I need, and refuse to own, a navigational system with a robotic voice saying turn left here, go 200 yards, bear right, etc., etc. I am under the stars, benighted in the shallows, churning up mud, with time and tide running out.
With an eye on a quick sale, a couple updates a tattered old house on Portland’s Munjoy Hill — and they like it so well, they decide to stay.
Cold days and long nights wearing on you? To bust through those mid-winter doldrums, we have four heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping races for you to check out (or try out) this year.
There’s a trace of the sacred in it — in the light, in the title — plus a hint of the absurd, the faintest whiff of the freewheeling nature of that day at sea.
Ron Currie has some thoughts on Maine’s most rapidly changing city and the gentrification that displaced him from a neighborhood he loves.
Home is someplace between Walden and a woodstove.
Oxford House’s ambience hasn’t changed much since the inn opened in 1985, but the cuisine has. Jonathan and Natalie Spak, who bought the place in late 2007, offer contemporary American and Asian-influenced fare.
There are photos that present the buoyancy of that day, but this one captured something else.
From “Trekking on Rawhide,” by Robert Deis, in our January 1980 issue.
George French delivered 20 years worth of stirring images, mostly black-and-white, of pastoral landscapes, but he was also a devoted chronicler of working people.
Each month, Down East editors select our favorite response to “Where in Maine?” Here is our favorite letter from the November photo of Deering Oaks park in Portland.
The shot is all feel-good goofy nostalgia — one part Norman Rockwell, one part Yankee wit.