“At Long Cove Sea Farm, one line of gear has a section that’s different from the others. Barrows is growing many of her pebble-size first-year oysters inside a set of experimental enclosures, cedar boxes with fine stainless-steel mesh on their tops and bottoms, their floats fastened on with stainless-steel ties. Some of the boxes are then enclosed in traditional plastic oyster bags, while others are set inside wire cages known as ranches. It’s a setup that eschews much of the plastic materials that oyster farms typically rely on, the first baby steps of a USDA-funded project to identify, test, and compare alternative materials. Today, microplastic pollution is a rapidly emerging field of scientific study and increasingly covered in the popular press — sometimes with apocalyptic overtones. But 10 years ago, when Abby Barrows first learned of its existence, there was so little awareness around microplastics that the then-journeyman scientist was captivated by their obscurity. It was like she’d discovered an asteroid hurtling towards Earth before anyone had heard of asteroids. ‘Aquaculture is going to be a big part of Maine’s future,’ she says. ‘We have this opportunity to rethink our current systems and materials, so why shouldn’t we? There may be bigger fish to fry, but this is an opportunity that’s kind of a no-brainer.’ Barrows hopes that, within a few years, Long Cove Sea Farm can be a model of what plastic-free — or, at least, plastic-reduced — aquaculture might look like.” A series of excerpts from “The Maine Microplastics Researcher Reenvisioning Aquaculture” about @longcoveseafarm in @downeastmagazine, written by @briankevinme. #maine #aquaculture #science #plasticpollution #microplastics

Brooke, Sarah, and Molly this summer. @judith_maine @gaskinsny @oneandsupp

“You're not an anti-racist because you believe something. Rather, because you do something.” — Ibram X. Kendi, author, professor and historian ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Ibram X. Kendi photographed in April during the height of the Derek Chauvin trial for Der Spiegel; quote translated from an interview that was published in German by Tobias Rapp. @ibramxk @spiegelmagazin

(From this summer.)

Zach in an orchard, at the end of a somersault.

“Sigrid Coffin, 38, is a second-generation [gravestone] carver who has always had a deep love of lettering, like her mother, who has a passion for painting and calligraphy. ‘I love the process of putting a letter into three dimensions,’ she says of the art form she finds so satisfying. ‘It doesn’t feel old-fashioned when I’m doing it,’ she adds. Sigrid Coffin is one half of Coffin & Daughter, where she works alongside her father, Douglas Coffin, who has been doing this work as long as Sigrid has been alive. Their studio is just a few hours away from Portland in Belfast, Maine, in a region where many of the country’s carvers are still based because of the trade’s colonial history and New England’s abundance of stone. It’s difficult and delicate work, but it is work with meaning and purpose. ‘It’s very powerful to see your loved one’s name in stone,’ Coffin says. ‘There’s something about the permanence that adds to the gravity.’ While modern, machine-made headstones can also offer a family solace, she says, there’s something special about helping someone in mourning design such a personal and lasting memorial to a loved one and then putting the time and effort into creating it with her own two hands. ‘I feel like I have a connection with them,’ Coffin says.” Recent work for @atlasobscura. From “The Art of Hand-Carving Headstones Isn’t Dead Yet,” written by Alisha McDarris. @mainelettercutter (had to repost this one because of a slight issue with the way the images had posted)

Last one from Nash Island (for now). For more about this story, check out “Shearing Sheep, and Hewing to Tradition, on an Island in Maine” in the New York Times, published June 2020. More on my website gretarybus.com

Each morning and evening during the month of lambing season, Alfie walks around the island to check on the sheep and the lambs. For the most part, the ewes are able to deliver and care for their their new lambs without issue; they are wild sheep and their bodies and the island provide what they need. These days in early spring are a unique space and time: it’s a time of birth, and occasionally, of death. While a lamb or two each year may need a little additional care and monitoring, like supplemental food or medicines, not every lamb will survive their first days. It’s the reason Alfie spends about five weeks on the island each year supporting the flock’s natural way of living and providing support at the most crucial window of a sheep’s life. The morning I took this photo, we walked the island and found several new and thriving lambs, as well as this little lamb who hadn’t survived the night. I debated a bit about sharing this photograph, Instagram is challenging place to discuss the existence of death. But places like Nash Island are where I’ve learned the most about the fullness of life, the beauty and brutality of nature, and how to have reverence for it all.

“You wouldn't do this work if you're doing it just for payment. I mean, it's way more work than you would ever do for payment. So that's not why you do it at all. It’s nice that the wool and lambs help cover the taxes. But if I was charging an hourly rate for the work on the island, it would be like, a negative something an hour. There's something about it is really life fulfilling. There's so many different reasons, but one you think about is Jenny doing this for 80 years and people doing it for you know, 300 years before this. Keeping that tradition going, which is a really cool thing to be able to do. But it also just becomes such a part of you. I’m just always counting the days till next lambing season and that first step back onto the island.” — Alfie Wakeman ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Pictured: Alfie making nets to be used as a temporary barrier to keep sheep off the porch of the small camp on Nash Island. (Reposted this one because I forgot to include the second image.) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ From an ongoing project documenting an island of wild sheep off the coast of Maine and the people who care for them. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Donna Kausen shearing on Flat Island, where the sheep are known to be a wiley bunch. From an ongoing project documenting an island of wild sheep off the coast of Maine and the people who care for them.

I’d been to Nash Island many times before I noticed this little detail: hand-knitted curtains by @janistarcroft in the little outhouse/lavatory. Jani Starcroft, who manages the island’s beloved and renowned wool, used Nash Island wool for the curtains. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ To learn more about Nash Island Wool, check out www.starcroftfiber.com From an ongoing project documenting an island of wild sheep off the coast of Maine and the people who care for them.

There are three islands with sheep that need shearing each year: Little Nash Island, Big Nash Island, and Flat Island. On flat island the flock is managed by Donna Kausen, who maintains a tradition of preparing freshly-gathered steamed clams for lunch after the shearing is done. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ From an ongoing project (three years… so far!) documenting an island of wild sheep off the coast of Maine and the people who care for them.