A Maine Bean Supper by Peter Landry

(From the Philadelphia Inquirer c. 1997)

On a trip to Maine last month, I went to a ham-and-bean supper at the Atlantic Firemen's Hall in CapePorpoise. The hall is a landmark in the middle of the village where I grew up, a Victorian incongruitythat also houses the local library and a rustic upstairs dance hall. Everybody goes there.  The supper was the sort of event where you renew old acquaintances, and at the long community tables Icertainly saw a lot of folks I hadn't seen in a great while.    There also was another sort of renewal at work that night, the kind that travels well when you go back tothe regular rhythms of life.

The supper was a fund-raiser for the local Conservation Trust, which this year celebrates its silveranniversary.In the search for civic symbols, this little volunteer group is as much a beacon as the local lighthouse itrecently acquired after years of negotiation.It is an emblem of the volunteerism, involvement and civic renewal we hear so much about ineverything from community journalism to charity drives.And as we embark on the annual outreach efforts of the holidays and the new year, it could be a modelfor volunteerism in every community.

In a quarter century the Kennebunkport Conservation Trust has acquired not only the lighthouse, but theisland it stands on, eight others in this southern Maine harbor and a network of inland trails and woods.In this age of limited largess, this volunteer group has strung a necklace of nature preservation whollywithout public money. In fact, some of its work has been done with no money at all.It has been done with volunteers, and good will.

 

Cape Porpoise is a village in the old, truest sense, compact around a town square, defined by modest and  sturdy landmarks: the Bradbury Bros. Market, the Firemen's Hall and Library, the spire of the Methodist   Church that marks both time and community with its hourly bell. More tightly knit than the transient tourist area of Kennebunkport proper, Cape Porpoise still has the volunteer spirit born of interdependence. The Fire Department is all volunteer, the ambulance service volunteer, the fundraising fairs of church, library and Atlantic Hall all volunteer. And if the oceanwreaks havoc on the boats or gear of the town's lobster fleet, neighbors still pull together to untangle the crisis. It is a place where people don't wait for town government to do things. They do things themselves.  The island project in Cape Porpoise has unfolded painstakingly over more than 25 years, but in the last two it has taken a dramatic turn. In short succession the Conservation Trust won control of the lighthouse from the federal government, successfully negotiated to purchase the 44 acres of Trott's Island next door, knocked $100,000 off the purchase price with swift, imaginative fund-raising, then was rewarded by separate bequests of Milk and Savin Bush Islands, and the bulk of Bass Island in the center of the harbor. With this and the earlier acquisition of Vaughn's, Cape, Green and Redin's Islands, the trust has used activism and ingenuity to protect the diverse cluster that forms the "cape" of Cape Porpoise. Unvarnished, effective volunteerism is what we need to focus on when we talk of community involvement. Not sweeping, all-encompassing Save the World sentiments. Volunteerism that is roll-up-the-sleeves practical; that takes one step at a time; that tries to make a little spot of the Earth better, then hopes the spirit spreads.It is the kind we're seeing in Philadelphia's Mantua and Badlands neighborhoods, where neighbors walk the night to move drug dealers off corners. It's the kind we see at Third and Westmoreland where neighbors are organizing to get trash removed in the wasteland across from the new Luis Munoz Marin Elementary School. It is the kind we see when art lovers turn out each year to refurbish statues in Fairmount Park. It is the kind we see when neighbors in Haverford organize a yearly picnic for kids or work to limit encroachment of a nursing home on residences.

Each journey is taken with single steps. And we can't wait for someone else to take the first. When the first Cape Porpoise island was saved from development in 1969, no one dreamed that one day an entire harbor's natural resources would be saved.  But look at Cape Porpoise today. My children, and their children, will get to picnic in future years on great flat table rocks and slide the seaweed at water's edge. Students will get to hike through smooth green marshes or tent in soothing hemlocks. Visitors will get to gather marsh rosemary or sea glass or watch the wanderings of moose or herons.

All will get to enjoy the rich, tangible efforts of people who easily could have found other things to do with their time.

They'll get to see the rewards of volunteerism.

And maybe get a decent supper

Descending Fog by Arnold Amoroso

     Some stories hang in the memory because of what happened, others, more vague, for what didn’t.
  In 1970 we were both young enough to allow adventure to challenge good sense.   The late afternoon must have been clear when we paddled out to Cape Island in the old Grummond canoe for an evening picnic.  We unloaded at mid-tide, above the slippery sea weeds and started a fire out on the rocks.  We probably ate a leisurely meal, commented on the intensity of the intermittent light from Goat Island, and ignored the onset of a descending fog.   We were young: all threats were distant.

     By ten or so we had lost the tide and decided to take the outside route
between Cape and Trott’s over open ocean in front of Goat to the mouth of the harbor.  The light, earlier intense and confined was now a smudge over half the sky, a dim spotlight behind a sheet of muslin.  Beyond the protection of Stage Harbor swells lifted and dropped us toward the sound of water crashing on rocks to the right.   That intermittent brightening of the sky now seemed excruciatingly infrequent as we rose and slid, rose and slid, waiting for the light.
      “Make sure it stays to the right, and we’ll be o.k,” I shouted from the rear.
      “Just keep us off the rocks.” Grace sounded determined but not
entirely confident.
     The fifteen minute crossing was relieved at length by buoys tapping against the aluminum and the rusty post of the harbor marker materializing beside us. The mainland came into focus, not clear but
free of the obscurity of the islands, and even in our youth I know we  felt thankful.

Almost forty years later, thanks to many forward thinking and generous citizens all the islands and more than a few plots of the mainland remain untouched.  For us, these places then and now are one, and if we dared, we could venture out on another fog enshrouded evening, skirt the rocks of Goat Island and once more wait for the light.

A Little Gift by Tony Viehmann

It was a beautiful, warm Sunday morning in August.I couldn’t resist venturing out alone to Stage Harbor in my kayak, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the serenity all around me.

I worked my way around Pebbly Beach on Trotts Island and was paddling between Trotts and Cape Island when I came upon a sole duckling foraging for breakfast on top of a mass of floating seaweed near the shore. I stopped and looked around. “Where’s Mom?”, I called, and looked in all directions, but there were just the two of us ... a tiny bird and me in a sixteen foot kayak!

The little guy was aware of my presence but his number one priority was breakfast. I marveled at his dexterity on top of slippery seaweed. His head bobbed up and down intermittently, and occasionally he’d look over at me. I kept my distance because I didn’t want to frighten him.

After several minutes, I slowly maneuvered the kayak in closer. I sat quietly enjoying this special treat. “How close can I get?” I wondered. “I’m worried about you” I said. “You must have lost your way.”

Ever so slowly, I pulled up right next to my new friend. I inquired about the whereabouts of his mom, but he just looked up at me without even a peep. I sat motionless and amazed.

Very slowly I lowered my right hand down into the water, holding it still for several minutes. I wondered if he would allow me to actually touch him. He seemed so unafraid and all I could think of was how huge I must look to him. Finally I gently began stroking his back with the back of my fingers. He looked up and we sat there, silently, together. We were bonding!

He seemed to enjoy my company and my one-way conversation with him kept me amused but concerned. We stayed together for awhile and I began to feel responsible for his safety. After all, it would take just one hungry seagull to spoil his day! “Should I pick him up and take him home for safekeeping?” ... probably not a good idea.

Finally the time had come and I reluctantly parted company with my new friend. “Good bye. Be safe.”, I called as I paddled away.

As I made my way back to shore, my thoughts turned to a world where there was no fear and more trust! What a world that would be! Dream on ... perhaps some day. Until then, thanks little bird, for giving me your trust. What a gift! You made my day!

A Cape Porpoise Memory by Evelyn Paine

  As a little child, I came to Cape Porpoise, with my dad. As a way of making extra money, he turned out, on a wood lathe, lobster buoys for the fishermen here. "Winky" Perry, of the Langsford Road was dad's connection with the fishermen.  I will always remember going to Winky's little house.  It was as neat as could be and quaintly wonderful to me. I especially remember all of his ship to shore radios.  I was fascinated by them!  I was told that he used them to stay in touch with the fishermen when they were out to sea. He was the head of the fishermen's association at the time. {That is what I was told anyway.}     

 At the time, we were living in Portsmouth.  My dad's work shop was in our back yard along with a few lobster boats that were in bad need of repair.  Looking back, I can only imagine how happy our neighbors were when we moved!

 After many hours of turning and sticking the buoys, dad would load them, the dog, one of my cousins and me into the back of his pickup and off we would go to Cape Porpoise.  After the deliveries were made, my dad would stop at Bradbury's and buy us a "frozen pudding ice cream cone."  This act of kindness was actually an act of bribery.  We were not to tell my mother that HE was drinking a beer or two...on the way back to Portsmouth!  Getting to come to Cape Porpoise, seeing Winky, Goat Island Light and the other Islands, plus stopping at Bradbury's made the deal GREAT to me!

 I made up my mind, way back then, that someday I would live here.  It took awhile, but I have finally made it thanks to my artist husband, Bob!   (When we met, I told him that he belonged on the Coast of Maine, and I knew just where!!!)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

The Trust in My Life by Shirley Bradbury

For all but the first two years of our 32 years together the Trust has just been “there”, a given in our daily lives, a part of the very essence of who my husband is and has become. His devotion to the community in which he lived and had grown up could be evidenced even before he became a part of the organization. For instance, our first activity together involved gathering sea glass from the shore of Vaughn’s Island.

We’d wade out at low tide and spend hours bent over, picking the tiny colored jewels from the rocks. Tom was a master at it, his focus and single-mindedness evident even then. He could spot the smallest shards of cobalt or green where I could see nothing but stones. The waves, the gulls, and the heady scent of the mud flats easily distracted me. But I did my share and we filled several jugs and bottles, which Tom made into lamps. Thus began the accumulation of “our” possessions. A more high maintenance woman would have balked at hour upon hour of silence, pawing through small stones searching for bits of polished refuse. But I was enraptured by this handsome, muscular (yes—in those days very blond) young man who seemed so sure in his sense of place and pride of heritage. I suppose my being of a nuclear family transplanted to Maine “from away”, albeit at age three, made this a very attractive quality. He had an inner drive and sense of purpose, which was undirected then but very present and compelling. In my youth and naiveté I would surely have followed him straight into the sea without hesitation had he asked that of me. I have since developed more independent responses to his many creative proposals for my time.

On my February break from school I thought that I would surprise Tom with a weekday visit. He was at work, so to occupy myself I went out to Vaughn’s Island and proceeded to relive some of our finest moments. Satisfied that I’d filled the deep pockets of my parka with treasures even he would be impressed with, I turned to go back to the house. To my horror, the channel was half filled with rushing water. Raised inland, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of living by the ocean--never be ignorant of the tide! Not wanting to freeze out there for twelve more hours, and not having a way to even let him know I was there in those pre-cell phone days, I did the only thing I could think of, ditch the contents of my pockets and lunge in. Half way across I was sure that I’d have heart failure, and I quickly realized the danger inherent of hypothermia when I could no longer feel my legs moving. Sheer humiliation at my own stupidity powered me onward and I did make it out, gasping, numb and as scarlet as a cooked lobster. Never was I to doubt again the power of the ocean. And I still cringe when I think about the likelihood of a couple of natives sitting in their kitchen windows watching the antics of such a “gol-danged fool.” I’m sure Tom later married me so as to have a hand in protecting me from myself! But that’s another story!

Eventually we did decide to get married, after a whopping three-week engagement. Our reception was held outside at the head of Cape Porpoise harbor, and our wedding pictures were very candid. One was shot with the lighthouse and harbor in the background. As my lovely white shoes sank in the mud I thought briefly that this probably wasn’t standard, but what the heck, it was going to make a great

photo. I had no idea that this indeed would become the very backdrop to our life together. At the time we had other plans, both having trained for careers that had little to do with how we eventually chose to live.

When Tom’s parents bought the Pinkham buildings at the head of the harbor in order to create a gift shop and local museum, one of the first things Tom did was to take a small room and turn it into a dandy office. Of course, he had no “official” business as yet. I was impressed with the fact that he just thought he needed it—what for would take care of itself. There was an understanding between us that there was a purpose, which I now consider to be his “calling”. That in time revealed itself as the work of the Kennebunkport Conservation Trust. It evolved slowly and rarely did either of us think of it as anything other than a part time project, though, on occasion, I did refer to it as his magnificent obsession. We could not have known in the beginning what would come of it. I think it’s an example of what happens when a person is guided by inner direction and passion, and lets life unfold in the manner that it should. People get into so much trouble when they force things to be what they are not by nature.

This is not to say that it was easy. What things that are important ever are? There were sleepless nights when he had committed to a big project with no idea where the money would come from. And there wereresentments on my part that the Trust was worse than “another woman.” I’ve joked that Tom won’t be at my funeral if it conflicts with a Trust event. Our daughter was nervous that her Dad would turn her wedding into a fundraising event. He had said for years that the girls should take advantage of the annual Phillip H. Matthews Lobster bake. Friends and family are already there, the food is great, the music is wonderful, and there are fireworks and a perfect afternoon lull where a wedding could fit in. I think he was kidding but the girls were never sure.

It took years for me to realize that we were a genuine team, that he likely could not accomplish so much without my efforts and understanding on the home front. In 1996, Tom was nominated and recognized by the Cato Foundation and the Land Trust Alliance as the leading citizen conservationist in America. We

attended the awards ceremony in Vermont. In the rush after his presentation I was immediately surrounded with well-wishers and spouses of other deeply involved individuals in the land conservation movement. I was astounded for they were recognizing me, just for being his partner! I was overwhelmed with emotion as I heard for the first time that other people understood what it means to be married to someone with an all consuming passion such as land preservation. It may well have been the only time that I have been choked up and speechless.

Still, the solid feeling that the work he believes in is good and correct propels us ever forward. There is little time for second-guessing. Tom is one of those people who is just in the right place at the right time, and is smart enough to recognize it. He forever looks confidently to the future, believing in his heart that preserving the special places of his childhood is something of consequence both for those of today and for all who will follow.

For those who may not have noticed over the years, Tom habitually signs off on Trust newsletters with the phrase, “Together we can make a difference. Together we can do great things.” I love this, and I take it very personally.     Shirley Bradbury (April, 2007)