There is a woman who had a daughter that used to be on the streets. She died not far from these streets. She made it her mission to collect and backpacks for people living out here. And we did our best to get them to folks who needed them. #maggiesmission
Fish Shacks at Willard Beach South Portland, Maine
It was cold. Below zero with a fierce wind blowing the sea smoke out to sea.Thermal underwear. Down jackets (notice the plural). Snow overalls. Impeccable boots. Heavy insulated socks. Rechargeable hand warmers set on high in the pockets of my third jacket layer. Neck Gator. Hat. Check.
But epic fail of forgetting the thin gloves I use in combination with the pocket warmers to get through a morning like this.
It's not that I didn't know what to expect.
By the time I tried to frame a few images the bitter cold was no longer cold. It was pain. Sheer pain pounding up to my wrists.
The other photographer out there at the same time attempting to be friendly? I apologize. I was in such pain I could no longer see. I could no longer think. I didn't have the bandwith to even be kind. I needed to get to my car asap.
The lesson. Pain evaporated my ability to see. Evaporated my ability to respond to kindness.
I raced to the car best I could and cried and cried and cried waiting for the pain to subside. Which it did.
And I am left with this lesson.
Love at first sight. Love at first light.
Today is a cold and grey January day filled with freezing rain but for a moment this morning the sky was enormously beautiful. Generously beautiful. So beautiful. And deeply humbling and all I could think is how, how could I do to give back? This was an enormous gift and how can I possibly give back to this degree? To those that much is given, much will be asked.
Charles
Charles is not homeless but he lives close to the streets. Collecting returnables. Picking up what is cast aside. Redistributing. He is a lovely man. His nickname, an affectionate one, is The Gnome.
Poppy
from Skillin’s Greenhouse, Falmouth, Maine
Goddess of Coastal Bait Company, Portland Maine.
She’s as kick ass as she is kind. Truly a Hero of the Working Waterfront.
Outside the Welder's Shop
It’s always what’s left behind that tells an unspoken story.
Horizon at First Light, Floating
Winter marina at dawn.
Winter Marina
Winter Marina
Ardea herodias. Calling you this, my Great Blue Heron, makes my skin tingle.
Ardea herodias. Calling you this, my Great Blue Heron, makes my skin tingle.
Memory from July 10th, 2017
Borage Bloom. Stars in the Sky. Greenhouse Constellations.
Borage Bloom. Stars in the Sky. Greenhouse Constellations.
Years ago I officiated a funeral for a young woman who died of a fatal overdose...
Years ago I officiated a funeral for a young woman who died of a fatal overdose. Her daughter, a teenager at the time had told me in a meeting 'I want my mom's funeral to be something to remember.'
The family handed flower seeds to all who attended that service, seeds carefully wrapped in paper origami flowers they had made. I'll never forget their attention to that detail. Them sitting together. Folding that paper. Tucking in perennial seeds.
After the service on a cold, windy day in early spring I planted those seeds.
Each year they return in my garden. Stronger and healthier and more beautiful than the previous season.
I am comforted by her company though I never knew her. To the daughter of this woman: your mom's funeral was unforgettable to me.
How'd you sleep last night?...
Dear Anonymous,
I asked after everyone had a piece of cake, water, tshirt or shoes. Whatever the need du jour was. Who is this? But no one seemed to know who it was.
The condensation was forming under his plastic wrap and I thought 'meat trays'. A horribly uncomfortable thought once I had it.
I stuffed his boot with socks, a bottle of water and a coffee card like some twisted St. Nick in the Summer, letting him know I was close by with a 'Good morning. I don't mean to disturb you...' so he did not become too alarmed. His voice in return was soft and appreciative. Good morning.
How'd you sleep last night?
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
It was quiet. The world set at pause for just a moment...
It was quiet. The world set at pause for just a moment. And though everything was still moving I could stop and examine those words. Still. Moving.
The pretty way the word 'displacement' skirts the image of massacre. That's how I wind up standing here.
The pretty way the word 'displacement' skirts the image of massacre. That's how I wind up standing here.
Sky's above.
Sky's above.
Early out at Union Wharf.
Early out at Union Wharf.
Even before the sun, you were there.
Even before the sun, you were there.
The danger of the unexamined.
The danger of the unexamined.
What it is that happens before you have an idea.
What it is that happens before you have an idea.