SOLD - Learning to Feather

According to Tom, my rowing style is appalling. I zig zag, and I windmill my oars. "We'll never get there," he groans.

His brother Dave, a real fisherman, told me he "learned to row from masters at rowing, and they always feathered their oars.  I deplore windmilling, and whenever I see one I think to myself, 'There goes a rank amateur'."

For those who don't know what feathering is, it's a slight flick of the wrist, when the oars are out of the water on the forward stroke, that turns the paddles of the oars parallel to the water, so that they can skim back over the water into dipping position. It's quite lovely, but, in my opinion, totally unnecessary. As far as I'm concerned, you row to get from point A to point B without getting run over by, or hitting or destroying other boats in the anchorage.

In the name of tradition however, and at the risk of being called a "rank amateur," I will learn to feather. I will thrash around until I get it right. Besides, it's good exercise.

The most entertaining part of this learning process by far will be, not me out there humiliating myself. I could care less. It will be listening to Tom bellow instructions from the bow of the claudia II. About ten seconds in to the session, he will turn, totally exasperated, and go below pretending not to know who I am! I'll just keep circling around the boat anyway. It will be pure entertainment!

The dinghy at the bottom of the sketch above is our Puffin dinghy tied to JO Brown's dock in North Haven.

Learning to Feather • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $200

#217 Cherry Island

A couple of years ago, my friend Darby and I took a trip to the village of Saint Andrews, Canada. Darby had done a solo trip up there a year or two before, and wanted to return for some R&R. We spent a long fall weekend at a cottage right on the water within the village. The cottage had two bedrooms, a kitchen and common room and a big deck that hung out over the water. The village of Saint Andrews is touristy, but it was the off season and the rates were good. I found it and the people delightful.

The weather was spectacular - warm and sunny, but cool at night. We walked, talked, went sightseeing, hung out at the beaches, wrote, read, dined - everything two old farts might dream of doing during a respite from the daily chores and work of life at home, albeit it a beautiful home.

From our deck we witnessed the goings on in a working harbor of fishing boats. At low tide we could walk down below on the rocks, sand and seaweed. At high, it lapped underneath us. I had never seen a tide so severe - it move uncomfortably fast in and out. I found myself on constant watch - one eye was always glued to the tide.

We took a side trip to Campobello before re-entering the US. I'd never been to Campobello. It was like being transported to another time. But that's another story. On this hazy morning ferry ride between Saint Andrews and Campobello over the Bay of Fundy, we passed Cherry Island. In that light I thought it was beautiful.

Cherry Island • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $200

SOLD - Fog

Fog. It's everywhere these days. It's out on the water trying to kill us as we sail our way back to Rockland. It's on 295 as I squint my way home to Portland. It's outside my window, trying to get in. It's reminding me of a very scary horror movie. For those sci fi fans, maybe The Crawling Eye comes to mind.

While waiting for the fog to lift in the Fox islands Thoroughfare this past weekend, I saw this beautiful, more traditional-looking lobster boat on a mooring behind us. Everything beyond was in the fog, of course.

It could be worse. The Grand Banks, near the Canadian island, Newfoundland, and Newfoundland itself has over 200 foggy days a year.

Fog • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $200

#215 The View

I keep thinking I'm going to switch gears and move in to other subject matter. My intention was to do that this week, but then I encountered this view. You stop your car, and sit there saying to yourself, how can anyone make something like this up?
 
It was an overcast day driving back from the movies and an adrenalin pumping session with Jurassic World. We took an alternative route back to Kingfield over some back roads and up along a lazy ridge. I looked out and saw this, and exhaled a directive to stop the car. Being a Taurus, I could have sat there all day.

The View • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12"• $200

#214 A Thwack of Lupine

We've been sailing the Claudia on the lakes up in the western mountains while the Claudia II is being repaired on the coast. It's been fun. We trailered to Flagstaff last Sunday, and Rangeley this past.

On the way back to Kingfield from Rangeley, we noticed a plethora of lupines alongside Route 16. There's one famous field just outside of town overlooking Haley Pond with Saddleback Mountain in the background. I've done a quick sketch of it - figured we all needed a splash of color on this foggy Maine morning.

It appears as if someone has spent their lifetime spreading lupine seeds hither and yon, and it's finally all come together like one big thwack on the landscape. I don't remember seeing so many lupine, there's just no way to describe how beautiful they are right now. And I certainly have not done it justice here. You really need to get up there and check it out for yourselves.

A Thwack of Lupine • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $200

SOLD - Cows Are Good Listeners

On my way to Kingfield last week, I took a different route and passed a farm I've been driving by since I moved to Maine over 40 years ago. It's the Williams family farm in North Anson. It really hasn't changed much over the years - the family and their herd seem to be making it just fine.

I stopped, turned around and parked by the side of the road just to look. It was a pretty, partly cloudy day. The reds, greens, blues, blacks and whites were striking. And then I noticed some of the cows perked right up and began to move toward me. I would have gone up to the fence to pet them, but figured it was electric. So I just started talking to them from the road.

They stood right there and listened. I kept talking. I talked about anything that popped in to my mind, like what was happening down in Portland, and that I was on my way up to Kingfield to weed my garden, two places they would have no way of knowing about had I not stopped by. They really paid attention as they chewed away. Their ears remained alert.

I learned that cows are good listeners. You could say we all learned something new about one another that day. That's a very good thing.

Cows Are Good Listeners • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $200

#212 One Rainy Day in Maine

One rainy day a few years ago, we limped into Christmas Cove through a pea soup fog looking to have some lunch and stretch our legs. The Claudia - our first little sailboat, and a real Tom Sawyer Huck Finn boat, was not a great vessel for bad weather.

Twenty one feet long and open (no cabin), she was fun to sail because we could maneuver through shallow water. We sailed her for ten years all around Penobscott Bay. We built a platform for sleeping on after a couple of years of sleeping on the hull, and a tent out of nylon, mosquito netting and 1/2" plumbers pipe that I had made, which was great unless we had a downpour. It was like sleeping on a raft - we were only about eight inches above the water.

After lunch aboard under our little dodger, we tied the Claudia to the public dock and meandered down this road and that looking at real estate. Most of the places are old and traditional out there with a few huge exceptions. It's the kind of area magazine and TV ads tell you to expect to see on the Maine coast.

I liked this place because it was still pretty Maine-looking. It was the kind of place I would have liked to have curled up in next to a wood stove with my blankie, and a good old fashioned murder mystery. Kind of like today.

One Rainy Day in Maine • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12"• $200