Right Place, Right Time … Right Whale!

An amazing discovery beyond our window on January 15, 2020!

The elusive North Atlantic right whale (Eubalaena glacialis, which means “good, or true, whale of the ice”), one of the most endangered marine animals on the planet, swam right past our current abode in South Nags Head, North Carolina!

Behold his dolphin friend! We shot this photo from the shoreline in South Nags Head, North Carolina.

Once found in abundance, these magnificent creatures were hunted to the brink of extinction, and sadly, due to a number of factors—including water and noise pollution, entanglements, collisions with ships, and falling birth rates—their populations are desperately struggling to recover; by some estimates, there are only about four hundred North Atlantic right whales left on Earth.

Four hundred!

On the entire planet!

Not only is this tragic, it also underscores just how astounding it is that this gorgeous creature—a member of a species that can grow as long as a school bus, weigh up to seventy tons, and live close to one hundred years—swam right before our eyes in its natural environment, surrounded by playful dolphins, heading south to warmer waters.

Because North Atlantic right whales are so incredibly rare, marine and wildlife conservation organizations collect and analyze information about sightings to further inform their efforts. When we contacted the Northeast Fisheries Science Center and the North Atlantic Right Whale Conservation Program about our sighting and shared our photographs, representatives from both agencies immediately and very excitedly confirmed that it was indeed this exceptionally endangered creature. Within just a few hours, our sighting was cataloged into the NOAA Right Whale Sighting Advisory System website, which provides detailed information about migratory patterns and confirmed accounts of these beautiful mammals’ whereabouts.

Based upon the photographs we took from our balcony vantage point and offered to conservationists, this right whale was identified by the unique callosities on his face—and as luck would have it, he has a well-documented history. According to representatives from the Northeast Right Whale Survey with NOAA Fisheries, he is a fourteen-year-old male named Salem, born off the coast of Florida in January 2006 to a mama whale named Silt (or “Miss Silt,” down here in the South, ha ha). 

We now know from further researching the North Atlantic Right Whale Catalog—which compiles aerial photographs, field notes, and other documentation of the whales—that Salem traveled from his birthplace in Florida all the way to the Bay of Fundy (where he was repeatedly sighted between August and November 2006) and then back to Florida by December in his first year alone! Over the years, while frequenting his Florida birthplace and the Bay of Fundy, he has also been repeatedly sighted in Cape Cod BayMassachusetts Bay, the Great South Channel, Jeffrey’s Ledge, the Gulf of Maine, the Gulf of St. Lawrence,  and off the coast of Georgia. The distance between the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the coast of Florida is approximately two thousand miles!

The following entries in the field notes for the Center for Coastal Studies further illustrate Salem’s travels and behaviors:

February 27, 2018: Salem’s first sighting in Cape Cod Bay was when he was a yearling in 2007, and since then has been seen here every year since with the exception of 2013!

March 12, 2018: This time he was indulging in unique behavior. He was continuously swimming on his side, slapping his pectoral flipper on the surface of the water and blowing bubbles under water. Such behavior is more common from humpbacks but getting to see some variation to the usual feeding behaviors seen in Cape Cod Bay was a treat. (See a Center for Coastal Studies’ aerial photo of his above-described behavior here.)

Salem has a friend named Fiddle with whom he sometimes pals around.

January 26, 2019: We were excited to identify the two individual right whales as EgNo 3617, Salem, and EgNo 1121, Fiddle. These are both mature males that often return to Cape Cod Bay to feed in the winter.

February 3, 2019: We kept our eyes peeled and ended up finding 3 other whales near him. Of these other three animals were Mantis, Tripelago’s 2017 calf, and Salem.

May 8, 2019: We found 13 right whales including #1204 and her calf, many juvenile animals that we have been seeing consistently over the past few weeks, and #3617 “Salem,” an adult male who we have not seen in Cape Cod Bay in a month.

For aerial photos of Salem, taken by wildlife conservationists and as provided via the North Atlantic Right Whale Catalog, please click here.

Did you know that whales capture carbon and thus limit the accumulation of greenhouse gases? Protecting whales protects the earth, which protects all of us!

We are passionate about environmental conservation, sustainable living, and responsible guardianship of the natural world. Please consider learning more about safeguarding our planet.

Happy Winter Solstice!

We are all in for a treat this year—in addition to the winter solstice, the moon will be very nearly full—a confluence that, according to many sources, will not happen again until 2094—and the Ursid meteor shower is expected to simultaneously dazzle overhead. For many who love the night sky, it is inspiring and feels rather magical.

As we have noted in the past, solstices possess a unifying characteristic—everyone in the world experiences them more or less simultaneously, and they connect us with the celebratory traditions of countless cultures around the world. Perhaps consider borrowing one to welcome the lengthening days  … or simply sip some cocoa, toast your toes by a cozy fire, and rejoice in the start of the return to the light.

And, as a special treat, for our readers who celebrate Christmas, Gili, our goodwill ambassador, sends his special love and holiday greetings!

(Gili loves fan mail and always happily responds; he invites you to e-mail him at gili@scriptacuity.com!)

Happy Winter Solstice and Happy Holidays!

First Official Week on the Job

Gili’s first official week as our card-carrying goodwill ambassador has been quite a success. Prior to this week, he’s had a good go at meeting and greeting the many diverse people of the Charlottesville area. In addition to handing out a handful of his cards, he’s also stopped for several photo opportunities, including with Kim at Thistle Gate Vineyard:


Gili is looking forward to exploring many new places and revisiting some of his favorite haunts to share more of what we refer to as Gili’s Plan: “Love and be loved.”

Quill & Ink Spring/Summer 2018

We hope you enjoy the latest issue of Quill & Ink, in which we discuss many of the places we’ve been in our first year on the road, as well as the challenges and losses we’ve faced. As always, thanks for reading!

(Please click the image to view the latest issue.)

Please enjoy, and drop us a line with any questions, comments, or suggestions!

Quill & Ink Fall 2017/ Winter 2018

Behold! The latest and greatest issue of Quill & Ink is now available! In this issue, we talk about our most recent travels and the people and creatures we’ve encountered there. There is plenty to read and enjoy, and also check out our new layout and let us know what you think!

(Please click the image to view the latest issue.)

Please enjoy, and drop us a line with any questions, comments, or suggestions!

Happy Solstice … and Happy Holidays from the Sea!

Happy winter solstice! Sunlight is returning!

Atop Cadillac Mountain—the first place the sun rises in the United States.

If you are so inclined to celebrate, perhaps you may consider borrowing traditions from societies around our planet that have welcomed the lengthening days over many thousands of years. Forgive grudges, as did folks in ancient Rome, share food with others, as in the Polish tradition, or create your own way to celebrate the occasion. Light candles, invite loved ones to share a special meal or pause to remember those you cannot be with, volunteer, recommit to a goal or an ideal … or simply feel joyful that there will be more daylight tomorrow than there is today.

Though we all essentially experience the solstice at the same time, the ways we choose to acknowledge it can be entirely individualistic!

On a somewhat related note, when we sold our house in Vermont and embarked on this new adventure, we also sold or donated approximately 95 percent of our possessions—including our holiday decorations. Luckily, living at the sea, we do not feel we are lacking in joyful surroundings.

Our mascot perches on a windswept seaside rocky outcropping.

Not far from where we live is Bass Harbor. The sound of the buoys here is entrancing.


Along our daily morning stroll just after the first snowfall of the season.

Working fishing boats in the harbor.

The December 3 supermoon rising over Frenchman Bay.

Wishing you all peace and contentment and the very happiest of holidays!

Walk the Line

I keep my eyes wide open all the time …
You’ve got a way to keep me on your side …
I walk the line.

—Johnny Cash

As part of our travel series, we have been writing about some of our discoveries in and around the places we temporarily call home. (If you missed our “Love Letter to a Mountain” article on September 7, 2017, you can check it out here.)

Among our happy discoveries as part of this grand exploration is that a wealth of hidden and not-so-hidden gems can be found in some of the most unexpected places. Such is the case with the Haskell Free Library and Opera House in the towns of Derby Line, Vermont (in the United States, approximate population: 629) and Stanstead, Québec (in Canada, approximate population: 2,800), which we explored in September before we moved to Maine.

In many ways, it is unsurprising that this public space was created and deliberately placed on the international border, located at both 93 Caswell Avenue on the United States side and 1 rue Church on the Canadian side. This is currently the only library in the world that exists and operates in two countries at once.

The international border runs right through it!​ On the left side of the line is the United States; on the right side is Canada.

Look closely (it’s a bit tricky to see); the black line inside lines up with the granite international marker out the window, as well as the flowerpots that mark the boundary between the two countries. The international line also bisects the apartment building visible beyond the flowerpots, more or less in line with the building’s chimney.

Chris straddles the border inside the library.

Sara stands in the United States, and Chris stands in Canada.

Look closely! Here, the same book is presented in two languages—French and English—to accommodate francophones and anglophones who use this library together.

​Ticket booth for the opera house.

Nearly everything in the opera house is original though the building opened to the public well over a century ago.

​Here is a view from the balcony; note the black line dividing the countries (which bisects several chairs, thus making it possible to watch a live performance in two countries simultaneously). This is not simply for fun or as a curiosity; this is required by the two discrete insurance companies—one in each country—with which the building must legally have policies. This way, the respective insurance companies will know which one is responsible for disbursement if damage or an incident leading to a claim occurs exclusively on one side. Coordinating any sort of maintenance to the property is often a logistical nightmare since the contractors must either have dual citizenship to conduct the work or have a work visa for both countries. The elevator installation several years ago—required to maintain the building’s code compliance—nearly proved disastrous when American elevator technicians were not allowed to install the elevator car purchased from an American company because the elevator shaft itself was on the Canadian side of the building. If small- and large-scale maintenance projects seem challenging to coordinate even under typical circumstances, imagine the strategy involved in orchestrating building-wide electrical, plumbing, or aesthetic renovations with the obligation to adhere to the legal and permitting requirements and codes for two countries?

The majority of the seating in this opera house is in the United States, while the stage is in Canada. This photograph showcases more of the detailing.

The structure remains in remarkable condition, testament to the diligent care it has received over generations.

This library and opera house—as well as several other buildings in this community through which the international border runs—is a fascinating curiosity, and likewise, so are the towns themselves. The border runs right through the center of what has been for centuries considered one happy, international community. Until fairly recently, residents—including those who lived on the three streets that cross the border—came and went more or less as they pleased with only the slightest of formality. After all, the two sides share a drinking water and wastewater system, and their fire departments frequently collaborate in property- and lifesaving efforts. Babies born to Stanstead families are often born in the United States since it offers the closest hospital. Residents of both countries team up for curling. It wasn’t that long ago that the residents—many of whom are linked by intermarriage and dual citizenship—shared schools, places of worship, physicians, and more, and they could just nod and wave at the border patrol agents when crossing back and forth because the community is small and just about everyone knew everyone else.

Sadly, though, the world in which we live now is creating significant problems for the townspeople who for so long all but existed without concern for the border. Local resistance to the increasing security in recent years has included, among other things, maintaining an international border marked with a charming row of potted flowers. But this lovely floral border is now the only one left; all the rest are locked down with iron gates, and all of them—even the flowerpot crossing—are equipped with cameras and weight sensors. Border patrol agents are everywhere—on foot, in SUVs, at border stations; in fact, there are more than four times the number of agents in this tiny community than there were in the late 1990s.

One of the streets that crosses the border is called Canusa Avenue—clever!—where the border runs essentially right down the middle of the street, east to west. Drivers on the north side of the line, heading west, are in Canada, and those driving east are in the United States. Because the houses lining the south side of it are in the United States, under the new rules, whenever Canusa Avenue’s American residents pull out of their driveways, they have technically left the United States and therefore must report to a border station! (For a more in-depth description of the Canusa Avenue situation, check out this article.)

Even a simple game of toss-and-catch can become a complicated matter: people playing on either side of the line—which could easily happen in neighborhoods bisected by the border—would have to go to customs to declare the ball every time they caught it. There are places where neighbors are separated only by a grassy lawn, but to visit one another, they must first report to customs.

When standing on a street on the US side of the line and looking at the next street over, one can observe that all the street signs are written in French. This is very different from many other borders, particularly in this part of the country; in most of those cases, one is often driving through rolling farmland or along an interstate from which the imposing border crossing stations are clearly visible upon approach. In these towns, one can simply unknowingly wander across a bit of lawn, cross a sidewalk on the wrong side, or even just enter a building from one side and exit from the other and end up accidentally border-jumping—thus becoming subject to detention and/or fines courtesy of the ubiquitous customs agents—so one must be very attentive and vigilant. Aimless, curious meandering around this pretty little area to see what might be at the end of one charming street or another is not at all recommended.

Despite some of the logistical concerns and extra qui vive involved with visiting this unique community, it is well worth the visit, and we indeed recommend it. (Just please be careful where you park and where you walk!) Spend an afternoon cozied up with a good book in front of a fireplace within the library or take in a performance in the opera house. You’ll have an intriguing story to share with others later!

Some Dreams Do Come True!

So great to sea ewe!

Chris and Sara have both dreamed of moving to the coast of Maine since they were children.

In 2002, when they found themselves living in different states and working in corporate careers, Sara sent Chris this sheep piggy bank with Relocation to Maine Fund affixed to its front. Though it was intended as a playful gesture, Sheep P. Bank has traveled with them to their various residences and has prompted more than a few wistful conversations about making a life in such a beautiful place.

And now here they are!

Sheep P. Bank on the shore of their island paradise

Stay tuned for future pieces about life here on this majestic rocky outpost.

Busy As …

Happy autumn!

In coordinating the logistics for our very happily anticipated move to the sea, we have often felt as industrious as these glorious creatures, seen here in this absolutely gorgeous location in northeastern Vermont.

A beaver swims in Coles Pond in Walden, Vermont.

Beavers are fascinating animals with a surprising skill set and the ability to dramatically transform landscapes for the benefit of a vast array of creatures. Enjoy this short video compilation of footage we recently shot of them from our canoe-enabled vantage point:

Click here to launch the video!

Stay tuned for an upcoming feature in our next edition of Quill & Ink to learn more about beavers!

Enjoy the fall weather … and make a splash!

First of a Thousand (or a Million!) Miles … Or Love Letter to a Mountain

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

In our Spring & Summer 2017 issue of Quill & Ink, we announced that we have, after many years of dreaming about it, sold our lovely, cozy little home near Lake Champlain in northern Vermont and have embarked on an adventure of traveling to and living in new places and exploring distant horizons.

Later this fall, we will fulfill a decades-long dream of living an easy morning’s stroll from the ocean; until then, we find ourselves on this rather remote and beautiful land.

Our first stop on our journey is on what was Sara’s great-great-grandfather’s farm very near the Canadian border. Jay Peak—at 3,968 feet in elevation and said to boast the most snow in eastern North America—is just a few miles away on the skyline.

It once belonged to and was farmed by Sara’s great-great-grandfather and has remained within the family since that time. It is at an approximate elevation of 1,024 feet and is part of what are known as the Cold Hollow Mountains, which encompass important ecological landmarks across western New York, northern Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and well into Canada, including southern Québec and all the way to the Maritime provinces, allowing for strong and diverse populations of moose, bobcats, bears, fishers, and many other magnificent members of our natural world. In fact, many species of birds have as much as 90 percent of their global population breeding in these mountains! The mountains also contribute to recreational and material industry—in fact, there is an active maple syrup operation on this old farm—as well as the clean air and water these pristine forests provide.

The road leading to our current home sweet home.

Iconic covered bridges straddle waterways all around us, some of which date back to 1883 and still enjoy regular use. They were designed for protection against heavy snowfalls and suitably fortified to withstand the demands of the heavy wagons and logging vehicles of yesteryear.

This prototypical structure, which has benefited from routine maintenance, originally linked the banks of the brook beneath it in 1883.

The covered bridge spans a sparkling waterfall, which spills into a pebbly, popular swimming hole.

At the site of this particular bridge once stood a creamery, which supported the forty-nine farms that graced our immediate surroundings once upon a bucolic time.

Mossy fingers stealthily curl around a ghostly hidden jewel slumbering in the forest.

As for the secluded mountain retreat nestled into the side of this mountain, it is airy and bright, boasting crisp, fresh spring water and a cozy woodstove. Wild fruit trees, berry bushes, and wildflowers ramble everywhere.

Chokecherries glow in the late-summer sun.

Wild blackberries surround us in August.

Wild apple trees offer their alms to the sweet deer who make their homes here.

Jewelweed, asters, and goldenrod nestle together in a glorious tangle of color.

It is generally blissfully quiet here—we are, after all, a nearly fifteen-minute drive from a paved road, even farther from a country store, and nearly an hour from a traffic light—providing a grand stage for the birdsong and serenading insects. In the deep blackness of night without a nearby streetlight or a neighbor’s lamplight, the stars sparkle like scattered snow in the sun. And when the stars melt away and the sun peeps over the ridge …

Sunrise over Jay Peak.

On warmer mornings, we linger over breakfasts and steaming cups of coffee on the sunlit porch overlooking the layers of mountains that stretch their toes nearly into Québec (we’re so far north that French radio stations reach us far better than any others).

And it isn’t just breakfast we enjoy out in the fresh air.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, tea, a glass of wine … it all goes well with the view.

Some of our little neighbors occasionally join us for a tasty meal on the porch.

Juniper the hummingbird loves to stop by for breakfast …

… and lunch.

And so does Phee the bee.

Colder mornings often begin with sipping our coffees and snuggling with our dogs around the lambent fire.

Even in mid-July, it gets nippy on this mountain. Murphy curls up contentedly in Sara’s arms, while Gili peers up sweetly.

It is a very special place, and spending time here and advocating for it and places like it supports our personal mission of environmental conservation, sustainable living, and responsible guardianship of the natural world.

For a woodstove, one must have plenty of wood. The trees comprising this woodpile were industriously felled, split, and stacked on this land by Sara’s father.

All told, there are nearly one hundred acres filled with history … and an active maple sugaring operation.

Stone walls stand proudly throughout fields and forests, some of them generations old. This one was crafted from the stones of the original foundation of a nineteenth-century farmhouse built on the property …

… and offers refuge to a reptilian tenant.

Verdant banks of ferns unfurl and stretch their tendrils upward in the forest’s filtered light.

Already, autumn is stealing in on tiptoe.

A sugar maple seemingly ablaze in early September.

And finally, an office.

Research indicates that fresh air increases oxygen levels, which in turn heightens concentration and focus—key components of a successful editorial enterprise.

If you have any thoughts to share, please let us know; we’d love to hear from you.

Stay tuned for our next chapter on this great traveling adventure, coming up soon!