Brown

Maine is brown this year. Most of the fields look scorched. The brown is nestled between the dark blue-green sea and the rich green upper story of deciduous trees with an occasional red barn in between. To me it looks dangerous. One errant spark or discarded cigarette could send the whole island up in flames. Thankfully the only people I see smoking are the lobster fishers and they harmlessly throw the smoldering butts into the water. 

 

The fields in Maine were used for fodder and hay, but now most lay fallow. They have a certain appearance which at first looks like a monoculture wheat crop. On closer inspection the fields consist of a multiplicity of plants that glow. Though the predominate color is that of hay, there is much more complexity. 

 

There are greens and various shades of violet, even bright red makes an appearance. And of course, the colors depend on the time of year, the moisture content, the mowing and/or grazing schedule. I say grazing even though, other than the occasional goat or horse, I rarely see any barnyard animals. 

 

Last year Maine was green. It rained continually except when the tropical storms came and then it poured. Each morning when I emerged from our damp sleeping quarters at the bow I would look at the relative humidity gauge. It was topped out at 100%, whereas this year it hovers more in the 40 to 50% range. 

 

There have been many heat advisories this year, last year there were none. The few times we have made it to land the temperature have been in the high eighties or nineties. But Maine’s waters resist warmth except in isolated shallow bays. Eleven foot ebb tides suck warm water out into the Atlantic and replace it with fifty degree water during the flood. So, on the water it is rarely hot. 

 

Today is a down day for us. The wind, due to a large contra spinning offshore low, is from the northeast and gusting over the protective hill at 25 knots. The rain has been steady but not particularly hard. A few powerboats left this morning in contrast to the sailboats which have stayed anchored. 

 

Carrie Rose is in a well protect harbor attached to a friend’s mooring. As the gust blow over her she gently swings side to side. Wavelets clunk against the bow drum like, a sound we have become accustomed to and barely hear. I sit in the pilothouse and look out at one beautiful sailboat after another anchored before me. 

 

A large black heavily reefed Hinckley just sought refuge in the harbor. It does the usual dance to find the perfect spot to drop the anchor. The Camden Hills across East and West Penobscot Bays have faded in the mist, and white caps are streaming past the harbors entrance. The wind and rain have escalated, so it timed its arrival perfectly.

There is plenty of food, fuel, and wine on Carrie Rose. It was a good call to come here and then to stay put. When the low pressure system moves east and the sun returns I will be curious if Maine becomes green again, just in time to turn brown . . .  

Pulpit Harbor, North Haven, Maine