sunrise: 6:44 in Harpswell Maine at the Giant Staircase
One interesting guest was an old Mainer who joined us. He has been writing poems since 1943, he told us. At our second stop this morning he pulled a piece of folded notebook paper out of his pocket. "Would you like to see one of my poems?" he asked. I sure would.
Later he recited two of his original poems from memory. He is not a lobsterman, he told us. You have to be very tough and ready to protect your gear and your territory to be in that business. I gather the little quahogs. That's how I make my money.
He has no computer, no TV, no answering machine, and very little money, it appears. He also doesn't hear very well, and his speech is a bit muddy, perhaps due to some denture issues. But he surely has the poet's heart and soul. Meeting Ben makes the whole day worthwhile, even though it has only just begun.
So - I must rush away from Starbucks with its free wifi and get on to the next stop.