continue to provide for current and future generations.
Recently, new evidence has been brought to light showing that Cooke
Island Institute Board of Trustees
Kristin Howard, Chair
Doug Henderson, Vice-Chair
Kate Vogt, Treasurer, Chair of Finance Committee
Bryan Lewis, Secretary, Chair of Philanthropy Committee
Michael Sant, Chair of Governance Committee
Carol White, Chair of Programs Committee
Mike Boyd, Clerk
Sebastian Belle
John Conley
Shey Conover
David Cousens
Mike Felton
Des Fitzgerald
Christie Hallowell
Nadia Rosenthal
Mike Steinharter
John Bird (honorary)
Tom Glenn (honorary)
Joe Higdon (honorary)
Bobbie Sweet (honorary)
Kimberly A. Hamilton, PhD (ex officio)
Aquaculture, the sole operator of all salmon farms in Maine, has again violated its Maine Department of Environmental Protection permits. This company has repeatedly demonstrated an unwillingness to play by the rule of law.
Cooke is the only salmon farming company operating in U.S. waters, with all its operations now located in Downeast Maine. Until recently, Cooke operated in the state of Washington. However, after devastating failures, Washington completely banned open net pen Atlantic salmon farms effective as of January of this year.
Cooke Aquaculture’s operations in Maine are a very small part of this large Canadian company, whose annual revenues now exceed $4 billion.
Sources examining Cooke’s business model believe that many of its farms in Maine are operating at a loss. This may explain the repeated mass mortalities of adult salmon reported at Cooke sites. Shockingly, DEP reports that at one site alone, over 100,000 mature salmon died in August 2021. Last year, two other sites of similar size also experienced
significant losses near Beals Island. There is increased concern in our communities that as Cooke has grown internationally, its attention is focused elsewhere, and it is failing in its responsibilities to Maine.
Cooke has become like the neighbor whose pigs are out roaming where they shouldn’t be because their pens are poorly maintained.
So much for farmed salmon. What about Maine’s real salmon? Our wild Atlantic salmon need our care and support, not more problems.
The diseases and parasites known to exist on these fish farms present a serious threat to wild fish. The pollution (fish waste measuring in tons) is now the subject of a very well documented Clean Water Act lawsuit. In addition, Cooke’s escaped fish are entering our rivers and bays.
This is a problem because these domesticated salmon can breed with and “dumb down” our wild fish, making the offspring less well adapted to their environment.
All Mainers should applaud the Conservation Law Foundation for doing the research and documenting
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these and other violations. The state agencies tasked with monitoring and compliance are sorely understaffed and ill-equipped, hence the need for citizen monitors. It was local fishermen who first reported recent mortality and pollution events, such as those observed at Black Island and Beals Island.
While so far Downeast Salmon Federation has not had the ability to document all of this ourselves, we have reviewed evidence and looked closely at the effects of this industry on other places. Serious impacts are being seen throughout Norway, Scotland, Ireland, and Maritime Canada.
Washington state has banned this farming practice and British Columbia also passed laws that will phase out salmon farming by June 30, 2029.
In this example, Maine missed the chance to uphold our motto: Dirigo: We Lead. But we can and should follow the example of our friends in British Columbia and elsewhere by phasing out these farms.
Dwayne Shaw is executive director of the Downeast Salmon Federation.
Editor: Tom Groening tgroening@islandinstitute.org
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guest column
An honest conversation about aquaculture
BY BENJAMIN FORD
MAINE’S SEAFOOD industry is well positioned to realize a greener future. Maine waters contain the perfect conditions to grow fish with a fraction of the carbon footprint of beef.
Those same clean, cold waters grow the world’s most succulent mussels and oysters. Not only can we grow worldclass food, but companies like Eimskip and Portland’s new cold storage facility have brought markets in London, Paris, and Berlin right to our doorsteps.
For the first time in decades, Maine’s population growth outpaced the national average. We are still aging faster. But we have a shot at reversing that trend as young people, seeing opportunities here, flood our universities to learn about aquaculture and their role in Maine’s future.
Yet in the last few years we have watched the promise of an innovative and dynamic seafood industry be picked apart by groups flying a false flag of environmentalism or “fishing heritage.”
These groups are often fronted by real Mainers with real concerns. But hiding behind those men and women in hoodies and bibs are shrewd political mercenaries making a fortune selling a false narrative to otherwise wellmeaning retirees and outof-state families.
Fear sells and nothing is scarier than change. Families from away, long a mainstay of the Maine economy, are noticing the change and are being told the summers they knew as children are under threat from “industrialized aquaculture.”
Seen in this light, any innovation beyond the iconic lobster boat becomes the enemy. The ancient practice of harvesting seaweed to fertilize crops becomes a biohazard. Mussel rafts become an intolerable eyesore, and floating oyster baskets become an existential threat to future generations.
Armed with out-of-state-money these groups enter the fight. They cannot win on the science, because there is little data to back their fear mongering. Instead, they fight behind podiums in front of lay people where unsupported tales of environmental destruction find much less discerning ears. These groups will claim the decision on whether or not to allow aquaculture is “up to the town.”
But when a town makes a decision the mercenaries do not like, out come the lawyers to bury those towns in lawsuits.
We are too quick to dismiss people as NIMBYs. Local people, families from away who are impacted by a proposal have a compelling argument: it is not fair to ask one group to shoulder the
burdens of change when the benefits of that change flow to everyone else.
But that argument loses all moral authority when made by someone falsely claiming to be interested only in the environment or in preserving some imagined way of life.
We owe it to the youth of Maine to have an honest conversation about aquaculture. For some, that means speaking up for the first time about our shared future and their role in it.
For others it means coming out from behind paid spokespeople to speak openly about their fears and the equities of change. Those that do may not win every argument, but they will save a ton of money, find a deeper love for Maine, and a deeper respect for Mainers along the way.
Benjamin Ford is the principal of Archipelago, a Portland-based law firm specializing in maritime issues. See archipelagona.com.
Robert
David
guest column
LD 1 would help coastal towns prepare
State office needed to coordinate storm response
The following was part of the testimony by Nick Battista, chief policy and external officer for Island Institute, publisher of The Working Waterfront, before the Legislature’s Housing and Economic Development Committee in support of LD 1, “An Act to Increase Storm Preparedness for Maine’s Communities, Homes and Infrastructure.”
LD 1:
• Creates a $15 million Home Resiliency Program with grants to homeowners for projects that make their homes more resilient to severe weather events.
• Creates a revolving loan fund to provide state/local match for federal disaster programs.
• Establishes the State Resilience Office within the newly established Maine Office of Community Affairs.
• All are funded through fees already collected from insurance companies or federal grants.
Maine’s island and coastal communities sit on the front lines of climate change and are experiencing extreme weather events, such as the recent devastating storms, with increasing frequency.
Flooding roadways and washed-out culverts threaten to cut communities off from essential services and weaken local economies. Rising seas are jeopardizing drinking water, and stormwater systems are overwhelmed.
These challenges exceed the financial capacity of Maine’s small, rural coastal and island communities. These communities are small, which further strains their capacity to address these challenges. Seventyfive percent of Maine’s coastal communities have fewer than 3,800 people, and 25% have fewer than 850 people. These small communities regularly find it challenging to find enough volunteers to be on the select board and involved in other committees.
Many of these communities do not have a land use planner on staff or capacity beyond the town manager or administrator to plan for or develop advanced strategies for resiliency.
When the two storms hit our coast last January, many communities we work with sustained significant damage to public and private infrastructure. We immediately started hearing from communities and businesses that had significant questions about what to do and where to get good information.
We partnered with the Department of Economic and Community Development, Department of Marine Resources, and Maine Emergency Management Agency on a webinar the week after the storm that had 1,000 people register and which provided various information to those impacted.
We were lucky that we were able to reach state agency partners and help provide a platform for them to share information directly with communities. Future disasters will likely need more support for this kind of information sharing. Providing the resources to strengthen and improve the emergency management system will help increase preparedness and reduce the impact of future events.
Last year, Maine’s island communities banded together to apply successfully for a FEMA Building Resilient Infrastructure and Communities, or BRIC grant. Initiated by the island town of Vinalhaven, this project unites Maine’s unbridged islands in a collaborative effort to strengthen resilience against climate challenges that impact critical resources and local economies.
Participating islands will assess priority resilience challenges, develop actionable solutions, and establish clear steps for implementation. The project will leverage shared learning, expertise, and cost efficiencies to support the resilience goals of participating islands.
To support this effort and align it with the state’s climate initiatives, Island Institute leveraged the
Governor’s Office of Policy, Innovation, and the Future’s Community Resilience Partnership (CRP) opportunity, which provides individualized vulnerability assessments for community projects.
By adopting the same methodologies and strategies as the BRIC project, this CRP work offers communities a proactive opportunity to establish their resilience priorities ahead of the BRIC project’s full rollout.
FEMA is providing about $355,000, while the local cost share is $111,000. Coming up with the match for this grant was challenging for the communities involved, and Island Institute is providing nearly three-quarters of the necessary match.
These are absolutely critical conversations for communities to start. As these communities move from planning to implementation, funding will likely be a significant challenge, and additional financing options in the state will be welcome.
Establishing a state resiliency office will allow for greater coordination, communication, and assistance for communities to address the negative impacts of extreme weather exacerbated by climate change. Centralizing this work in the newly developed Maine Office of Community Affairs will ensure that resiliency will be entrenched in programs that support Maine’s communities most vulnerable to climatic impacts.
The staff positions contained in LD 1 are particularly critical to providing additional support to Maine’s communities as they work to understand their options and implement solutions that make them more resilient. This is a complex area of work for small communities to tackle alone.
The communities in which we work will benefit significantly from this legislation.
Nick Battista can be contacted at: nbattista@islandinstitute.org.
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When the Maine coast was ‘Sardineland’ Penobscot Marine Museum gathers worker stories
BY TOM GROENING
In the mid-20th century, there were some 75 sardine canneries operating along the Maine coast, so calling the region “sardine land” wouldn’t be hyperbole.
The Penobscot Marine Museum in Searsport is diving into the history of that once robust sector of the marine economy in its spring exhibit, “Sardineland: Boom, Bust, and Aftermath.” To inform that exhibit, museum curator Cipperly Good and others hosted a “listening session” in Belfast on Jan. 6 to gather recollections of the industry from those who worked at sardine packing plants. Belfast had a sardine packing plant operating through most of the 20th century.
In introducing the session, Good noted that sardine plants operated from Eastport to Portland.
Among those attending was Anne Shure, who remembered working during summers at the Stinson sardine plant in town from 1970 through 1972.
“It made me want to go to college,” she said of her summer jobs there. While at the plant, she had to be at work by 7 a.m. Workers would learn if fish had been brought in for processing by listening to the local radio station, she said.
David Black, a local lobsterman, was a customer at the cannery. “I relied on them as a source of lobster bait,” he said of the Stinson plant.
“They used to blow the whistle when they had fish,” he said, following up on Shure’s recollection of the radio station reports. The whistle, he believes, had come from the former steamship Belfast. Black also remembered a bus picking up workers in the 1960s.
With heavy harvesting, the nature of the catch changed, several noted, so that the fish was being delivered by truck rather than boat, and the size of the catch changed, with larger fish becoming more common. These herring “steaks” wouldn’t fit as easily in cans.
Frank Joseph, who was born and raised in Belfast, said his mother Elaine worked at the Stinson plant from 1976 through its closure in the early 2000s.
“I worked there for two summers in the ‘90s as a ‘floater,’” Joseph said. “The canneries closed, just as the poultry plants closed, and the shoe factories. They sort of ended at the same time,” he said. “The writing was on the wall.”
While working at Bank of America in Belfast, Joseph said a colleague there had once worked at the cannery, representing the transition of the region’s economic
character from factory to information.
“She was one of a few,” he said.
Joseph said his mother had developed injuries from the work.
David Thanhauser, a family physician in Belfast since 1971, said he frequently saw patients suffering with wrist and hand injuries, the result of working the city’s sardine and poultry plants. He also remembers when the processing plants folded.
“I got a lot of requests to send medical records out of town,” as former workers moved away.
Denise Talbot remembered being unhappy with her job and visiting the sardine plant to consider a position there.
“When I saw the women with their hands in the ice buckets, I thought my job was pretty good,” she said with a laugh.
Shure said the workers were paid a cent for each can they packed.
“You had to pack fast enough to meet the minimum wage,” which at the time was $1.80. The workers used scissors to cut off the herring’s heads and tails.
“I had to put first aid tape on my fingers because the scissors were sharp,” she said.
Shure overslept and arrived late for her first day on the job, and she remembered, “Everyone else on the line was looking at me” as she walked in.
Eventually, she could pack 300 cans in an hour, equaling $3 an hour in wages.
That speed came with a cost, though.
“I got carpal tunnel,” Shure said. “I’d have to sleep on my hands, because they would keep going,” making packing movements.
The cannery workforce swelled in summer, Shure remembered, as some of her peers took jobs there to make money for back-to-school clothes.
Black, the lobsterman, said the herring catch declined because “the boats got bigger,” and in the 1970s, spotter airplanes were used to find the schools.
The public’s tastes also changed. In the 1950s, blue collar workers would bring a can of sardines to work in their lunchbox, but that faded away.
Moderating the session was Tora Johnson, a former professor at the University of Maine at Machias and currently director of the Sustainable Prosperity Initiative at Washington County’s Sunrise Economic Council.
Johnson said her parents and her husband’s parents both worked in seafood processing and were able to send them to college on their wages.
“You couldn’t do that today,” she said.
More information sought
The Penobscot Marine Museum’s “Sardineland” exhibit opens Memorial Day Weekend and runs through Oct. 26.
The museum is still seeking information from former workers at plants along the coast, who can send answers to questions such as: How and when did you know the cannery was closing? How did it affect your family and finances? What jobs filled the gap after the cannery closed? How has your community changed since the closing? How has your working waterfront infrastructure changed since the canneries ceased operations? How do you see your community evolving in the aftermath?
Responses can be sent to cgood@pmm-maine.org or Penobscot Marine Museum, Curator, PO Box 498, Searsport, ME 04974.
Minna Page, a cannery worker, inside Stinson’s Cannery in Belfast in 1990.
PHOTO: PEGGY MCKENNA COLLECTION/PENOBSCOT MARINE MUSEUM
continued from page 1
By contrast, the fishermen who participate in Maine’s near shore state waters scallop fishery— “dayboat scallopers”—leave harbor in the dark to start fishing at sunrise and return home around mid-day with a load of shucked scallops that can go to market as soon as the same day they are harvested.
Dayboat scallopers have a short harvest season. Starting usually during the first week of December, the season extends until about the middle of April. Scallopers are restricted to fishing only 50 to 60 days during that four-month period, when the weather along the coast of Maine is often windy and bitter cold. And they face a daily landings limit of just 15 gallons of shucked scallop meats (10 gallons in Cobscook Bay).
Shucked meats must be no smaller than 35 to the pound, though most Maine scallops are two or three times larger than that. The state Department of Marine Resources advises scallop fishermen that, as a rule, one and a half bushels of scallops in the shell will yield a gallon of scallop meats.
Thanks to the weather and the equipment used, the dayboat scallop fishery can be risky.
Cutler fisherman Kristan Porter has gone lobster fishing and scalloping for decades and just stepped down as president of the Maine Lobstermen’s Association. He acknowledges the dangers in scalloping while noting the fishery’s safety record has been reasonably good in recent years.
“All fisheries are dangerous,” Porter said. “That’s what we deal with and that’s what we sign up for.”
Most of Maine’s scallop fleet are lobster boats, perhaps 30 to 45 feet in length, that are “rigged over” for winter scalloping. That process involves adding a heavy winch wrapped with hundreds of feet of steel cable and a tall boom or gallows frame rising high above the deck for towing an iron and chain scallop
drag over the side or the stern of the boat and along the sea floor at a speed of three to five knots (three and a half to six miles per hour).
In most state waters, the drag, or dredge, can’t be wider than 10 feet 6 inches (5 feet 6 inches in Cobscook Bay) and it is heavy. The larger dredge can weigh as much as 1,500 pounds empty and, Porter said, that weight can easily double “depending on what you haul up in it.”
That’s maybe a ton-and-a-half of iron, chain, rocks, and scallops swinging in the air over the side of a boat that may be rolling around in rough seas. When the bottom of the dredge opens, the contents are spilled onto the washboard or deck of the boat to be sorted by the crew with the scallops set aside for shucking and the detritus pitched back over the side.
In large part, Porter said, safety is related to matching the size of the boat to the size of the dredge used and making sure the towing gear is in good order. Nowadays, the winches on a wellrigged boat are set up so that the cable will be released if the dredge hangs up on an obstruction on the sea bottom.
In the past, hangups were not uncommon in the scallop fishery. They were blamed, at least in part, for the loss of several boats, and a few fatalities, while dragging for scallops or sea urchins in Cobscook Bay during the 1990s and early 2000s.
“Some ways to do it are better than others. It all depends on your boat,” Porter said. “It’s a matter of common sense. If you’re not rigged for what you’re doing, that’s when it goes bad.”
There are other factors as well, such as weather conditions and whether a boat is fishing in relatively sheltered waters up a coastal bay or river, or farther offshore in the unsheltered Bay of Fundy where Porter often fishes. Though perhaps it all comes back to common sense.
“It depends on the operator,” said Porter. “If you have good experience and good equipment, you get yourself out of it.”
On Feb. 28, DMR announced at the Maine Fishermen’s Forum that scallop meat landings in 2024 totaled 514,187 pounds worth some $8.76 million with a boat price paid to fishermen of about $17 per pound. By contrast, in 2020, landings totaled some 675,487 pounds and the boat price was $10.34. What the current fishing season will bring remains to be seen.
The scallop dragging gear is seen in this 2015 photo on James West’s boat, who was fishing out of Sorrento. FILE PHOTO: STEPHEN RAPPAPORT
Institute staff reflect on national waterfront conference
In early February, several Island Institute staff attended the National Working Waterfront Network Conference in San Diego. In addition to connecting with experts from across the country, they shared the groundbreaking work Island Institute is doing to keep Maine’s working waterfronts and marine economy ahead of the curve.
The Institute crew presented on efforts like marine decarbonization, storm preparedness, and greenhouse gas assessments in the seafood industry, all while learning fresh ways to drive progress and continue supporting Maine’s working waterfronts.
We asked our team to reflect on the experience. Here’s some of what they shared:
Island Institute staff attended the National Working Waterfront Network Conference in San Diego. In front, from left: Sam Belknap and Phoebe Walsh. Rear, from left: Kim Hamilton, Sam Feldman, Jennifer Seavey, Olivia Richards, and Lia Morris.
JENNIFER SEAVEY Chief Programs Officer
The conference was a great opportunity to gather the national perspective on challenges and opportunities in working waterfronts. I was proud to hear that Maine is considered a leader in this sector—especially in protection and support for fishing communities. Frequently discussed challenges for all coasts included the impact of housing shortages and increased storm activity on the marine economy. Also, aquaculture is viewed around the country as a positive force.
I was personally struck by the diversity of most fishing fleets across the country as compared to Maine, which makes Island Institute’s dedication to supporting revenue diversification in our state even more important.
PHOEBE WALSH
Community Development Officer
The conference was an excellent chance to reflect on our work in Maine by situating it in the national context. While the scale of infrastructure, funding, and climate impacts vary, all working waterfronts share similar challenges and opportunities.
Major themes I noticed included climate change adaptation, decarbonization, and the need for robust infrastructure to support electrification.
One panelist summed it up, saying “It takes green to go green.” This sentiment resonated amid discussions on changing federal funding. Our efforts at Island Institute focus on “setting the table,” because all aspects of electrification must be addressed in tandem.
LIA MORRIS
Senior Community Development Officer
I was thrilled to be part of a panel that shared insights from pioneering projects that are advancing maritime electrification across the country. The ecosystem of partners working on the front-edge of electric/hybrid-electric marine propulsion is scattered across the country and the world, so to all be in the same room was so fun!
The panel explored commercial electric and hybrid propulsion initiatives for workboats and fishing vessels, while providing practical guidance on grant programs, financing opportunities, and successful public-private partnerships. Collectively, we highlighted the critical need for understanding power infrastructure to support the maritime sector’s transition to a low-carbon future.
SAM FELDMAN
Community Development Officer
I was struck by how similar our working waterfront challenges in Maine are to those around the country. Regardless of region or scale, working waterfront communities are making tough choices about how to preserve their livelihoods in the face of other economic development opportunities. Additionally, ports of all sizes are struggling financially to keep up with maintenance for existing structures. Innovations in infrastructure and electrification are being discussed at a time when, in some cases, even cataloging what currently exists on the coast is a challenge. Despite all of that, each person I heard speak shared an undercurrent of hope driving their work.
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Stonington, Deer Isle in the 1970s
Documentary photographer Jeff Dworky’s work featured in new book
Jeff Dworsky dropped out of school at 14, bought a Leica at 15, and moved to Stonington at 16. He became a fisherman. He met a girl, got married, and settled in the area.
Dworsky, whose photos have been featured in the Island Institute’s Island Journal publication, donated his archives to the Penobscot Marine Museum in Searsport. Some of the images from that collection, included here, shot in Stonington and Deer Isle, will be published by Charcoal Press as a fine art book titled Sealskin. See CharcoalPress.com for ordering information.
Mackerel guts.
Colwell’s during a storm.
Jeff Justin.
Herb Sierra.
Cary at the weir.
Our Island Communities
Remembering DAVID LUNT, my father
A Frenchboro icon left an enduring legacy
BY DEAN LUNT
In the later stages of my father’s life, dementia slowly exacted its toll while the long-tail effects of a stroke increasingly limited his mobility. Still, my father daily summoned his strength and focus to move from the living room to his kitchen table chair—an often slow, nail-biting, yet inspiring trek. He usually sized up his next move, extended his arm, and lunged from door casing to countertop to chair back. When he finally dropped down in his seat, his lips creased into a smile and his tired eyes sparkled once more.
“Made it,” he would proclaim to no one and everyone.
Following the death in January of my 86-year-old father and coastal icon, David Lunt, I read many lovely notes from friends. Many mentioned his knowing smile or his eyes. When reading a man who accomplished so much, but held his cards so close, such features spoke volumes in a flash—comforting, confident, knowing, sly, trust—the answer key to a poker face. I knew them well.
The sweeping story of my father’s life is remarkable, layered, and endlessly fascinating. He was a lifelong fisherman, businessman, and community leader born in the remote island fishing village of Frenchboro when it still lacked basic amenities such as electricity and indoor plumbing.
Like so many islanders, his parents, Sanford “Dick” Lunt and Vivian (Davis) Lunt, grew up in poverty. He married Avis Sandra Morris in 1958, built an island home, and raised three children on the banks of Lunt Harbor.
He was blessed with a sharp mind and operated on instinct (he was not fond of “process”) to help pull his hometown into a more modern world. And he worked tirelessly with state agencies and organizations, such as Island Institute, to push new ideas in a constant struggle to keep it alive.
He was guided by tradition, but unafraid of change; a six-generation native with roots running deep into island soil, but an adventurer at heart. Throughout successes and failures and joys and hardships, he remained unflappable, rarely raising his voice, and never flashing anger.
Good writing should include a narrative arc, a connective thread that binds a larger story—for a half century my father served as lead protagonist for his community and as my throughline and inspiration. He was a calming presence who sowed confidence and trust despite never actually verbalizing it. Instead, his parental superpowers fired in those eyes and danced on those lips. From Little League through college and into adulthood, he never said much in my moments of joy or pain or confusion, but his face and his smile and his body language told me it would be alright.
During a cold wet spring in 1984, he drove me across the New York thruway to the gray and seemingly dying industrial city of Syracuse. We stayed in a way-past-its-prime downtown hotel that hugged deserted city streets sitting somewhere between quiet and dangerous.
Up the hill, the Syracuse University campus pulsated with more than 10,000 students, imposing academic buildings, and the cavernous 50,000-seat Carrier Dome. We were not on Frenchboro anymore.
My dad took it all in, as he always did, never offering an opinion about whether I should enroll. He knew I needed to make the decision. Some, including my mom, felt I shouldn’t go. When I officially mailed my acceptance letter, Mom was shocked.
Dad just signed the paperwork, telling Mom, “He knows what he’s doing.”
She would fire back, “What if he doesn’t?”
He’d just shrug and say, “He’ll just try something else.”
And that never changed. Dad never gave me a single piece of this-is-what-you-must-do advice in my life, rather he spent a life instilling confidence and trusting that he was mentally handing over a DIY inner voice to guide me.
Later that fall, when he dropped me off at Syracuse, he stood on the sidewalk outside my dorm with a twinkle in his eyes and a wry smile to say, I know you got this and you know you got this. Jump ahead 35 years, and we were on a different highway in a truck camper heading south. Neither of my parents could make such a drive anymore, so I was taking them to South Carolina to set up their campsite. I took care of the details, including finding a local locksmith to cut extra keys and map out spots to hide them for the sure-to-happen lockouts.
My mother scoffed, but Dad, ever the pragmatist, understood it was all necessary so he could enjoy his final Carolina sunsets. He followed me everywhere, watching what I did and how I did it. Finally, when it was time for me to head back to Maine, Mom was sitting at the picnic table fretting whether they could handle everything. Not Dad. He was just standing there as if to say, I got this and you know I got this. I drove off and didn’t doubt it for a second; those eyes and that smile told me so.
David Lunt in his later years. PHOTO: NICOLE WOLF
Dean and his father, David Lunt. PHOTO: NICOLE WOLF
Imagine island EMS at night… without the ferry
Ferry service plan would dramatically change emergency services
BY COURTNEY NALIBOFF
Imagine this. It’s winter. You’re up on a ladder, knocking icicles off your gutters, when a slight misstep sends you tumbling to the ground. You’ve fallen ten feet, and your head got a good knock on the frozen ground. Your partner calls 911, running outside with a blanket.
Everything hurts, and it’s hard to tell if anything is broken. The ambulance, staffed by two community volunteer EMTs and one driver, arrives about ten minutes later. They collect information about your fall and your medical history, check your vital signs, and do a head-to-toe assessment.
They put a cervical collar around your neck and immobilize you on an evacu-splint, which is then strapped to a backboard. They lift you, mindful to protect their own backs and knees, onto the stretcher, which has been rolled next to you. You’re loaded into the ambulance, where it’s warm and the light is better.
You’re cold, you’re uncomfortable, and you’re frightened.
While the EMTs have been performing their assessments and interventions, the driver has been trying to arrange transportation. It’s essential that you are taken to a hospital for imaging as quickly as possible.
And you live on North Haven, an unbridged island 12 miles from the mainland. That means, if the state Department of Transportation decides that Maine State Ferry Service boats will dock on the mainland for the night, as proposed, there will be no emergency transportation to a hospital.
Back on the island, it’s 4 p.m., nearing dusk, and Penobscot Island Air is done flying for the day.
LifeFlight would love to help, but all its helicopters are out on critical calls, and because you’re breathing and talking and not disoriented, you’re not a high enough priority for them to redirect.
Driving the ambulance onto the ferry would keep you warm, and the EMTs would have access to all of their equipment should your condition change. It would also provide the most comfortable ride, as the wind has started to pick up.
But the ferry is docked on the mainland for the night.
The driver calls each of the few boat captains who keep their vessels in the water all year. Only one is available and willing to do the transport. She’s moored in the Fox Islands Thorofare and agrees to meet the ambulance at the town float in 15 minutes.
The ambulance backs out of the driveway and heads down the road. The driver is scrupulously careful, but each bump on the icy road sends shocks of pain through your body. The EMTs activate hot packs and tuck them in, wrapping you with several layers of additional blankets.
Upon arrival at the ferry parking lot, the ambulance driver backs as close to the float ramp as he dares. The EMTs and the driver hop out and open the
back doors of the truck. The icy wind rushes in. They unload the stretcher and prepare for the treacherous descent down the ramp to the float.
It’s low tide, and the ramp is at a steeply acute angle. In the growing darkness, it’s difficult to tell which of the black tar paper steps are icy. The float looks like a sheet cake with a layer of white frosting, and it tosses and pitches atop the choppy water. As frightened as you are of the injuries you might have sustained, the next steps are even more terrifying.
The driver moves ahead of the EMTs to spot them as they head down the ramp. You can hear them narrating each step to each other as they move from the parking lot to the ramp, then the bump as the stretcher wheels are pushed and half lifted over each wooden strip. Your head is elevated, and your view is of the EMT at the foot of the stretcher. You can see the strain and worry on their faces as they use all their strength to keep the stretcher from tumbling out of control.
After an eternity—or a minute— the stretcher is off the ramp. You feel the movement of the float as waves of discomfort, and you can hear the wheels scratching on the crusted snow and ice.
The boat captain is ready and has hopped out of her vessel to assist with the next steps. You know her and are familiar with her boat. It has a partially enclosed cabin and an open stern, and you’re not certain how you’ll fit, mummified as you are. The wind cuts through the pile of blankets you’ve been swaddled with, and the hot packs are barely noticeable.
The EMT at your head narrates the next steps. First the stretcher is oriented perpendicular to the gunwale of the boat. You feel one layer of straps release around you. Then you’re slid halfway off the stretcher towards the boat.
The captain and the EMT at your feet climb into the boat, moving carefully as it, too, is encrusted with ice. You feel yourself sliding further towards them as the driver and the EMT at your head join them, hoisting you all the way into the boat as they climb aboard.
They carry you, avoiding coils of rope and plastic totes, as far into the partially enclosed cabin as they’re able to, and set you down on the count of three. The foot of the board, and your feet, are out in the open, and they add fresh heat packs and even more blankets.
They transfer essential equipment— a LifePack, a jump bag—into the boat. The driver disembarks to bring the ambulance back to the station and clean it, and the EMTs crowd into the cabin as best they can. One texts the crew members who aren’t on call to let them know that they’re both transporting, and to request coverage while they’re gone.
The boat pulls away from the float. You’re familiar with the route to Rockland, but you’ve most often experienced it from the relative comfort of the ferry cabin, or from your car on the
boat. Your gaze here is on the ceiling of the boat. You can’t look at the horizon to stave off seasickness.
The EMTs’ faces come in and out of view as they make small talk, which you realize is both to distract you and to make sure you haven’t lost consciousness or become disoriented. The blood pressure cuff squeezes your arm at regular intervals.
The movement of the boat up and down over the chop increases, and you realize you’ve passed the Monument and are out in the open bay. The captain does her best, as the ambulance driver did, but time is also of the essence, and the EMTs urge her to sacrifice comfort for speed. The cold is dangerous, and the extent of your injuries are still a mystery.
The water calms. You’ve passed the Owls Head Light. You’re not sure if you can feel your toes, but when an
EMT asks, you can make out the pressure of their hand on your foot. One of the EMTs radios to ask a mainland EMS service to meet them at Journey’s End marina.
The boat’s motor slows. The elaborate process of disembarking the boat begins. The captain and the EMTs lift you incrementally up and over the gunwale. EMTs from the mainland service walk down the ramp—easily three times as long as the one to the town float, and still at a dizzying angle—and assist in carrying you up. You can hear the squeak of boots as everyone struggles to maintain their footing on the slick metal surface. Finally, you are loaded into the warmth and light of the awaiting ambulance, and you speed away to the hospital, not envying the captain and the two EMTs for their frigid ride home.
Although North Haven EMS utilizes private boats for emergency transportation regularly, we also depend on the Maine State Ferry Service for transportation where weather or patient conditions make it safest to have a warm, controlled environment with all of our equipment at hand.
Our transportation options also dramatically decrease in the winter, when many private boats are out of the water and daylight hours are diminished, making it more likely that we would need to ask for a ferry transport.
We recently filmed a demonstration of loading a patient on a stretcher from the ferry parking lot, down the ramp, and onto a lobster boat. We also filmed the reverse process, as though we had arrived at Journey’s End. It was mid-tide and perfectly calm, with the setting sun providing just enough light. At 25 degrees it was plenty cold, but we’ve seen single digit temperatures with negative wind chill factors this winter. Even in those relatively ideal winter conditions, a lobster boat ride strapped to a backboard isn’t something anyone would wish for.
The purpose of the demonstration was to advocate for the continued berthing of our ferries on the islands, which may no longer be the case in the near future.
We are always grateful to the private boat captains who are willing to run us across at odd hours and in challenging circumstances, but want to highlight the importance of having the ferry as an option, especially at night and in inclement weather, or when patient outcomes depend on having the resources and stability of the ambulance at our disposal.
The video has garnered hundreds of views, and our stance was highlighted in a Maine Public radio story. The discussion continues, but maybe putting yourself in the patient’s shoes is a helpful perspective to imagine.
To view the video, go to YouTube and search “Courtney Naliboff EMS transport movie.”
Courtney Naliboff lives with her husband and daughter on North Haven where she teaches in the island school. She also serves as a volunteer with the island emergency medical services team.
DMR demonstrates ropeless gear in Jonesport
Deadlines approaching for possible new lobster rules
BY KRISTIN GARABEDIAN
Maine’s lobster industry is navigating the impacts of federal legal action aimed at protecting the North Atlantic right whale. Regulations are administered by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and the rulemaking process is managed by NOAA’s Take Reduction Team, which includes representatives from the industry, state and federal managers, conservation groups, and science and academic institutions.
In collaboration with Maine Department of Marine Resources, Maine Sea Grant, Maine Center for Coastal Fisheries, Maine Coast Fishermen’s Association, Gulf of Maine Lobster Foundation, and Sunrise County Economic Council, Island Institute is supporting a project that aims to trial available types of on-demand gear through the Maine Innovative Gear Library. The goal, through paid industry participation, is to determine the realworld capabilities and challenges associated with ropeless gear.
On Feb. 18, this was demonstrated in Jonesport for fishermen, marine patrol officers, and members of the public to see it in person, ask questions, and voice concerns. At the town landing, DMR staff had lift bag, stowed rope, timed release, and spring release gear on display.
Down the street, attendees were able to converse with event organizers about the project and the potential uses and limitations in Maine for ropeless gear. Conversations and concerns covered
a wide range of topics including feasibility of the gear at depth, use in strong currents and other conditions, gear density, sharing gear location information, and the impacts to their profitability this gear could have if implemented.
Along with other project participants, Island Institute welcomes these conversations and feedback as part of our efforts to encourage fishermen participation and collect qualitative data to inform this project.
In collaboration with other ongoing DMR research and data collection projects, this gear testing allows the industry to offer feedback during the upcoming regulatory process in a concrete and substantive way.
For Maine members of the Take Reduction Team to best advocate for the lobster industry and have supporting data, there is an urgent need for industry participation during the upcoming fishing season. Below are the current scheduled meetings and deadlines to establish recommendations and final rule:
Late summer/early fall: TRT meets for data review and preliminary recommendations.
October: TRT sets recommendations for conservation measures.
January 2026: TRT votes on recommendations.
Fall 2027: Final rule is published.
January 1, 2029: New rule effective
islandinstitute.org/ropeless-gear-demonstration
Please reach out to Kristin Garabedian at kgarabedian@islandinstitute.org to learn more about this project.
Briony Donahue, Maine DMR (left) prepares a stowed rope unit for deployment, while Megan Ware, Maine DMR (right) prepares a lift bag unit.
PHOTO: JACK SULLIVAN
Rory Morgan of DMR uses an acoustic receiver that alerts the lift bag unit to deploy to the surface. PHOTO: JACK SULLIVAN
Rory Morgan of Maine DMR displays an Ashored stowed rope unit.
PHOTO: JACK SULLIVAN
Cape Cod fishing boats add water sensors
Real-time data will help regulators and fishermen
BY CRAIG IDLEBROOK
Within the next year, some 150 Cape Cod fishing boats will be equipped with sensors to collect vital information about ocean temperatures and water oxygen levels off the northeast coast of the Atlantic Ocean. The information collected will help researchers better understand the changing conditions of the Atlantic Ocean in the long term, and help fishermen adapt to those conditions in the short term.
In November, the Massachusetts Technology Collaborative’s Innovation Institute awarded a $2 million grant to the Cape Cod Commercial Fishermen’s Alliance to equip the boats with smart sensors that can transmit temperature data in real time. They will also be equipped with oxygen-measuring sensors closer to the summer months, when low-oxygen events are most likely to occur. The temperature sensors can measure the various temperatures of the water column as they are dropped into the water.
The sensors are Bluetooth-enabled, and transmit data to researchers whenever the equipment can ping off cellular towers. Researchers can then translate the data received into forecasts fishermen can use to make more efficient fishing decisions based on ocean conditions. The data also can be
immediately viewed by fishermen via onboard devices.
This effort builds on similar, recent efforts by several organizations and universities to outfit Gulf of Maine fishing boats with upgraded temperature and oxygen sensors.
This grant greatly expands the number of boats in southern New England waters which can provide this data, said Mel Sanderson, the Alliance’s chief operating officer. It builds on a pilot program launched during the COVID pandemic to outfit a dozen fishing vessels with sensors, and finetune the equipment used.
Some 20 additional vessels have already been equipped with the new equipment, and the goal is to onboard 20 more vessels a month, Sanderson said.
For more than 20 years, researchers with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and other institutions have collaborated with fishermen to collect ocean temperature data in New England. But until recently, those efforts were labor-intensive, and the data collected wouldn’t be available until the next fishing season.
Initially, the data was recorded by hand by participating fishermen, and temperature logs were mailed to researchers. Then the info was collected automatically and recorded onto USB drives, but that still required researchers to collect the data and crunch the
OFFICER OF THE YEAR—
Maine Marine Patrol Specialist Dan Vogel (second from right) receives the 2025 Maine Lobstermen’s Association Officer of the Year Award during the Fishermen’s Forum.
Pictured with Vogel are Deer Isle lobsterman and MLA board member Brian Billings (left), Beals Island lobsterman and MLA board vice-chairman Sonny Beal (second from left), and Marine Patrol Col. Matt Talbot Beal (right).
numbers before it could be accessible to fishermen, Sanderson said.
“Originally fishermen wouldn’t actually see the data until after the fishing season was over,” she said.
Limitations in the sensor technology also meant that earlier generations of the sensors could only be used in fixed fishing gear like lobster traps.
George A. Maynard coordinates the NOAA program that equips fishing vessels with these sensors. He says that cellular and sensor technology improvements have created the opportunity to collect and distribute data remotely and in real time. In addition, researchers can troubleshoot and upgrade the sensors remotely.
Perhaps just as importantly, the sensors have become equipped with GPS technology that allows data to be gathered from moving fishing gear, greatly expanding which vessels can participate in data collection.
“That change in technology allowed us to start working with the mobile gear fleets,” Maynard said. “And so now we’re working with just about every type of fishing gear that’s fished in the northeast commercially.”
This data likely will help fishermen on the East Coast as they grapple with rapidly changing and often unpredictable weather and temperature conditions, said Sanderson. Researchers can provide forecasts of temperature and
oxygen level trends, and fishermen can pinpoint if the water will be the right temperature for catching particular species of fish.
Fishermen who in the past relied on information gleaned from experience in fishing recently have encountered many surprises, said Sanderson. For example, while the waters off the Cape have been rapidly warming, last year the waters were the coldest they had been since 1996, she said.
“Fishermen’s decisions are often based on decades and decades, or even generations of traditional knowledge. They’ve built up this understanding of what’s supposed to happen when on the water, but things are changing so rapidly that it’s really hard to keep up with that knowledge and have it be current without additional tools,” Sanderson said.
According to Sanderson and Maynard, the sensor program offers an important opportunity for fishermen to advance science while also looking out for their businesses.
“It’s helping the larger understanding of the environment, and how we’re going to make Massachusetts coastally resilient and all of that good stuff,” Sanderson said. “But at the end of the day, for us, it really comes down to the fishermen being able to use it to help make decisions about where and when they’re going to fish.”
book reviews
Mystery hidden in island fog
Story is thick with characters with histories
Thickafog
By Caleb Mason (Publerati, 2025)
REVIEW BY CLARKE CANFIELD
THICKAFOG is a murder mystery set on a Maine island inspired by Vinalhaven. As much as the novel is a whodunit, it’s also about the sense of community—the good, bad, and ugly of it all—that comes with island living.
The book is primarily told through the words and eyes of Jon Davis, an island carpenter with a good heart and a drinking problem. Davis’ 85-year-old high-spirited father, Bobby Davis, has come to live with Jon on remote Archer Island after being kicked out of an assisted living community in Florida for his unacceptable behavior.
Thus begins a tale over a year-plus span in which Bobby Davis makes his presence felt on the island, moving in with the elderly “Island Queen,” Ingrid, and making friends and enemies along the way.
But nine months after arriving, Bobby meets an untimely death. He’s found dead at the bottom of a cliff near Jon’s house, where he lived alone—at least until his father moved in. Who was the culprit?
Suspicions fall on Jon, who has an uneasy relationship with his father, not to mention a serious drinking problem.
Then there’s Kevin, Ingrid’s drugdealer son who thinks Bobby is after his mother’s money—which happens to be his inheritance. Or perhaps it’s one of many other characters that are introduced throughout.
Along the way through the 345-page book, author Caleb Mason introduces us to a crew of native islanders, transplants from the mainland, and summer folk, and the inevitable tensions that arise when such a variety of people are brought together.
Thickafog’s cast of characters includes Shane, a contractor from the mainland who’s building a home for a wealthy summer resident, deals drugs, and pisses off the locals by taking up four parking spots with his old RV in the town’s small parking lot. Ingrid’s daughter, Olivia, lives in Boston as an art restoration expert with her wife, and
like her brother is suspicious of Bobby’s motives in courting her mother.
Linda works at the island school and strikes up a romance with Jon, but is leery of his drinking. Charlie is a teenager who’s been temporarily taken in by a lobsterman while the courts figure out what to do with him after his mom is arrested on drug charges.
Rohan is a Silicon Valley tech bigwig who digs into his deep pockets to help locals in need. And the list goes on.
The chapters bounce back and forth in time, from August 2022 when Bobby moves in with Jon through a surprise ending in December 2023.
Through it all, the constant presence of the island fog—“thickafog,” as the lobstermen say—plays a recurring role. The thick fog that rolls in and blankets the island, the fog in Jon’s brain from his drinking, the fog of dementia that the “Island Queen” suffers from.
The book also touches upon the hardworking and caring people of Archer Island, and neighboring Dunbar Island, where neighbors take care of neighbors, share meals, belly up to the bar together, and share and keep secrets as need be.
Another look at the midwife’s story
Diaries inform novel, but writer makes changes
That The Frozen River was set in Maine was what initially drew my interest, but this historical novel based on the diaries of 18th century midwife Martha Moore Ballard delivered so much more.
I had long ago read scholar Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s treatment of Martha’s journals, A Midwifes Tale:The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812 and watched the PBS movie based on it.
Most readers will recognize the dire circumstances of women’s lives several hundred years ago. And women remain second-class citizens to men in many ways—career opportunities and pay, freedom to make one’s own decisions, reproductive rights, and so on. I think Ariel Lawhon illustrates examples of some of those in The Frozen River, while touting progress in women’s literacy at the time.
Lawhon has based her book on the original document in the Maine State
Archives and not Ulrich’s PulitzerPrize winning biography and turns certain events from the diaries into her novel. In an author’s note, Lawhon describes her treatment of the original diary and the changes she made, including the timing of some events and character names.
She asserts that “roughly 75 percent of what happens on these pages closely follows the historical record.” But she emphatically reminds us the book is “inspired by real events as opposed to being based on them.” The book is her version of “what could have happened.”
Lawhon recommends readers also pick up A Midwife’s Tale and read it.
“There are numerous instances where I changed, edited, or condensed Martha’s diary entries,” she notes. “A very small handful are fictional. My goal was to take many of the things that interested me about Martha’s life and condense them into one story that takes place over a six-month period.”
Some readers may already have been familiar with Lawhon; she is a co-author of an earlier book, promoted online as “Christian” literature. When Lawhon shares personal acknowledgments at the end of The Frozen River, she describes Jesus as her savior, writing it is her greatest hope that “His great love is reflected in the pages of this book.”
“The island is a self-contained community where everyone needs to help everyone get through the year,” Jon tells readers as he’s narrating the book. “Trumpers help Bidenites, and vice versa. Non-believers help Bible thumpers. Don’t get me wrong…we can hate each other on social media and when not in person, but once people get together in the flesh, they are much more decent than when online. The people who need help on the island can get it. There are plenty of fundraising events—church suppers, yard sales, online groups. Some people clean up after finding God. Others clean up after they’ve lost everything and barely survive a drug overdose. It’s a mixed bag, but a small bag where everybody is seen.” Caleb Mason, who lives on Vinalhaven, is the author of five previous books: one non-fiction about the Isle of Shoals off southern Maine and four fiction books written under the pen name Don Trowden.
Clarke Canfield is a former Portland Press Herald and Associated Press reporter and regular contributor to The Working Waterfront. He lives in South Portland.
At first I wondered if I had missed something in her book that might have indicated Martha’s story or character served to deliver that Christian message. Lawhon does say her Martha is a Christian, and specifies her Martha is different from Ulrich’s.
In fact, religion as such didn’t seem to play a role. But I did wonder about midwives and some aspects of their job that might have been omitted or changed by Lawhon. I am no expert on this history. I checked, and in Ulrich’s book, it seems many midwives in that period put a woman’s health and well-being first. For various reasons, large families were seen as beneficial at that time and successful pregnancies and deliveries of their patients’ babies—as was Martha’s record—could be a measure of good practice.
We are given no example of Martha supporting family planning or spacing of babies for the sake of a mother’s health…
enduring serial pregnancies until a father’s goal of having a son is successful. Rape victims—Martha tends to one in the story—could be expected to carry to term children conceived through this violence, no matter the psychological costs. Lawhon’s Martha knows herbs could help end pregnancy (midwives made many herbal remedies but decided against their use).
The Frozen River curates history in Maine at that time to show a status quo. Lawhon seems to think what is best for a woman is not necessarily based on what they think or want.
While she expresses great respect for midwives and the care they provide, in her home state of Tennessee that care is greatly circumscribed by law.
But in Lawhon’s book, we are given no example of Martha supporting family planning or spacing of babies for the sake of a mother’s health or well-being. Lawhon offers examples of women
I think The Frozen River might be construed as having a message for women that abortions aren’t in anyone’s best interest (and by extension, one wonders, deserve to be illegal?). But read both books and see what you think.
Tina Cohen is a therapist who spends part of the year on Vinalhaven.
The Frozen River By Ariel Lawhon (Doubleday, 2023)
REVIEW BY TINA COHEN
Writing prompts personal revelations
Collection of Maine-based essays a pleasing read book reviews
Alive To This: Essays on Living Fully by 20 Maine Writers
Edited by Kara Douglas & Erin O’Mara (Littoral Books)
REVIEW
BY TOM GROENING
I’VE BECOME enamored of the essay form. Most of the writers who contribute to The Working Waterfront are seasoned journalists, with decades of experience. Our every-other-month publication means we can’t break “hard” news, but we can explain developments. I often push our writers to ease up on attribution and tell the reader what they, as veteran observers of the Maine coast, know to be true. To signal this, I
sometimes label these pieces as essays.
The works in Alive To This: Essays on Living Fully by 20 Maine Writers are not analytical about our world, necessarily, but are, rather, personal explorations and reflections, and sometimes are revelatory in where they land. It’s a bold move, writing about one’s passions, or fears, or tragedies, or hardearned growth.
There is a wide range of topics, of voices, and of writing skill. And that’s OK.
The essays seem to have sprung from a writing prompt, as implied in the subtitle. I don’t mean this to be snarky, but some of the pieces read like those produced in an adult ed writing class. I’m more than willing to meet the more amateurly rendered essays halfway; it’s like the “Moth” radio show, in which real stories are told live.
It’s impossible to not be moved by someone opening up this way, and the only way it can fail is when it is overwrought, pretentious, or over-written.
There are a few pieces that slide into these sins, but the bulk are honest in their aim.
The many colors of Maine are visible in the essays, and in this collection, we see a Maine that’s changing. A younger generation is well represented, as is the cohort of “New Mainers,” those who have arrived from other countries.
Some of the subjects explored include restoring a barn from the 1830s, a session of hallucinogenic use to unlock the next step in “adulting,” a commitment to running each day, a meditation on and genealogical inquiry of an old apple tree, a recounting of landing in Maine to live, and a visit to an elderly nursing home resident.
The length of each essay nicely matches the depth of the subject. And again, the sharply varied writing voices and tones are refreshing as they explore Maine and living fully in it, much like listening to a record with different artists covering a favorite songwriter.
Political refugee lands in Portugal
Dennis
Bailey finds a home in ‘land of sunshine, sardines’
REVIEW
BY
Olá Portugal: Why I Moved to the Land of Sunshine and Sardines (and how you can too)
By Dennis Bailey
TOM GROENING
AN OLD friend was teasing me recently about my lack of travel experience. I have never left North America, and as an adult, haven’t ventured past New England, the Canadian Maritimes, and Quebec very often.
I’m OK with that, because I think the region has enough beautiful, and culturally rich corners to keep me busy for the rest of my life.
But my wife hopes, in retirement, to visit Italy for its culinary delights. I’m more partial to Ireland. But now, after reading Dennis Bailey’s interesting little book, Olá Portugal: Why I Moved to the Land of Sunshine and Sardines (and how you can too), I think I may have a compromise.
Bailey is an interesting character. He grew up in Livermore Falls, a paper mill town, and ended up in journalism, including a stint at the Lewiston
Sun-Journal, and then landed a gig as Gov. Angus King’s communications director.
Later, he formed a PR firm, Savvy, Inc., working for political candidates and businesses.
About eight years ago, he faced a fundamental question:
“One morning, around 2016, I woke up in bed and thought, ‘Why do I live here?’ I had recently been divorced (for the second time), both my parents had passed…my daughter was living far across the country in San Francisco, and my two brothers were in different states...”
And yes, for the liberalleaning Bailey, the political climate was a factor:
“The intense polarization, the politicization of everything, was tearing the country apart, wearing me down. I kept hearing Rufus Wainwright’s song ‘Going to a Town,’ in which he sings, ‘I’m so tired of America.’ After working for years in Washington D.C. politics, and decades before that in Maine, yes, I was tired of America — exhausted.”
had landed in Portugal, a 44% increase from two years earlier, he writes. For Bailey, COVID was a factor, as the early wave put him in the hospital for an extended stay. “Ever since I got out of the hospital, I had this sense that I was just treading water, not fully living the time I had left,” writes. “And it dawned on me that I was already working remotely. My PR clients were all over the world; the best (and best paying) was in Western Africa. What did they care where I lived?”
Bailey dives into the details on everything, from how to order a cup of coffee to banking…
When the book was written in late 2024, more than 14,000 Americans
Bailey takes pains to note that the book is not a travel guide. OK, and I’m not moving to Portugal, but it just rose to the top of the list of European countries I’d like to visit, thanks to the vivid, practical, and realistic depiction of the country he provides.
After a visit to scope out where he might live— on the coast, of course, but somewhere between urban and rural—he engages a guide to help him find a place to rent, and it turns out she is an attractive woman, and the two grow close. His friends warn him he is being “catfished,” but they meet on a subsequent visit, and are now a couple.
Carl Little and Dana Wilde, two regular contributors to The Working Waterfront, each have an essay included here, and, if you’ll ignore my bias, I believe they are among the strongest. The “alive” meaning of the title, thankfully, didn’t conjure “bucket list” stories or tales of “life on the edge.” Instead, the theme that runs through the essays is connection—to others, to place, to a task or challenge, and to a deeper understand of self.
E.B. White’s essays, collected in One Man’s Meat (a favorite of mine), raised a high bar for the form. White looked around at his world and reflected on it, thoughtfully. But even he, a master, went only so far in personal disclosure. By moving toward the confessional, as appropriate, subsequent generations of writers, like those contributing to Alive To This, can reach a reader in a deep place.
Tom Groening is editor of The Working Waterfront.
Rent is a lot cheaper than Portland, and even cheaper than Rockland. Public transportation can eliminate the need for a car. Crime and drug abuse are low. Most everyone speaks English well.
Bailey dives into the details on everything, from how to order a cup of coffee to banking, from how to buy food at a street market to why the roofs are all red. There’s no sugar coating, though. He notes that cigarette smoking is prevalent, and people in restaurants treat their phones like walkie-talkies, holding them so patrons can hear both sides of conversation.
The history and culture run deep. Lisbon predates the establishment of Rome by 400 years. Coastal fortifications date to Columbus’ era.
My wife is a foodie, and I lean more toward pub fare, but even I was salivating at what can be enjoyed at a restaurant. And maybe the best part— the bill for fine dining is easily a third cheaper than a dinner in Portland.
As I said, Bailey is an interesting character, and his guide to the land of sunshine and sardines is fully entertaining and enticing. Even to a timid traveler like me.
The book is available on Amazon.
Tom Groening is editor of The Working Waterfront.
saltwater cure
What sports should be
Reluctant basketball fan is converted
BY COURTNEY NALIBOFF
OVER MY TWO decades at North Haven Community School, I’ve developed a fondness for basketball.
Not televised basketball (although I, too, was swept up in the women’s NCAA excitement last year) or any basketball where I haven’t known the players since birth, or at least kindergarten. Just the North Haven Hawks.
I’ve been to countless basketball games, especially since many of them are held during the school day, and cheered for my students. Some of them are now coaches themselves. It’s the circle of life.
This year, I’ve gone from fan through proximity to basketball parent, as Pen is now old enough to join the Busline League. I was supportive, of course, since basketball is deeply enmeshed in North Haven culture. But over the course of this remarkable season, I’ve gone from a sports skeptic to a true believer.
I went into the role of basketball parent with low expectations and a few preconceived notions. I am a non-athlete (at least in a team sports
context), so it’s easy for me to fall into the same bias where Pen is concerned.
But she isn’t me, and she can catch and throw with pretty normal accuracy. I was still surprised, however, when she (and the entire team) started getting playing time in the very first game.
I’m used to seeing her on stage, but the edge-of-my-seat tension of watching my child play basketball introduced me to a new level of anxiety. I think I held my breath for the entire two minutes she was on the court. She looked mildly terrified, too, mostly at the prospect of having to interact physically with the members of the opposing team.
But quickly, under the exceptional coaching of Lindsey Beverage and Liza Waterman, she started gaining knowledge, skills, and the confidence that comes with both. In fact, the whole team did.
And soon, the Busline Hawks—a shorter-than-average co-ed team, typically matched against boys teams that might be populated primarily by eighth graders—started winning. A lot.
And while the team does have some stand-out players, the main strategy
the coaches employed seemed to be one of inclusion. Every player was on the court at least once in every game, barring illness or injury. Every player had an understanding of their strengths. Every player was tasked with being a knowledge keeper for the ins and outs of their plays.
I know this because my own player took it upon herself to teach me the plays after practice, patiently trying to guide me through the difference between a screen and a box-out under the tiny basketball hoop in our kitchen.
The underdog sports-movie vibe of it all came to its logical conclusion towards the end of the season. Pen had overcome her hesitancy and was now more than willing to fight for the ball. But her coaches didn’t stop there.They employed a series of plays designed to get the smallest players on the team up to the basket to give them opportunities to score points.
Pen’s best friend was the first one to make a shot, and the crowd went wild. Pen ran over to hug her in the middle of game play, and her friend was carried out like a queen at the end of the game.
journal of an island kitchen
Seasonal eating as an extreme sport
Tasty local vegetables fill a table for a year
BY SANDY OLIVER
AS AN EXPERIMENT one year, I vowed not to buy, cook, or eat any out-of-season vegetables. No eggplant in December. No asparagus in January. No broccoli in March. Sort of eating by pre-Civil War era standards. (You’d be surprised how quickly fresh produce found its way north after the hostilities ceased and restored train routes and steam-powered vessels made it possible, certainly in urban places if not Maine islands).
For centuries, eating out of season was a parlor trick practiced by elites as humankind knocked itself out to eliminate seasonal differences in our diets which artificial refrigeration and speedy global transportation now make easy, even if expensive.
Other growing season-extending technologies like hot beds and greenhouses kept the royalty in fancy fresh produce as early as 400 to 500 years ago and trickled down to prosperous urban classes abroad in the mid-1800s. Now even in cold coastal Maine, sunwarmed high tunnels provide us with salad and cooking greens, carrots, and other cold-tolerant vegetables. We can farm year-round, even if some might welcome a winter break instead.
We’ve been dodging seasonal eating so long now we think we must eat that way.
Our reward is flavorless white-centered strawberries, rock-hard tomatoes, and some vegetables which have been on vacation from their native heath so long that many of their nutrients have fled. We’re better off in winter eating frozen broccoli grown in the States processed shortly after harvest than so-called fresh from Mexico or farther.
So, how’d it go? Actually, pretty well. In storage, I had apples, carrots, cabbage both green and red, beets, rutabagas, onions, and winter squash. I can’t recall if Brussels sprouts were in the mix, but they’re certainly a candidate for eating both raw and cooked.
The freezer held home-grown peas, green beans, and corn. In jars, there were tomatoes, plus various kinds of cucumber pickles like dills, sweet and sours, and bread and butters. Dilly beans, cauliflower, carrot, and beet pickles supplemented the collection. Kale carried on in the garden util extreme cold. Cooked vegetables are kind of a no-brainer. I also wanted salad. Cole slaw variations turned out to be a lot of fun. Cole slaw and carrots, with and without chopped pickles. Red cabbage Cole slaw with shredded raw beets. Green Cole slaw plain or with pickles. Cooked, cold beets with and without apples, onions, or mixed with horseradish and sweet and sour dressing.
Pen’s turn came during the team’s home playoff game. I knew it was a possibility, but I was completely unprepared for the tsunami of emotion that I felt watching her set up, shoot, score, and celebrate. The crowd, which filled both sets of bleachers in our gym, gave her a standing ovation. By the end of the game, every single player on the team had scored points at least once that season.
And so, I’m converted. My uneasy feelings about team sports—that they only reward natural talent, that they encourage inter-team competition, that coaches will sacrifice inclusion for the sake of winning—were turned on their head. Thanks to her coaches creating an environment in which every player is nurtured and her peers’ willingness to celebrate each small success, Pen believes in her abilities as a basketball player. And so do I.
Courtney Naliboff teaches at North Haven Community School. She may be contacted at Courtney.Naliboff@gmail.com.
Peeled butternut squash makes salad when one continues to pare them forming lovely orange curls to dress with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and oil—allow it to rest until the squash is slightly softened. Carrot curls dressed with vinaigrette. Waldorf salad with nuts and a little onion was wonderful even without celery. Grated carrot mixed with chopped apple turned out to be kid-friendly sweet.
In past-times, pickles weren’t just an adjunct to a sandwich, or a decorative item on a plate. They were a helpful and delicious way to preserve tender vegetables for later use. Mind you, I really like fresh cukes in summer—a cucumber sandwich made from the first ripe cucumber I pick is a decades long ritual of my kitchen garden life.
In the normal order of things, lettuce, cucumbers, and celery are all I buy until my other stored veggies are used up. That winter of eating only homegrown vegetables taught me that I really like cucumber pickles in salads. Too bad I don’t like sauerkraut very much. I’ve had it cooked with applesauce which seemed pretty tasty. In the past, Anglo Yankees liked pickled red cabbage, salted, vinegared with black pepper, allspice, cloves, mace. Sometimes, green cabbage got that treatment, too.
You might wonder why I didn’t list parsnips or leeks. I grow leeks only sporadically. And parsnips are the first of the spring vegetables, dug after spring thaw, after having wintered over in the ground where they sweeten up like candy.
This year, we ate lettuce salad until Thanksgiving, carefully keeping a few remaining heads covered in the garden. In my winter of no purchased lettuce, I was pretty happy to eat homegrown stuff in the spring, and that is true every year because the buttery tenderness of fresh greens picked minutes before serving is nothing like the green stuff that arrives in a plastic clam-shell even if it’s named “baby.”
Asparagus in late April and May is sublime. Strawberries in June are transcendent. Corn and green beans picked minutes or even a couple of hours before consumption taste like a vegetable you’ve never had.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.
Sandy Oliver is a food historian who gardens, cooks, and writes on Islesboro.
A letter from an island in winter
Cold weather is starting to retreat—finally cranberry report
BY BARBARA FERNALD
DEAR
FRIEND—How
was your winter? It wasn’t too bad staying here on the island, but February was kind of rough. Days and days of temperatures below 20 degrees and a lot of wind.
Ferries seemed to be canceled one or two days every week. That was hard on everyone; both the boat owners and the passengers. You had to be flexible when trying to plan anything.
We were all set to meet up with Robin and Stephanie and the grandkids to watch Henry play in a hockey tournament in Bangor, a few weeks ago. We planned to stay one night at the Fairfield Inn where they were booked. An approaching storm turned that plan into a day trip.
We saw each other for about three hours and headed back in time to catch the 3:30 boat while they set off to arrive in Quebec ahead of the storm. Unfortunately, the boat wasn’t all we caught that day.
Yuck! Here’s one of the most important things I’ve learned all winter: Hand sanitizer does not kill Norovirus! We had all used it to wash our hands before eating lunch at the game, but
then Bruce became suddenly violently ill on Sunday night.
It’s quite contagious. No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, I came down with it on Wednesday. Believe me. They don’t call it the “two bucket disease” for nothing. Wash your hands with soap and water a lot. Especially before you eat!
That was probably the peak of our winter misery followed by a storm that left 2-inches to 3-inches of ice on just about everything but the trees. At the time we were both too sick to deal with it, but after a week we both felt tons better.
Yesterday the temperature was actually in the 40s and it was sunny. A hint of spring at last!
From inside I heard what sounded like a jet flying low overhead. I looked out to see Bruce in the driveway with a flame thrower! It took him two hours with flame and chipper to clear the ice. I took a video for the grandkids.
Today was even warmer. I still hadn’t done my February dip of the month, so I texted Mary to see if she was up for it. The sun felt strong and it was already 46 degrees. Malcolm suggested Gilley Beach and the three of us set off at 10 a.m. to get in the water.
I had been in a horrible mood all morning based on watching too much news and feeling too much disgust with too many things. A dip was just the thing! It always lifts my mood. (Yes, Cindy and I usually dip together, but she went on Monday because she was going away for a week on Tuesday.)
I had been in a horrible mood all morning based on watching too much news. A dip was just the thing!
traps for spring fishing. Want me to text you a photo?
Mary shoveled snow onto her beds in the greenhouse. They needed some moisture to be ready for the greens she hopes to sow. I’m inspired to get out the seed catalogues. I stayed inside for the afternoon to write this letter to you, but I had the window open wide in my studio as the sun streamed in. It was a nice change. The birds are starting to make more noise but I haven’t heard any owls at night, yet.
The air and sun felt great. The water, not so much. I learned from Mark Fernald that it was 33 degrees. We screamed and laughed and felt mighty fine afterward.
The warm air smelled and felt so good it was hard to stay inside. Bruce shoveled out a patch of snow by his traps on the road to accommodate a workbench. He happily started readying his first batch of
observer
Those with eyes to see
Repaired eye invokes a sense of wonder
BY PHIL CROSSMAN
IMAGINE EMERGING from a modest cataract (left eye) removal procedure and discovering, for the first time in 81 years, that you could see, from that eye only, admittedly, but still—you could really see.
You’d known, for most of those 81 years, that there were trees of course, and often branches, but you hadn’t known about twigs or individual leaves, and there were, you knew, little things living little lives among the trees and branches but certainly not readily distinguished from one another. But now, here’s this lovely creature on a twig with dotted wing tips, 12 black dots, as it happens, on the perimeter of each.
You’d seen birds, some with generally distinctive colors, but had no idea these too were so wildly different and so beautifully and astonishingly intricate. Here’s this blue jay looking back at you from the feeder— that regal crest and the collar around its neck and the dexterity of those little feet, capable of a reliable grip on nearly anything. And flowers! You knew the yard was covered in dandelions every summer
but not that each tiny blossom was a hundred individual petals and that these were home to even smaller but now also distinctly different insects.
Perhaps the most profound revelation though was suddenly connecting faces with voices. For 80 years many distinctive voices, if not very near at hand, were easily identified as emanating from the same source, but not be assigned an identity.
In 1948, my grandparents worked for a lovely Boston family, the Rhinelanders, he sort of handyman, now and then a driver, and Gram the cook. Each summer the family—and Gram and Gramp—returned to their enchanting Vinalhaven home, surrounded by woods and ocean, and my two younger brothers and I enjoyed wonderfully imaginative and engaging afternoons there as guests of them and their own four kids.
Their parents spent industrious hours doing things like arranging treasure hunts by running—surely it was miles of string— through the trees, and then, after an
You’d seen birds, some with generally distinctive colors, but had no idea these too were so wildly different and so beautifully and astonishingly intricate.
“On your mark, Get ready, Go,” these were followed by we eager and excited children, each with his or her own string, in pursuit of a prize of some sort at the other end.
If the weather didn’t cooperate, we could count on being entertained in the boathouse, or if it did, we were often there anyway, digging clams under supervision or gathering around a piano and singing. We each returned home from these magical days enriched and full of stories—of surprises and adventure and snacks—and looking
Our ground is still covered in snow in most spots. It’s been pretty unusual for us to have so much white on the ground for so long. I’ve liked it but now I’m over it and ready to start seeing a little more green.
Time to germinate some sprouts in a jar to quickly grow something fresh while I wait. It’s supposed to snow again tomorrow. Sigh.
Barbara Fernald lives on Islesford (Little Cranberry Island). She may be contacted fernald244@gmail.com.
very much forward to the next Rhinelander weekend.
One of their kids was Janey, my first girlfriend, older and wiser at six than I was at five, and she is now the woman I was talking about to begin with, still older—and no doubt wiser—but more importantly, now fully engaged with the world around her, at 81.
Fully, because the stunning revelation that revealed itself after the bandages were removed from her left eye became profoundly more apparent after the right eye was done and life is now very much an adventure as, each day, nature unwraps another wonder, or reveals another otherwise unknown compelling treasure.
I’m apparently among these revelations, as Janey recently observed, “If I’d known you were this handsome back then, well, things would certainly have been different.”
Phil Crossman lives on Vinalhaven and owns the Tidewater Motel. He may be contacted at philcrossman.vh@gmail.com.
fathoming
How nature steps up when waves get rough
Nature-based solutions for Maine’s varied coast
BY JESSICA REILLY-MOMAN
WHEN YOU STEP off the ferry onto Great Diamond Island, you might notice the inlet carved into the land past the rip rap. That inlet is the result of the “hardened” shoreline. Camp Ellis in Saco has seen its beach erode and disappear after a vertical bulkhead was built in the 2010s.
Many municipalities and private landowners are increasingly interested in an alternative—nature-based solutions. These approaches to shoreline erosion use nature and natural processes to protect people, infrastructure, and the environment.
They provide hazard risk reduction, benefits to ecosystems and habitats, and can help provide clean water and space for recreation and wildlife.
“Living shorelines,” or protected, stabilizing coastal edges made of natural materials, have become synonymous with nature-based solutions, since they trap sediment and allow plants to grow and provide wildlife protection. But there are many other examples of nature-based solutions.
These include:
• artificially-made oyster reefs or 3D-printed exoforms used to dissipate wave energy in shallow water
• preserving and restoring dunes, which a 2017 study found prevented over $625 million in direct property damage after Hurricane Sandy
• using rows of Christmas trees to trap sand and stabilize shorelines, as the state currently deploys at Popham Beach State Park.
It can be tempting to imagine that nature-based solutions are a panacea for coastal erosion, but marshes face a serious challenge: many cannot accrete, or accumulate enough sediment to stay above rising seas.
Maine now has a sea level 8 inches higher than a century ago. According to the Scientific and Technical Subcommittee report of the Maine Climate Council, that additional water is what made the difference between a manageable surge and the impacts experienced in the January 2024 storms. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has tried to address this with beneficial reuse of dredge materials, but this can be expensive while trading current negative impacts for future gains.
Whether coastal infrastructure is gray or green, large or small scale, it doesn’t stop the water from rising. A 2022 national assessment of the effectiveness of this approach stressed that naturebased solutions should be considered in
reflections
how people and ecosystems move as the shoreline changes. Nature-based solutions projects provide an opportunity to have conversations about how the coast can work for current and future residents, visitors, and ecosystems.
What if a shoreline is all ledge and stone, like much of Maine? In areas like the backshore of Peaks Island, a cobble beach is the only defense for a shoreline road.
Fortunately, solutions like engineered “dynamic cobble revetments” mimic a natural cobble beach and stabilize the shore, creating an impact zone that absorbs the ocean’s energy by moving with it. This requires maintenance, and practitioners stress that engaging a coastal engineer during construction is critical in high energy environments like those on the Maine coast.
With good planning and maintenance, solutions can also integrate working waterfront infrastructure for hybrid “gray-green” approaches.
There have been plenty of barriers to nature-based solutions, but one of the most common is an existing regulatory framework made for hard infrastructure, in which engineers and landscape architects do not have the assurance that the state will support them in putting their stamp on nature-based solutions.
The magic of municipal planning
It may be mysterious to some, but essential to community
Reflections is written by Island Fellows, recent college grads who do community service work on Maine islands and in coastal communities through the Island Institute, publisher of The Working Waterfront.
BY ERIN DENT
MOST PEOPLE would probably agree that municipal planning is magical. Well, maybe not most people. But I think it is! Just not so much in the “unicorns and fairy godmothers” sense—more like “how the heck do I turn a frog into a prince?”
In other words, I think municipal planning is magical because I can’t fully wrap my head around how municipalities run themselves.
They do, of course, by the tireless work of volunteers and staff. However, knowing that doesn’t diminish the Labyrinth-esque quality of local government for me.
One example immediately comes to mind: the St. George Resilience Committee’s project to raise a road in Port Clyde. The most basic questions are difficult enough—by how many
feet should it be raised, if at all, and how will we pay for it? Then add the details—drainage, ADA accessibility, applying for grants, drafting an RFP (Request For Proposals, in case, like me, you didn’t know), and so on.
Even within these details, there are even deeper questions, and this is just one project for one issue in one location.
Working on St. George’s comprehensive plan has shown me how even small towns face an extensive and complex web of issues. Thinking about the working waterfront, for example, requires considering workforce housing, childcare, sea level rise, tradition versus change, tourism, and more. With so many issues to consider, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed sometimes.
But as I continue to support St. George’s comprehensive planning process, I’m noticing my thinking change.
First, rather than the mindset of “fixing one problem requires fixing many others,” I’m trying to see it as “making progress on one problem results in progress on others.” For instance, improving workforce housing can benefit the working waterfront, other local businesses, and community engagement by
In Maine, the Department of Environmental Protection is leading in addressing this challenge with proposed rule changes, the OUR SHORE guide and program, and the ShoreCorps fellowship, providing the training and capacity to help municipalities assess, design, and test naturebased shoreline stabilization projects. Finally, the greatest barrier to implementation has been social. There are thousands of examples from around the world, but what practitioners have found works best to show landowners the benefits of nature-based solutions is social proof—a project in your neighbor’s yard.
No solution can stop the tide, but it’s those local projects that will lead the way to scaling up hybrid and naturebased solutions that protect people, places, and the ecosystems on which we all depend from more severe storms.
Jessica Reilly-Moman is director of Island Institute’s Center for Climate and Community. She may be contacted at jreillymoman@islandinstitute.org.
making it easier for people to live and work in the same place.
Second, I’m attempting to accept the chaos. The sun will rise tomorrow, and municipal planning will be complex. Thankfully, the mire includes not only problems but also opportunities: grants, tax increment financing districts, ordinances—all complicated yet full of potential.
Third, I remind myself that I’m lucky to have a wealth of information available to me. I can find planning board minutes from 2017 on the town of St. George website. I can instantly generate a map of car accidents in town over the past 20 years, courtesy of Maine DOT. I can walk downstairs from my work desk and get years of transfer station reports from the front office.
The amount of information can be overwhelming, and often still insufficient, but impressive.
Even more incredible is the number of people and organizations who are happy to lend me their expertise: town staff, community members, other fellows, Island Institute, the Midcoast Council of Governments… the list goes on.
Finally, I’m embracing how inexperience can be useful. In committee meetings, I see how committee members’ vast breadth of experiences outside municipal government are helpful in their work for the town. There are lawyers who could navigate town ordinances in their sleep, for instance, and fishermen who could write an entire book on St. George’s working waterfront, let alone a few pages for a comprehensive plan. By comparison, I have far less experience to draw from. However, in the process of figuring things out, I sometimes uncover overlooked details, or I ask questions that haven’t been considered in a while. There’s value in the perspective of a beginner, so while I look forward to feeling a little less lost in the future, I’m focusing on what I bring to the table right now.
Erin Dent works with St. George on the town’s comprehensive plan and other municipal planning projects. She recently graduated from Texas A&M University with a degree in environmental geoscience.
in plain sight
Our social insurance has maritime origins
U.S. government cared for merchant seamen
BY KELLY PAGE
SOCIAL WELFARE programs are subject to frequent criticism on the national and local levels and are usually associated with numerous 1930s policies enacted to respond to social hardships highlighted by the Great Depression. In actuality, the first governmentmanaged social insurance program dates all the way back to the 18th century and specifically benefited mariners.
The newly established United States of America relied heavily on the shipping trade. With income from customs duties and fees being a primary source of the government’s income, maritime labors were directly related to national prosperity.
and played a critical role during major health crises, including epidemics of cholera, smallpox, and yellow fever.
The Marine Hospital Service also worked alongside the Custom Service and local port authorities to support the quarantine of vessels showing signs of illness among their crew, or arriving from countries with known outbreaks.
The Service built and managed its own hospitals in addition to renting spaces in American ports to meet the needs of mariners. Portland was the home of the only Marine Hospital built in Maine.
Portland was the home of the only Marine Hospital built in Maine.
In response to the growing number of merchant seamen suffering from illnesses and injuries while serving at sea, Congress established the Marine Hospital Service (USMHS) in 1798 to provide medical care for sick and disabled mariners. The source of funding came from seamen’s wages, totalling 20 cents per month.
In the early years, the USMHS faced challenges such as limited resources, widespread diseases, and a lack of standardized healthcare practices. However, it gradually expanded its operations, modernized treatment,
FIELD NOTES—
Located on Martin’s Point at the mouth of the Presumpscot River, it opened in 1859 following several years of planning and construction.
However, mariners from up and down Maine’s coast also needed care. Medical practitioners in smaller communities were able to treat seamen as needed and were paid by the case. In other states, more formal contracts existed for private management of facilities dedicated to the care of mariners.
The accompanying photograph of the Portland Marine Hospital was taken around 1900 and was featured in a pamphlet touting the sites of Portland. For most of its history, the building has remained a medical
facility and is currently part of the Martin’s Point Health Care campus. The structure has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since 1974. Interestingly, one hundred years prior, an 1872 federal report did not see much of a future for the hospital stating it was “badly planned and defectively constructed” and required $15,000 in repairs (equivalent to $400,000 in 2025). At the time of this report, the hospital treated a few hundred patients per year.
In the 20th century, the Service’s mission evolved to encompass national health issues like the control of infectious diseases, the promotion of sanitary practices, and medical research. In
Jeff Frank and the ‘Future of Fishing’
Name: Jeff Frank
Title: Senior Community Development Officer in Island Institute’s Center for Marine Economy
Focus: I lead the business support work for the Future of Fishing program. This initiative is designed to help Maine’s fishing families and coastal communities navigate the economic uncertainty facing the lobster industry. My work focuses on creating new business support programs through partnerships with other organizations. These programs provide fishing families with practical tools, training, resources, and one-on-one advising to either help make lobstering more profitable or help fishermen explore additional sources of income. The programs we create in the Future of Fishing project are designed by fishermen and for fishermen so that they are the most useful and impactful as possible.
In this Photo: At the Maine Fishermen’s Forum on Feb. 28, I presented the official launch of the Institute’s Future of Fishing business support program. The Forum brings together fishermen, scientists, policymakers, and community leaders to discuss the most pressing challenges and opportunities in Maine’s marine economy. In this moment, I’m sharing how the Future of Fishing program will provide tailored business support to help fishermen explore new revenue streams and build resilience for the future. It was exciting to stand alongside industry partners, fellow Island Institute staff, and our key partner organizations whose collaboration makes this work possible.
1912, the name was officially changed to the U.S. Public Health Service. Today, the PHS continues to work under the Department of Health and Human Services, carrying forward the legacy of the USMHS, which played a foundational role in the development of the American public health system.
Kelly Page is the curator of collections at Maine Maritime Museum in Bath. The museum reopens May 17 with free admission and discounted cruise tickets available at the door. At noon, flags will be raised over the Wyoming with a cannon salute. A tour of the historic Percy & Small Shipyard will also be offered.
The Portland Marine Hospital at Martin’s Point, photographed in 1900.
Rebecca Goodale, Arlene Morris ‘build’ a clam shack
Art book recreates historic building on Brunswick shore art of the waterfront
BY CARL LITTLE
IN 2017 ARTIST Arlene Morris and her husband, retired doctor and civil engineer Steve Stern, hired the Kennebec Cabin Company, best known for its Maine Cabin Masters TV show, to rescue a historic clam-processing shack they had bought on Bunganuc Creek near their home in Brunswick.
Visiting the site, Chase Morrill and his “family of Mainers,” as the show describes them, discovered a structure in severe disrepair. The subsequent TV show (season 2, episode 1) highlights how they managed to resurrect this iconic two-story structure.
In December 2023, Morris and friend and fellow artist Rebecca Goodale began work on Where To?, a limited edition book that would invite readers to consider the effects of climate change on this coastal landmark, which sits plunk on the tidal creek and faces the ocean.
On their first visit to the shack, they experienced the full-on rush of an incoming tide combined with heavy rain, thunder, and lightning.
“While the storm raged around us,” Goodale recounts, “we talked about the climate crisis and the changes to the landscape in our lifetimes and our fear of loss, and more loss to come.”
Where To? consists of seven two-sided panels— “pages”—that fit into a slotted board. One side, in blues, black, white, and gray, offers a sunlit shack on a calm day while the opposite side represents troubled times via a palette of hot pink, orange, hot green, and red. An image of a bright orange life preserver
is set in the top of the presentation box, with a larger version pasted down inside the lid.
Goodale and Morris invite the reader to assemble the panels “to create a specific place during this climate
crisis.” The panels can be arranged, they note, “to suit [the reader’s] aesthetic preferences”—and, one might add, their vision of the fate of this coastal outpost where clams harvested nearby were once handled.
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the skills and equipment to handle your largest, most challenging project. For more information: www.linkelconstruction.com 207.725.1438
Where To?, by Rebecca Goodale and Arlene Morris, 2024, edition of five, 17 x 15 x 2¼ inches. PHOTO: COURTESY OF ARTISTS
When assembled, the book provides a lively layered vision of the shack.
Various creatures, including crabs, fish, raccoons, a heron, an owl, a buck, and a bear, appear on the panels. A figure desperately reaching for a life ring is the most direct reference to the peril we face.
Even as the piece portends future flooding, there is something almost celebratory about the animated imagery.
The panels include historic references, including a “No Nukes” sign that hung on the side of the building for many years to protest the Maine Yankee nuclear power plant in Wiscasset.
The book project was an all-Maine team effort. The panels and base were silkscreened and handcolored in Goodale’s Freeport studio and machinesewn at Morris’s Topsham studio. Scott Mullenberg
at Mullenberg Designs in Portland created the boxes while Scott Vile at Ascensius Press in Bar Mills came up with the type design for the prospectus which was letterpress printed.
Goodale and Morris brought their wide-ranging art-making skills to the project, including printmaking, fiber work, and book design. Where To? asks an important question for our times in a manner that is both brilliant and compelling.
More information about Goodale and Morris can be found on their websites, www.rebeccagoodale.com and www.arlenemorris.com.
Carl Little is the author most recently of Blanket of the Night: Poems (Deerbrook Editions) and the monograph John Moore: Portals (Marshall Wilkes).
and on the first floor is a living room, galley kitchen with workspace on one end, dining room and full bath with an entrance to a fabulous in-law apartment with kitchenette, living room, beautiful south facing glassed in porch and a bedroom and full bath on the second floor. The in-law apartment (or guest space) has its own heating system. A two-car garage is attached to a mudroom with direct entry to the kitchen of the main house. The yard is lovely with mature plantings, large lawn area extending to the tree line on the east side and one of the few houses on Point Rd. that faces the gorgeous, landscaped acreage rather than facing the road. A short bike ride to all summer amenities to include an anchorage, pier, dock, tennis courts, summer library and wonderful inn with fine dining open to the public as well as for inn guests. Half an hour to MDI and Acadia National Park as well as half an hour in the other direction to the Schoodic Peninsula section of Acadia National Park. Choose either for the best of hiking, biking, great restaurants, unmatched vistas of lighthouses, mountains, islands and open ocean. $385,000.
Where To?, assembled.
Arlene Morris and Rebecca Goodale on the deck of the clammer’s shack in January 2025. PHOTO: ROSE MARASCO
