Category: Seguin Island News

They say to know something well, you need to sit with it for a while. Since being perched atop Seguin’s prospect, I see Maine’s coast and history a little differently than I did just three months ago. Isolated from many 21^st century concerns, I’ve had the chance to really pay attention to things that usually go unnoted like the sage green-gray or saffron rosettes of lichen crawling up the rocks, the blueness of the bay berries, the skirt of bubbly bladder wrack between the tide marks, and the green ribbony snakes that lounge and slither.

On Friday, residual hurricane waves rolled over the cove and swept away the sandy beach. Tree trunks and floating islands of foam churned in the water turning the place geese had rafted and I had swum into a threatening swirl. The known became the unfamiliar in no time.

With fewer distractions than on the mainland, paying close attention offered something else- the chance to be amazed. I found myself stopping to think about the hummingbirds that made it out here and were determined to suck nectar from my reading chair’s floral fabric. And I considered the power of the week’s surf that scooped up and displaced tons of white sand in hours.

But it’s not just nature that can fill a person with awe. I imagined tubercular Fresnel deriving his calculations and formulating his glass or Winn creating the intricate metalwork components. I thought about fishermen pulling sodden wooden traps from dories and sailors heading home in a gale. Often, I considered what it would be like feeding a crew of hungry men or putting kids to bed next to the relentless foghorn. When I think about the resilience and hardy pluck needed to navigate life on Seguin or the nearby shore a century ago, it changes my perspective on what is important or difficult now.

Psychologists and poets say awe is the experience of realizing the limits of your significance in the world and that with this realization comes increased humility. They write that awe makes connection with others easier. So, the irony here is that by living offshore or visiting a semi-wild island distant from daily concerns, you cultivate a greater sense of connection to others.

There have been many others visiting here these months: young and old, groups and singles, timid and brave. Locals and folks from away have come. History lovers, designers, journalists, riggers, economists, scientists, romantics, librarians, home schoolers, doctors, raconteurs, whistlers, philosophers, investors, psychics, paddlers, farmers, film makers, artists, philanthropists, preservationists, pilots, dreamers, fishermen, mechanics, public servants, foodies, writers, dancers, and teachers have shared the views and salt air with us this summer.

For the quantitatively inclined: from June 4- August 26 we had 1,237 visitors. Peter and I conducted 322 tours up the tower (that’s 29,624 stairs up and down). We had 21 campers in the campsite and 22 overnight guests above the museum. The youngest visitor was an infant in a papoose just shy of two months and the oldest was somewhere in his eighties. People traveled from as far as Hawaii and Europe and as close as Popham. Two arrived with the moniker Seguin -a cat and a lovely adolescent.

Like me, I imagine they will especially remember their time on the island because it was hard to get to, there wasn’t anything “to do”, and while always the same- it’s ever changing. Sarah, an early July volunteer from Kodiak and Nashville, and later Chloe will step in for me and help Peter with the closing weeks of the season. Po and I will leave next week and try to hold onto for as long as possible the sense of awe found on Seguin this summer.

Just as I’d imagined prior to coming, time is not the same as on the mainland.

The elaborate rock folds, much like marbled end papers in old books, record the earth’s history in nuanced shades of gray and white. The layering, veins, and tumble you cross when walking the shoreline tell, for those who can read it, of epochs and times before time.

While I’ve been here, the full moon cycled from strawberry to sturgeon, and the days are becoming noticeably shorter with the sun making a much later appearance and sunset falling now at dinnertime. The Pleiades meteor showers are falling these days firmly marking August.

Purple asters and fuzzy crimson sumac cones color the bushes and fields replacing the yarrow, rose, and clover of early summer. Golden rod stands tall with blossoms waiting to bust out at any moment. The thickets of prickly bushes along the trails droop with blackberries- black, tart and seedy.

Gossamer insect tent encampments holding mysteries fill the scrappy treetops. Chenille white and black caterpillars now descend randomly from invisible threads seemingly everywhere. Black and yellow swallowtail butterflies flit in the breeze passing the occasional monarch. The osprey young now whistle and shriek in the cove with as much gusto as their parents, and the swallows apparently have slipped out without my really noticing until they were gone.

Time has been marked too by human endeavors.

Scores of sailboats rounded Seguin’s buoy and headed home with rivals in the 94^th Mohegan & Seguin Sprint. Their sails snapped in the wind, and we had a great view as they rounded the marker one after the other.

Just as earlier in the summer, we had a visit from another lightkeeper descendant. Jamie Hart’s great-great grandfather Edwin Wyman served on Seguin from 1886-1890. She reanimated his spirit just as the families of Herbert Spinney and Fred Kahrl had before her. In a place so relatively unchanged, it’s easy to imagine the quotidian chores of these men and their families as they lived and worked caring for the safety of others and the island.

The notion of time also factored in the charming visit of Robin and Declan and family. They told us about getting engaged on the island and later marrying here. Declan’s beautiful baritone sang “It’s a Jolly Holiday” below the circular stairs as the couple’s children Rowan and, yes, Seguin -descended. The place is imbued with romance.

Appreciating the malleability of time and recalibrating its scale whether geologic, seasonal, historic, or just one family’s progression from romance to parenthood has been Seguin’s gift this week.

Rock jumpers, berry pickers, bat watchers, football tossers, full-moon watchers, cart wheelers, tag chasers, cast wearers, snake catchers, bell knockers, satchel carriers, song singers, fear overcomers, nap foregoers, and paddle board balancers were all here.

Seguin was hopping with kids all this week. The children came with families, friends, and a summer camp flotilla. Peter and I watched the confident bound up the tower full of wonder and ready to take over our positions at the drop of a hat. We also walked leisurely up the metal stairs with the cautious and unsure and watched them slowly, hesitantly, haltingly overcome their fears. Littles presented me with sea glass and glistening ‘special’ rocks. Kids introduced Po and me to their stuffed animals and told me about their dogs at home. Some teens have come with friends navigating the boat trip on their own. Others arrive with family navigating the line between being a kid and being cool. Some kids chat away while others listen intently. Everyone seems eager to be here.

While usually we have arrivals in twos, threes, or maybe sixes, the Small Point Summer School visit brought nearly fifty Seguin sojourners all at once. Three generations rowed in and mounted the hill. Graying grandparents relished having grandkids make the same visit as they and their children had decades before. Games, questions, tours, and levity filled the lawn for a few boisterous hours. The age groups swirled together and overlapped remixing continually.  Watching them all was a great reminder of what summer and childhood in Maine were and can still be. Happily, all the kids visiting have thrived for a few screen free hours.

While we’ve had the usual smattering of far-flung visitors like kids from England and Germany, this week I want to feature all the neighbors who have swung by. Children have come from Bath, Harpswell, Georgetown, Bay and Kennebec Points, Arrowsic, Southport, Robinhood, Phippsburg, Small Point, and Popham. These young folks might see Seguin’s light from the beach, Spinney’s, or maybe their grandma’s porch.  Maybe, before they have always passed by but never stopped. They might be making the annual August family trip. At any rate, thankfully, many kids have caught or re-caught the Seguin bug this year and, hopefully, will become the island’s faithful stewards in the years to come.

Though less famous for painters than neighboring Monhegan, Seguin was still important in art circles. In the early 20thC New York artists led by gallerist and photographer Alfred Stieglitz began frequenting the area around Seguin. Marsden Hartley, John Marin, the Zorachs, and others all captured on paper and canvas the trees, rocks, and sea. In a 1914 letter to Stieglitz, Marin wrote of the challenges of painting in these parts complaining of the mosquitoes, broken-down boats, and weather. However, he went on, “Huge waves sounding on a rock-ribbed shore makes the heart, liver, lungs, everything, the whole human critter expand ‘nigh to bustin point.’ Then you live, live, live, and you ‘got to do something’” [Marin, Letters of John Marin. West Point, P.O. Maine, September 16, 1914] The book Maine Moderns: Art in Seguinland, 1900-1940 is a rich collection of various painters’ work depicting the island and area. Also notable is Andrew Winter’s beautiful 1940 painting ‘Seguin Island Light’ which captures with emotion the building, tram, sky and grass. This painting can be seen at the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland or online.

Following this storied artistic tradition, painter Roy Germon and illustrator Leticia Plate visited the island over the weekend filling sketch books with views. Once back in the studio, the artists will translate these drawings into large scale pieces. Keep an eye out for their work.

The trails are in great order, and the grass is growing at a more leisurely pace. Volunteers Gordon, Fred, Steve, and Tom gave Peter a chance to leave last week to reprovision the larder. Visitors are coming with regularity since the weather has been more dependably good.  Folks have arrived from far afield to take in the spot including someone from Mattawamkeag, Montevideo, Mysore, Nicosia, and Honolulu. Some passengers and crew from ImPossible Dream, an organization making sailing accessible to people with disabilities, venured up the hill for a gander. One couple brought their cat named Seguin for a tour and pictures – this event in particular piqued Po’s interest. Peter and I continue to be wowed by the curiosity and generousness of visitors from near and far. Each person leaves an impression, and Seguin makes a mark.

Instructions to the Keepers of Light Houses within the US   -1835 Stephen Pleasanton, 5^th Auditor of the Treasury

The first of 9 obligations:

“You are to light the lamps every evening at sun-setting, and keep them continually burning, bright and clear, till sun-rising.”

In January 1856, fourteen-year-old Abbie Burgess famously kept the Matinicus Rock Light burning for a month after her father left the island for re-supplies that had failed to arrive the previous September. Through a gale that kept her father from returning and that eventually destroyed the Keeper’s quarters, she, 3 younger sisters, and invalid mother sheltered in one of the two light towers. Throughout the ordeal, which repeated the following year for 3 weeks, Abbie made sure the light stayed on.

Much less heroic than Abbie, when I noticed Seguin’s light out, I simply texted Chris at FOSIL who contacted the Coast Guard. It was disorienting and a bit worrisome to be at a lighthouse that went dark on my watch. You don’t really want to be the one on duty when the 168-year-old light goes out. But even during these dark nights, there was plenty of light. The stars shone brighter with the milky way cutting across the sky and the tuna boat floodlights punctuated the water on the near horizon- floating like fallen stars on the water.

Happily, Colton and Sean, two young US Coast Guard personnel came up the hill with their work kits and began to trouble shoot. Po, of course, supervised and followed them everywhere. Knowledgeable and affable, the service members conducted a thorough check of all systems: solar, the light itself, and the foghorn. The pair concluded some of the solar storage batteries were no longer up to the task and would need replacement. They re-aligned the existing battery array and promised to return with new parts. The light, thank goodness, is back on every night.

With the light attended to, it was possible to relax and return to enjoying the ever-changing light of the sky. Perched so high up, Seguin offers big sky vistas more often associated with being out west or on mountain tops. Storm fronts, sunsets, and a rainbow just out-front make the sameness of Seguin different every day.

This week the North Trail got some overdue attention, and the main path seems to have widened every Wednesday when I return from town.

Visitors log- We had four Lighthouse aficionados overnight at the house last week who livened up our evening and shared their generous company and sumptuous food. Also, Mike and Theresa Haggett made it out Saturday. Mike is the great-grandson of Herbert Spinney (1862-1943), long time Seguin Keeper and naturalist.  Mike was a wealth of information about Spinney’s professional and civic contributions. Herb, as he was known by neighbors and colleagues, worked both for the ‘coast service’ and later the State Agriculture Department. An avid birder, he donated to the state his collection of over 200 specimens of taxidermy, shells, and wood. His image was featured in the FOSIL newsletter last spring.

The light at night, fewer foggy days, and increased warmth are a trifecta of July goodness. Let’s hope this trend continues in the coming weeks.

To read more about: Abbie Burgess: Women Who Kept the Lights by Mary Louise Clifford and J. Candace Clifford and, one of many children’s books, Keep the Lights Burning, Abbie by Peter and Connie Roop.

To read more about Herbert Linden Spinney: a google search with find a grave.com or visit his Georgetown grave site

When my children were small, my old father told me, “Kids like very small and very big things.” This has been a week of very big things.

From the house porch I spied a minke whale loitering for a long time among the lobster pots southeast of the island. It’s long black back and fin rose and fell serenely sliding through the water. The creature spouted periodically spraying a white mist a few feet into the air that contrasted with the cobalt blue. Each reappearance after it had submerged was as exciting as the first glimpse. A lobsterman cut his engines and lingered in the area letting curiosity trump commerce for a time. 

This week also marked the first sightings of enormous yachts of a different order of magnitude. Bright white wakes trailed the motors and massive carbon fiber sails made spotting the boats easy even after they passed Damariscove for Mohegan and beyond. The ‘small’ cruise ship that travels between Portland, Bar Harbor, and Bangor passes like clockwork heading first north and then south.

A tremendous warning sound at the mouth of the Kennebec announced the passage of the Bath-built Harvey C Barnum, Jr- an Arleigh Burke Aegis ship on its virgin sea trial. As it slipped by, I thought about the enormous amount of education, effort, and craftsmanship that went into building such a formidable ship. Its gray hulk dwarfed the now familiar landscape before eventually disappearing into the fog.

Last, we experienced a massive thunderstorm that you could see coming from the southwest for miles. The gathering clouds followed the contour of the coast and finally unleashed a deluge.

An extensive crew from Maine Island Trail Association came out last Wednesday and cleared beneath the tramway. Many thanks for their Herculean efforts.

Big moments for island visitors include: the worldly Genevieve’s special request to celebrate her 20th birthday on Seguin, 9-year-old Clancy’s time with his granddad as his father checked the moorings, and Andy and Grace, Bowdoin students specializing in colonial history and lighthouses, making it out for a perfect day with haze free views from the tower.

For all the continuity of Seguin- the trail work, tours, and domestic tasks- the island still offers new and big surprises.

We’ve had a lot of white weather this week. Visibility swings from nothing, to seeing the water, to nothing again. The billowing white damp gets old yet eliminating the scenery invites listening. I’m no birder, but with Merlin I can parse the chirps from the whistles and the honks from the caws. While walking down the steep main path in the morning, you hear the cat birds and sparrows fill the bushes with chatter. At the beach the Canadian geese intone their nasal honks while splashing their wings and the ospreys taunt with forlorn whistles above. The gold finches and warblers, streaks of brilliant yellow against the mist shrouded bushes, trill and, well, warble. Behind it all is the roll of the waves coming in on Cobblestone Beach and the occasional, unfortunate popping crack when you step on one of the bitty amber snails that dot the way. The foghorn has been activated a few times by passing sailors and bleats dolefully without the two toned bass baritone of the old days. The metal snap hooks clang against the flagpole with an unnatural ping. The bell buoy sounds in the distance. Lobster boats rumble, stop, and rumble again. Nothin’ to see here Bub, but plenty to take in.

Despite the limited sun, the grass continues to grow, and the bushes continue to encroach on the paths. In response, Peter, Steve, and Chris continue to mow, hack, and haul. Po has busied himself snapping at house flies who never see him coming as they emit their persistent buzz. Special thanks this week go to Small Point’s Becca and Shawn who saved the day after I left the set of car keys on the island and needed to get to town for groceries.

It seems only the intrepid visited this week: a Southport couple took engagement photos, folks motored down from Merrymeeting Bay on a last family trip before their oldest heads to college, and a married pair revisited their ‘old favorite’ before one of them begins an arduous medical treatment. Perhaps Seguin’s real magnetic anomaly is that it keeps pulling folks back at important moments in life.

………..

To continue enjoying the sounds around you, download Cornell’s Merlin app for bird identification, listen to old “Bert and I” stories on vinyl or YouTube for Downeast humor and edification, or listen to the NY Metropolitan Opera or Philadelphia Orchestra under the baton of conductor Yannick Nézet-Seguin for restoration.

“Smell that!” The Houston sailor stopped in her tracks amid the expanse of white and lavender clover covering the camping field. “That’s the smell of my childhood!”

The sweetness of the clover patches blends with the sea air and the bright pink roses emerging everywhere now on the island. Add to it the aroma of my 75-year-old EB White library book, the metal of the lighthouse staircase, and the museum shop -reminiscent of every old-Maine grandma’s house- and you have the smell of Seguin. Proust had his madeleines dipped in tea conjuring memories, but here, it is the flowers, the cut grass, the constant wind and breakers, and the isolation that stops time for folks. “I’ve come here every year since I was a baby”, “I used to bring Coast Guard guys out for shift changes.” “This is the spot I always come to; I’ll let others go to Boothbay.”

For the first time this week, we had overnight guests other than campers. David Zapatka labored through the evening to take stunning photos on behalf of the United States Lighthouse Society (correction made). The images are part of his nocturnal series documenting the country’s lighthouses and starry skies. In addition to David, volunteer Sarah from Kodiak, Alaska and Nashville, who labored all day with Steve, decided to stay the night. My daughter Quilla and two colleagues made it out of their Boston basement laboratory, where they study the neuroscience of emotions and memory, to first help David with his gear and then to swim, talk, and take in the beauty. All the young women were undeterred by the 53-degree water temps and bravely dove into the cove both the evening they arrived and the next day after sunrise just before their departure. As much as solitude characterizes the island, sharing the space with others who are taking in its beauty made for a dearer memory.

Aside from volunteers Sarah, Steve, Fred, Tom and Chris and transportation thanks to Dave and his grandson Liam, we had visitors from Chesapeake Bay sailing north to Greenland and more locally from Friendship, Stockton Springs, Phippsburg, and Bay Point to name just a few. Children filled the tower more than once with bellowing echoes and purposeful step counting. One youngster generously offered to stay the summer and help us out. Twenty-somethings lay on the grass delighted to be out of big cities where the climbing mercury makes life harder than it should be. Peter and I moved enormous brush piles to try to obscure them, and Peter is reveling in the new electric weed whacker that hums like a dragonfly through the grass. Rumor has it that Po encountered a seal who was his swimming doppelgänger. I continue my attempt to stave off aging with walks up and down the flowering hill and chats with our temporary neighbors. One doesn’t even need to stop the smell the roses- here, they come to you.

While the east coast baked in oppressive heat, we remained cool on the top of the hill. Sweater weather continues for the most part punctuated with days of rain and relative cold. The trails have been tended to and the lawn mown again. Roses, yarrow, buttercups, and clover are abundant and the last of the blue flags have wilted. Wednesday brought able FOSIL volunteers Steve and Fred to help with windows and the ubiquitous sumac.

Days with heavy rain gave us time to read more about how Augustin-Jean Fresnel’s support for the French Royalists led to the engineer’s government job loss and eventual house arrest. While house bound, Fresnel’s brother, who supervised a stretch of lighthouses, lamented the lights’ inability to cast their light any great distance. Augustin Fresnel found the way to amplify the light with prisms and constructed his theory about light waves. The line from Napoleon to Einstein moves through Fresnel and French politics. I also had the chance to dig into Maine author Ruth Moore’s novel The Weir and historical fiction A Fair Wind Home.  Moore vividly captures island life on Maine’s coast, and, at the height of her popularity in the mid-20thC, was described as “the Faulkner of New England.” The New York Times wrote, “It is doubtful if any American writer has ever done a better job of communicating a people, their talk, their thoughts, their geography, and their way of life.”

A visit from the Bowdoin was fun as one of my former students and her crewmates bound up the hill with great enthusiasm and good cheer. They were fresh from being the lead boat in the Boothbay parade of boats and were eager for the perspective gained from the top of the light.

Of special note, a hearty young man swam out to the island with his family boating close behind. He seemed no worse for wear and, though drenched, took in the scenery.

Last, Chris brought out Jim and Kyle from JB Leslie to look over the light’s ironwork. They have restored lights up and down the coast and came with knowledge, stories, and deep experience.

All is ship-shape and ready for visitors to enjoy Seguin’s charm once good weather becomes a little more consistent.

After a spate of fog, cold, and roiling water, good weather has returned. With the heat dome enveloping the east coast, we sit contentedly on Seguin.  Saturday the 21^st was a day of firsts. It marked the first trip upta town to replenish the larder that was getting thin and clean work clothes that were getting ripe. Though traffic and parking were reminders of what I hadn’t missed, ice cream at the Fountain and seeing a groom and his entourage walking to his wedding on the Bath waterfront were a treat. Mainland friends Logan and Shawn made the purposeful trip easier as they re-supplied us with fresh water and laundered clothes.

While I was gone to town, two traditional wooden boats jockeyed for the new deep-water mooring. The Harvey Gamage, a 130’ gaff rigged schooner tipped out the 87’ Bowdoin designed for Arctic exploration. The Harvey Gamage crew brought an influx of visitors as they made a quick visit up to the light. We hope the Bowdoin returns soon!

As beautiful as the island undeniably is, it is the eclectic visitors who continue to make the place and our stay here rich. A young Dutch family, just a few weeks from finishing an 18-month circumnavigation of the North Atlantic, had tales of distant ports and crossing with other boats from the Azores but found Maine familiar and a good transition to their imminent return to Amsterdam. The three kids aboard loved Po the dog and in the cove fashioned him a driftwood shelter adorned with buoys.

I got the museum shop in order, and Peter tasked himself with building new rock steps making the way from the beach to the wooden staircase easier to negotiate. As he worked, some spry Kennebunk octogenarians arrived for an annual visit they hadn’t missed since the late 1950s. They embraced the views and relished them as though it were their first time on the island.

Neighbors, formerly of Mouse Island, brought their grandson just freed from the school year to see the light and look at where they’d been and where they were heading. The summer, and all it offers, lay out in front of him.

Last, we had a great visit from the crew of the Isabella. Fresh from a reenactment of the Battle of Bunker Hill, the 39’ scaled down version of a halibut schooner put into the cove. Out of the Essex Maritime Museum and Burham boat shop, it overnighted before heading, like many others, to Boothbay’s Windjammer days. The young apprentices aboard were learning both traditional boat building skills, sailing, and navigation. As the hail and hearty crew departed, they left with the rallying cry, “Keep our coast analog!”