Voices from the Coast: On Custom

In celebration of Maine Coast Heritage’s 50th year, people share their visions of and for the Maine coast.

cus·tom /ˈkəstəm/ 1. a traditional and widely accepted way of behaving or doing something that is specific to a particular society, place, or time.

Nash Island

by Rich Knox

Rich Knox, Nash Island, 2005

Rich Knox has worked for Maine Coast Heritage Trust as Director of Communications since 2002. His passion for the Maine coast began when he arrived in Maine in 1988, and hasn’t wavered since. Rich loves standup paddling, in all seasons and conditions.

Nash Island, Remembering Jenny Cirone

By Peter Rand

The plan was to get to Cutler, but the visibility was zero in Eastern Harbor and we weren’t about to navigate Moosabec Reach in thick fog with a mast that was almost as tall as the high tide clearance under the Beals Island Bridge.

While ashore on the first day we noticed an elderly, hunched, woman pole her dory to the beach, lift her leg slowly over the gunnel and, with the help of a crutch and a couple of admiring young girls, alight and mend her way up to a house on the road. This was Jenny Cirone, at the time in her late 70s, who had spent her entire life both lobstering and tending a herd of sheep on the islands off Cape Split—Nash, Big Nash, and The Ladle. She grew up on Nash Island when her father was the keeper of its lighthouse.

Jenny’s sheep were known for their exceptional fleece. She was an icon, and a woman we had long wanted to meet—both to hear her story but also, given her advanced age, to see what thoughts she might have about the future of her islands and their unique flock. Loss of her robust breed of sheep would be sad; sadder still would be desecration of the island’s low, flat profile by a mega-mansion. Two days later we got our chance to see her.

In poor holding ground, we had picked up one of two guest moorings—blessedly provided by its owner who, with extraordinary hospitality, invited us to drinks and dinner. There, we were introduced to a local lady who knew Jenny and who was very happy to introduce her to us at her home the next day. When we arrived we found a sheep munching around outside, a gaggle of geese, and two Muscovy ducks. A Doberman was asleep on her doorstep, and there was a turkey in a pen beside the road.

Inside, Jenny sat in an armchair sorting through a plate of raspberries she’d picked the day before. She moved us to her kitchen looking out over the harbor, then, with little prodding, launched into an animated description of her sheep, raising them on the islands, and of her father the lighthouse keeper (of Great Duck, Egg Rock, and then Nash). Jenny had her own way of putting words together, wonderful to listen to, captured in a verbatim interview published in Salt Magazine in 1985.

But then our guide, Jenny’s friend and our driver, steered the conversation to the future of Nash Island, giving us a chance to expound gently on the many comfortable ways its conservation could be assured. Jenny’s expression didn’t change. She gave no indication of discussing that topic, but instead called her pet sheep in for some corn, followed by the Muscovy ducks and a couple of geese. With that, our visit was pleasantly concluded.

Jenny passed away in 2004 at age 91, 14 years after our visit. She left her islands to friends. One of them then sold his interest in the portion of Little Nash that she had owned, and The Ladle, a small, nearby island where rams were kept, to Maine Coast Heritage Trust—ensuring their long-term conservation and, at least for the time being, a home for her sheep. The sheep still live on those islands, and Nash Island as well, managed by friends of hers.

Born in 1929, Peter Rand first cruised the Maine coast in 1939, and has done so more than 50 times since, oftentimes with his wife, Alice. He is retired, following 60 years of medical research, and has served on Maine Coast Heritage Trust’s board and council since the 1970s.

Ten Tourists Visit Baker’s Island, Maine, ca. 1900

By Carl Little

Mason:
This hurly-burly, these misshapen slabs,
I can barely stomach it, yet
what walls I could make.

Dancer:
These pink platforms by the sea!
Where is my partner?
Where are my slippers?

Aquarellist:
Hues, here, by the score,
the sea calling for blues,
the sky washing the horizon.

College Professor:
I catch my thoughts between
sea beats and find Blake
in a grain of granite.

Geologist:
I have died and gone to heaven!
Oh, heart swollen by stone!
Oh, ledge of eternity!

Mortician:
Boulders mock the symmetry
of chiseled graveyard markers—no
monument in this place.

Naturist:
Skin warmed by rock,
I lie in my hidden alcove,
chapel for sun worship.

Composer:
The sounds are chaotic
Where surf slams the isle—
notations for a sea symphony.

Natural Historian:
Only I notice rafts of eider
in ocean hollows, and tide pools
reveal whole worlds.

Stowaway:
I explore the glorious edge
as the boat full of fools
sails back to the mainland.

© Carl Little

Carl Little has lived on Mount Desert Island since 1989. In addition to numerous art books, Little is the author of Ocean Drinker: New & Selected Poems (2006), and his work has appeared in diverse journals and several anthologies. Little is Communications Manager at the Maine Community Foundation.

Muscongus Bay

by Robert Ives

Robert Ives with his grandson, Soren

My introduction to Muscongus Bay was unexpected. In 1969 I was sailing with friends in their twenty-six-foot sloop when foul weather rolled in as we rounded Pemaquid Point. Seeking refuge in Round Pond Harbor, we dropped anchor to ride out the storm. Immediately I was taken by the simple peace and beauty of the small village and its protected harbor. We weathered the storm and put out to sea the following day, sailing past Pemaquid Light on the western point of Muscongus Bay, heading home to Mere Point in Brunswick.

When I returned four years later, I stayed. In the summer of 1973, my wife Ruth and I moved to Monhegan Island, the eastern-most point of Muscongus Bay, where we taught for two years in the one-room school and served as ministers of the island church. We had 14 children ranging from kindergarten to eighth grade, with one or two per grade. The winter island population was about 75 people. It was a remarkable community, and over the years I performed the marriages of nine of our 14 school children.

Sadly, I have also officiated at the funerals of many of the island people we knew back then. One was Ray Phillips, who built a house of driftwood and “stuff” on Manana, the tiny island just off Monhegan that forms the west side of Monhegan harbor. Ray lived alone on the island for 48 years along with his 28 sheep and a goose name Donald. In the spring of 1975, he slipped into the water while hauling his skiff on the rocky shore, contracted pneumonia, and died soon after. The Monhegan church was packed for this funeral. We buried him just below his small home with a simple plaque reading, “Ray Phillips – Shepherd of Manana.”

In 1975, Ruth and I moved on to Muscongus Island, also known as Louds. Edward Loud Poland offered to let us stay in his house and even to buy 10 acres of land “for whatever we could afford.” We ended up purchasing an old farm just across from the island church. We spent two remarkable years on that island. We fished for lobsters, dug clams, raked sea moss, built boats, did carpentry on the houses, and rowed ashore each weekend to minister to the Sheepscot village church. During those two years, we only missed three church services due to ice across the bay or storms too great to challenge. On some winter days as we came into Round Pond Harbor, Ruth sat with her legs over the bow of the boat breaking ice while I rowed.

As I ponder those wonderful years, so many memories come flooding back. The clam chowder, baked beans, and lobster suppers at Cecil and Elizabeth Prior’s farm on Muscongus Island, then retiring to Elizabeth’s parlor to sing songs and hymns into the evening. I remember cutting firewood over on Friendship Long Island for Ivan and Josephine Morse, an elderly couple who had lived their entire lives in their small home on the northeast side.

Late at night we sometimes rowed our peapod off Muscongus Island to watch the brilliance of the rising moon and the spectacular phosphorescence in the nighttime sea.

On the frigid, snowy evening of December 28, 1974, a lobster boat with me aboard struck a ledge off the southern end of Bar Island. As the boat sank beneath us, I found myself slipping into the freezing water uttering the words of the old gospel hymn, “Lord plant my feet on higher ground.” The words of the hymn seemed to come true as we washed up on the southern end of Muscongus Island bruised and beaten, but in considerably better shape than the boat, which was pounded to pieces.

Pulling lobster traps in thick fog early one July morning, I was sure I heard hymns being played on a piano. The strains of “Let the Lower Light be Burning” and “Eternal Father Strong to Save” rang across the water clear as a bell, but I could see nothing. I learned later they weren’t the songs of angels guiding me through that pea soup fog, but those of the Rev. William Sloane Coffin Jr. playing his piano balanced on the stern deck of a lobster boat en route to his vacation cabin on Marsh Island.

I remember the three-masted schooner Victory Chimes under full sail near Killickstone Island, and climbing the old fire tower on Burnt Island to look out across that magnificent vista. I remember herding sheep for Betsy Wyeth on Allen Island, beautiful walks on the nature trails at the Audubon camp on Hog Island, and endless trips in our dory to Bunny Zahn’s as we witnessed the slow demise of the schooner Cora Cressey in Hockamock Narrows.

I buried my beloved Ruth, who died in 2016, in a small cemetery on Muscongus Island to fulfill her personal desire to be in the place she loved, where she loved the life she lived.

The next summer I put out alone in a small sloop to sail among the islands in the bay we had learned to love. I walked on as many of the bay’s 78 islands as I could, reaching 39. I still sail Musongus Bay by myself for a period each summer to be among its rocks and shoals, its scents and shores, its beauty and blossoms, remembering the wonderful moments of the past, and living in the beauty of the present.        

For 33 years I served as director of the Carpenter’s Boat Shop, a boatbuilding school in Pemaquid, not far from the bay. The Boat Shop is committed to building boats, nurturing lives, and serving others. Each year ten apprentices come seeking a safe and quiet harbor. To help our new apprentices get to know each other we often ask, “What is the most beautiful place to which you would like to travel?” They answer with places all over the world. My answer is always the same: Muscongus Bay.

Robert Ives has served as the minister on Monhegan Island, Louds (Muscongus) Island, and in New Harbor and Round Pond. For 33 years he directed the Carpenter’s Boat Shop and was Director of Religious and Spiritual Life at Bowdoin College. He currently lives in Pemaquid Harbor with his wife Phyllis.

Mom and Dad’s Campfire

By Carol Dana

I’m going down the road and in my mind
I enter your camp by the sea
Imagine an eternal fireplace
Mom and Dad are sitting there
I remember the days of digging clams
Building the camp, boughs for the floor
I was always hoping to hear more
Of what you would tell me of our ancestors
We must have slept like rocks
Near that ocean
I found sweetgrass there years later
Hold a place for me in that camp
And I’ll be coming home
To be with yous, by your side
At the eternal camp fire.

Carol Dana was born on the Penobscot River in 1952. Her experiences camping, when her mom would talk about the old ways, are some of her favorite childhood memories. She has worked at the Indian Island School and at the Penobscot Cultural Historic Preservation Department, and has been writing for many years.

Artist setting up easel in fog

By David Little

David Little, “Artist setting up easel in fog”, Oil on canvas, 8 x 16 inches, 2010

David Little is the author of Art of Katahdin (2013), and co-author with brother Carl of Art of Acadia (2016) and Paintings of Portland (2018). A life-long landscape artist, David currently lives in Portland with his wife Mikki and maintains a studio there.

Use’ta

By Philip C. Rose

Hi there…How do you do?
I’m Derek Purlington.
I’m from Connecticut…
bought the lot beyond the cove.

Ayuh, I know it—use’ta hunt there.

My big house is all built,
and the pier and beach house
will be done in a month.

Use’ta walk down here to wade
and sun with Sal, my wife,
when we first were datin’.

Next summer we’ll widen the stream,
dredge around the pier.

Ducks use’ta love feedin’
in that crick. Use’ta clam
those flats myself.
Use’ta make good money, too.

Well, it certainly is a great spot!
We love the natural beauty,
the undisturbed quiet,
the feeling of peace and privacy.
What a shame so many folks
can’t appreciate
what this is worth!

Use’ta be.

Philip C. Rose was an English teacher, photographer, and not-so-ancient mariner who spent his final years writing poetry from his cliff-perched cottage in Machiasport. At times terrifying, at times inscrutable, the sea was something he wrestled with and wrote about, but never railed against.

Spirit of the Marsh

by Lise Becu

Lise Becu, Spirit of the Marsh, 2011, Addison black granite (gabbro) from the historic Pleasant River Quarry, sited in Addison

Gaspé Peninsula, Quebec native Lise Becu’s Inuit-mythology-inspired sculptures have been featured at symposia in Finland, France, and Maine, where she now lives in Tenants Harbor. Her Spirit of the Marsh is part of the 200-mile Maine Sculpture Trail in Downeast Maine.

Heritage

By Deirdre Whitehead

inherit: to come into possession of
maintain: to preserve or retain, to carry on, to sustain
bestow: to present as a gift or honor

As humans, we have an inherent connection to the natural world. The heritage of the land we conserve includes the forces that have shaped it, as well as the organisms that live there. For a land trust, accepting conservation easements and purchasing land can seem like a cut and dried business transaction. We make decisions by examining the present ecological and community values of these lands. But ecological preservation does not represent the whole picture. History and culture also inform our sense of and connection to place.

When we complete a land deal, we inherit the history and culture of the humans who have interacted and lived on the landscape. Their land-use practices may go back thousands of years. Stewardship, caring for the land, involves paying attention to what came before. My experience as a Maine Coast Heritage Trust land steward in Washington County has taught me that when you inherit something as abstract and slippery as culture, it is not always apparent. Learning to read this landscape takes an observant eye and a curiosity that goes beyond science.

When I first visited Treat Island, a Maine Coast Heritage Trust preserve, I found a “moonscape” on the southern tip of the island. The land was barren, mostly rock rubble. Something major had happened here! Research at local libraries and historical societies told a story going back to the travels of the Passamaquoddy and early Euro-American settlement of the region. Treat Island had known the Passamaquoddy, and seen French Acadians, and Revolutionary War patriots and smugglers.   

The island supported a community who caught and smoked herring and built a school for their children. An attempt to harness Cobscook Bay for electricity brought dynamite and bulldozers, which destroyed many of the signs of previous inhabitants. Still, village sites, burials, and military earthworks—these events are all etched upon the island we acquired.

At Sipp Bay, naming and language are clues. Scipeo Dalton, a freed slave, lived here in the late 1700s. The inner bay is named for him. The Passamaquoddy call this place Kci-puna-muhtakik, “big frost-fish (tomcod) spawning place.” This name describes a place where winter food was available, and where Passamaquoddy feasted and preserved food for the winter. It is not surprising to find middens and artifacts on this property. Archaeology can inform us about the past and also provide assurance that it is safe to dig for a kiosk or to construct steps to the shore.

To recognize the presence of those who came before can lead us to respect and reverence for the land, its history and changes, and its well-being and its future. This connection can change our perspective toward the land, regardless of politics, and allow us to understand how deeply dependent and connected we are.

I’m in my sixties. Oftentimes, I think about passing on the cultural information that I have gathered during my time as a land steward. Living in Washington County allows me special privilege… Here, progress and development lay lightly on the land. It is easy to stand on a bluff overlooking Machias Bay and imagine scores of birch bark canoes landing on a beach.

My stewardship relationships include intimacy with the stories and language of those who came before. I want to bestow this heritage to the next generations. Who knows how many generations it takes to forget?

Deirdre Whitehead has worked for Maine Coast Heritage Trust as a Downeast steward since 2009. She came to Washington County from Midcoast Maine to work for the Passamaquoddy Tribe and fell in love with the area. In her spare time, she gardens and plays music.

A Conversation on Land Conservation

With Donald Soctomah

Tell me about your history working with land trusts in Maine

When I served as Tribal Representative, one of the pieces of legislation I passed had to do with funds for Land for Maine’s Future, which allows conservation groups to access state money to buy land based on archaeological value and tribal concerns. I started working with land trusts to get their support for the legislation. That passed. A lot of the groups looked at that as another way to protect different cultural concerns and use the funds as a source of revenue to protect land.

How does your work as Passamaquoddy Tribal Historic Preservation Officer intersect with land conservation?

A major part of my job is to protect native artifacts, native concerns, and native culture. Several federal laws were enacted to give the tribes a voice on land use. For any project in the State that receives federal money, I get a copy of the work plan and make comments on it. So if it concerns tribal culture and may impact rich sources of history we get involved. Many times, I work with archaeological firms to conduct archaeological digs. I’ve worked cooperatively with Maine Coast Heritage Trust to address cultural concerns on MCHT lands.

What is your understanding of how and why Maine Coast Heritage Trust conserves land?

I think MCHT thinks about the natural beauty and the people resource that land holds, but also the cultural aspect. Many conservation groups have started to look at the cultural value of land and the impact of not protecting these special sites.

What do you think is the value of land conservation?

The Tribe is worried about the whole coastline being taken over by oil refineries, gas terminals, communities—because for us this means we lose a major part of our culture. We need to have that interaction, that relationship, with special sites along the coast for our culture and our spirituality. It’s hard to interact with nature when there’s houses and development all around you.

I like to look at the big picture, how things make the circle, how things seem to happen in patterns. If you look 100 years into the future, there are going to be people moving to the coast, and there are going to be these spots of green, these special places, and people will look back and say, “Let’s see how that happened.” Now is the time to protect as much as possible.

The word “place” comes up a lot in land conservation. What is the significance of place in your life?

Other cultures have churches, but our spirituality is experienced in being in Nature’s Place. That aspect people don’t really talk about too much. Place is built into our DNA.

The Passamaquoddy Tribe is working on a language immersion project for children, and had a psychologist talk to teachers about how the effects of trauma—the things that the Tribe has gone through over all these years, the loss of spirituality—are passed down through genes.

Learning the language is a healing process. You see a calmness come over the kids. They’re starting to look at things differently. They’re not just looking at a tree as an object with leaves, now they see tree as life, and that the tree sustains other animals, insects, oxygen—they’re looking at the whole process through the language. So, Place and Language go hand in hand.

In other words, if you lose access to the land, you lose access to a great deal more than just the land.

For many thousands of years, stories are based on the land around the area. If land is lost, the spirit’s lost, and the future, as far as I can see. And people need these quiet places, just to get in touch with themselves, to get in touch with their culture—any culture. Go far back enough, and in one way or another every person is rooted in an indigenous culture.

What do you hope for the coast for the next 50 years?

I hope the coastal area receives more protection. This coastline is disappearing with the rising ocean. In the last ten years I’ve seen the coastline lose one foot, two feet, three feet—some places even up to five feet. Currents and storms are changing. I hope that this coastline is still here because this is reflective of all of us and will impact all humankind.

Donald Soctomah is Tribal Historic Preservation Officer for the Passamaquoddy Tribe. He was born in 1955 within the aboriginal homeland of the Passamaquoddy Tribe. After receiving his undergraduate degree in forestry from the University of Maine at Orono in 1984, he worked for the U.S. Forest Service out of the West Virginia Office, serving seven states around the country. In 1989, he returned to Washington County to work for the Passamaquoddy Tribal Forestry Department in various capacities.

An author, filmmaker, and historian, Soctomah was elected to serve as Tribal Representative to the Maine House of Representatives for eight years and later worked as the Tribal Historic Preservation Officer. Soctomah has authored several children’s books and history books. He is also a frequent consultant on historic and educational projects around the Northeast and has worked to inventory Passamaquoddy place names in Maine and New Brunswick, Canada.