I sent this week’s adventure photo to a friend in Germany. We met on a flight from Paris to Cameroon. Anette was hoping to adopt a child from an orphanage near Douala. I was doing some photography with Dr. Patricia Toro and the Mailman School at Columbia University reestablished medical clinics in sub Saharan Africa. Anette and I had a lot of time to talk on the flight.

I met my B-flat metal clarinet in junior high school. We had a very active love/hate relationship. I loved the sounds, hated to practice. My music career didn’t last long.

This is a photo of a familiar face around the Tri Village community!

Everyone knows Rusty Court. Even people who don't know Rusty, know of him. He is a high profile individual. Let me count the ways.

It’s been quite some time since a visit to Cape Newagen was much more than an exercise in zen renewal. Standing on the end of the town pier, looking out across the harbor toward Seguin is a truly spiritual experience any day of the week, any time of the year. So when I got an invitation to visit with Gary Snowman at his under renovation cottage at water's edge, I was feeling pretty pleased.

Anna Christina has been interested in the natural healing properties of alternative medicinals since she was a very young child. This was due, in large part, to a variety of childhood ailments. Anna was not a happy camper due to an abundance of physical challenges, and, through a keen eye for observation, the problems of others. In addition to needing help for herself, she always wanted to help other people.

Before trailing off into the tall grass in search of new adventures, I wanted to share a tiny bit of post-Father's Day best wishes for dads here and gone. It’s just a small item, please bare with me.

OK ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, its time for this year's obligatory lupine photo.

I know that everyone with an image making device is out there crawling through the pucker brush, transiting the shorelines and hopefully, not trampling over this year's crop of Lupine Lady contributions to the already exceptional beauty of our Maine. For me, this is an annual visual adventure. Where will they come up, what colors will they be, and how many attend the big dance.

Does anyone (other than me) wonder how birds know when the feeders are full? The red squirrels certainly seem to have figured it out! Last year there were very few red squirrels munching at the trough of life. This year, it’s a bumper crop! It’s like, “Your order is ready” at FAT BOYS! They are aggressive and numerous. Fortunately we have one of those spring loaded feeders that the squirrels can’t climb. But they sure can chew their way to stardom trying. Traffic control at our feeders is overwhelming!

It was just about a year ago that we visited Blue Tin Farm on the Cross Point Road in Edgecomb. I knew of the farm and its animals and hoped that Crystal Theall and her family of people and animals would allow us to vist again.

I love the cool pale green of new growth in spring. It sort of represents the refreshing of things and really never shows up for another year. The birch leaves in particular, however the green leaves of our ginkgo are a close second, but later.

We first bumped into the Johanson-Goranson family at Sheepscot Valley Children’s House in Wiscasset, in the early ’90s. Our children, along with a gang of other area youngsters, attended pre-school and a couple elementary school years together there. Our daughter Mae, and Carl Johanson, started out around the same time and ironically, ended up together years later at Bennington College in Vermont, in the theatre and acting program.

Before I step out into traffic today with my weekly adventure, I'd like to comment about an evolving situation in our community.

For many many years I have visited our local business establishments with little or no concern and increasing recognition. Recently it occurred to me that I look like many people and am unrecognizable.

Over the years I have owned and used many chainsaws. In my younger years, the metal of choice was either Homelite or McCulloch. The McCulloch saw was enormous, heavy and loud with a bar that was over two feet long. It was like lugging a small Evinrude outboard through the woods. But, once you set that baby on a log, it was so heavy, you needn’t do anything but wait for it to finish the cut. No pressure needed. Don’t get it bound up though, it --- took a backhoe to dislodge.

Delores “Lola” deHoyos O’Byrne.

Without even knowing Lola, her “official” name, to me, was a bit of a mystery. Quite a combination of vowels, for all you English teachers out there. When I first heard her name I couldn’t help but wonder where on Earth had this woman come from. And you know, even now, as she has made the big turn, I’m not sure I know where Lola came from.

When I was a kid growing up in the central Pennsylvania land of hunters, my father and I would sometimes head off into the woods in search of elusive wild things to shoot at. Dad used to joke that our rigorous excursions were more like exercise programs for regional wildlife than actual success filled killing missions. I’m not sure we ever actually “hit” much of what we shot at, excepting the occasional hemlock tree or mountain laurel bush. We often laughed on our drives home about what the woods' animals must be saying to each other as we entered their domain. Something perhaps like, “Oh boy, here comes Goober and Festus again, let’s get ready to rumble. These turkeys couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door.”

For anyone who reads this column you shouldn’t be surprised by my inability to stay on task for very long. I do have a tendency to wander. Well, this week’s adventure will confirm any suspicions you might have regarding my distractability. Not like Damariscove or Eastern Egg Rock distracted. We’re talking California boys and girls. So set your GPS for the gold rush days and settle in. I hope you will find this interesting.

I have been reluctant to share today’s ditty for a variety of reasons, many of which I ignore because it’s not in my nature to follow instructions. I think this may be the result of being over instructed in my youth. That’s just a guess, but we'll go with that for the time being.

This photograph makes me smile. Interestingly, because it reminds me of Captain Morton's son, Ernie, who I used to bump into frequently when he worked at Hawke Motors with Richard Latter. Man, what a team!

What's the first thing you notice about this photograph? Is it the power lines? Ugh. I know. I would have tried to eliminate them with some fancy Photoshop magic, but I don't know how and figure it would take me 87 hours to learn. And then it would probably look like jet contrails ghosting across the front of the buildings!

I made this week’s photo of Danielle Ames last summer by accident while photographing from the East Side. You never know what you might find when not looking.

Danielle has quite a story, I came to discover, as she helped process pogies at Harbor Bait which shares space with Eddie's “Atlantic Edge” and the town pier. I had never witnessed this process and was amazed by what Danielle (who I did not know but asked her permission to photo) had to do to keep up with the flow of pogies spewing out of conveyors and shutes, flying every which way and into blue barrels. It appeared to me to be a herculean task, not to mention, for a woman. I soon realized that Danielle knew her stuff and was extremely capable and experienced.