My Maine

Ida and Her Island

As a kid, I was afraid of Ida. And small wonder: stout and tall, with big hands and a severe face, she was every inch the forbidding Yankee spinster. My idea of Ida shifted slightly one summer morning when I was about 10 years old.

Man Ice Fishing

Cold Frontier

Hard by the Canadian border, the winters are long, the woods are impenetrable, and the roads are lonely. And that’s the way folks in the flinty little town of Jackman like it.