Our world is so well documented these days. The internet has revealed so much. Images are everywhere.

Mobile devices record with incredible resolution. New cameras, which do more every day, all but make photos without us. We see so much all the time on our computers, phones and TVs. So much to sort out, so much information.

Jimmy Waugh is Maeve O'Connell's grandfather — he is 90 and lives in Reno, Nevada, now. He used some of my photos in his publication “Regionaire” long ago. This was in the pre-Maeve era. At that time there were three Jim printers — Jimmy Waugh, Jimmy Hanna and Jim Behringer. I've had printing done by all the Jims.

But Maeve is not a printer. She is more of an imprinter I'd say. Maeve, despite her limitations, has managed to leave an indelible mark here in the region and beyond.

Chip Griffin plays lead guitar when it comes to the history of Damariscove. He has spoken, written, and dreamed about the island for years. It may be fair to guess that he is somewhat of a reincarnated inhabitant of a life once lived there. It's difficult to consider so much knowledge coming from pure research.

But, as my father used to say, “Hard to imagine frozen toes until you've had some.” So, I'd like to suggest, then, that there is nothing quite like floating into Damariscove harbor and walking the island.

Matthew Forgues of Boothbay has walked further and faster than any person I know!

Since the age of seven, Matt has trained and competed in state, national and international race walking competitions.

If someone were to ask me (heaven forbid) to build a boat in an unusual place, I'd contact Herb and Doris Smith. They've built a pretty good batch of boats and given them serious workouts, even sailing around the world, more than once!

The last time I visited Herb with a boat under construction was on a dairy farm in Albion, Maine. The barn where the boat was being built was very filled up with parts and pieces. Herb seemed very small alongside what was to become the sailing vessel, Eastwind, which we now often see cruising the waters around Boothbay Harbor and the outer islands. 

Football is less interesting to me these days. But I am reminded of my six plus years “on the gridiron” in an earlier life growing up in the Pennsylvania hills between Penn State and Pittsburgh, when I get out of bed in the morning. Friday night lights, baby!

Many of my memories recur with nagging knee and neck malfunctions, but I guess that's part of the game.

For almost a year now I have visited the Boothbay Harbor Shipyard to check on the Ernestina-Morrissey project. It has been a fascinating process to watch and photograph.

Over the years I have photographed many projects at local shipyards - Samples, Goudy and Stevens, Hodgdon, Washburn and Doughty,  but the restoration of Ernestina is quite unique.

Do you think we are creatures of habit?

I have noticed myself doing things that make no sense at all to me here in 2016. Stuff that should be long gone.

You would think, living as we do in a relatively tight knit island community, that there would not be much new to discover after 15 years. Well, such is not the case, for me at least.

Recently an email arrived from Barbara Baseman (lady unit in above photo), the just retired president of the Southport Island Association, aka, SIA. Donald Duncan was also about to retire after 18 years as treasurer of the association and a gift of some “iconic” island scene might be an appropriate thank you for many years of service. Cuckolds Light came to mind. As it turned out, a view of the Cuckolds is pretty accessible from Mr. Duncan's location on the island.

Last Wednesday we sneaked in a quick bus trip to New York City for our oldest daughter Megan's birthday and new play. Interesting to leave Maine during peak summer.

For those of us who occupy Maine year round, travel aboard Concord Coach “Plus” bus is pretty cool — direct to downtown NYC. The Maine to New York run offers a little perspective when considering what its like to go the other way, NYC to Maine. Imagine arriving in Sprucewold from downtown New York City. “Tennis anyone?”

It's always interesting to see what will pop up on the magic screen, aka computer, to my weekly journeys. Doing things on a schedule with a deadline has never been one of my strong suits. I don't know how people do it. Maybe full-time writing makes it a bit easier. For me, the writing is mixed in with yard work, carpentry, chainsaw and even some photography now and then. Recently, more now than then. Things hop along pretty good in July and August.

This landmark light station has been photographed inside out and upside down for as long as there have been boats in the water around "Booth Bay," almost. It has been on the cover of magazines, featured in videos, made postcards of, housed keepers and their families, studied by students and teachers, visited by thousands and cared for by many.

In our 40-plus years aboard the region, I have made countless photographs from across the bay on Spruce Point, from the air in helicopters and fixed wing puddle jumpers, aboard lobster boats, tour boats and questionable boats which shall remain nameless.

With technology advancing at Captain Kirk “Warp speed,” it's nice to know that some have opted out of a spot on the intergalactic fast train.

In my world of photography, which has experienced rapid change and unprecedented innovation, the old days of view cameras and film seemed destined for the Smithsonian. But as Mr. Berra once said, “It ain't over till it's over.”

The Fish family name has been associated with things nautical for many years here in the Boothbay region.

For decades, Captain Ray Fish owned and operated the Squirrel Express and the Nellie G, shuttling thousands of visitors and summer residents from Boothbay Harbor to nearby islands. Additionally, his boats introduced many to the beauty of our region through local excursions and I'm sure, candid commentary.

The Earls of Leicester concert at the Opera House this past weekend really took me back. Back to the Appalachian coal mining hills of my youth, growing up in central Pennsylvania.

The Earls are described as a bluegrass group but much of their sound reminded me of “Please help me I'm falling, in love with you. Close the door to temptation, don't let me walk through” And, “Walking the floor over you.” A chord was struck.

The last time I visited the Olson House was about 30 years ago. I was doing workshops for the great and powerful Peter Ralston's “Island Photographic Workshops” and the Olson House was on the agenda.

A group of photo enthusiasts gathered at the Ocean House in Port Clyde, where we were all well cared for by Buddy Murdock and his gracious crew. Ralston is a big name in the photo world which attracted folks from all over. How I got roped into leading the workshop is still a mystery, but it was fun and I met some lovely people. I still hear from participants, many of whom had never been to Maine.

It was unfortunate that the weather turned bad on the day boats arrive for the Windjammer festival. But, Mother Nature nature still holds the trump card. Also unfortunate that I had to go to the archives under the bed for an aged 35-year-old image.

Funny thing is I got a call from a New Jersey gent the day after the old aerial photo came out in the paper. He said in all the years he's been coming here (over 300 trips to Maine) — he was a long haul trucker for UPS — he'd never seen the Harbor from that angle. I traded him some magnificent Jersey tomatoes for a print.

This week's photo is a blast from the past.

And I'm not exactly sure how far in the past, but my guess would be the early '80s. There are some telltale landmarks which may help identify the year. It would have been particularly helpful if I had dated the image, but that's way too normal.

Mike could tell you things that you never wanted to know.

He had an unmistakable laugh that you could hear a mile away, and many people did!

Once a gang of us had a birthday party for Mike. He was emphatic about his birthday party. It could not be avoided, even six months late. Every time he got bumped into — “When are you guys gonna have my party?”

In the winter, visitors slow to a crawl. Far less activity when the weather turns cold. Except for the errant robin which, according to our Aunt Bea, heads for the deep woods, visible occasionally announcing that not everyone who can goes south.

But, in spring, it's a different story around here. Things are hopping right now. This place bubbles over with all sorts of new faces, especially of the winged variety.