On a serene morning in early June, the waters in Webb’s Cove rippled with delight between green and blue and back again. The sea seemed just as relieved to bask in the warmth of a new summer as I was. A row of sea kayaks lined the grass above the shoreline, waiting.
The last time all of the Island Institute Fellows were in the same place, a dusting of snow rested over the coast’s frozen rockweed, which crunched under the weight of winter boots. Now, I saw the Fellows stepping between kayaks, shedding extra layers and calling across the lawn to borrow sunscreen. We’d spent the evening before spread out on the Airbnb’s back porch, legs outstretched and the air swirling with months of stories. The turning of the seasons had brought us back together again on Deer Isle and Stonington for our summer Fellows’ Retreat.
We hadn’t come to take a break from our work—one look in the living room would’ve found Liz, the Fellow on Monhegan, finalizing a grant application from the couch while several more of us scoured local news for word that our town budgets had passed.
The dictionary will tell you that to retreat is to back away; to withdraw, especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable. But twice a year, when the Island Institute Fellows gather together, our “retreat” means anything but. We hadn’t come to take a break from our work—one look in the living room would’ve found Liz, the Fellow on Monhegan, finalizing a grant application from the couch while several more of us scoured local news for word that our town budgets had passed.
Instead, we’d come to retreat to be able to work differently—to work together. With the Fellows spread out over more than 150 miles of Maine’s coast, immersed in our own communities and projects day in and day out, the chance to sit down at the same table is rarer than any of us would like. But in that sunlit kitchen in Deer Isle, there was room for all eight of us to pull up a chair. Questions and ideas flew back and forth across the room, voices dancing in that magical practice of collaboration which makes the Fellowship thrive.
Stonington’s Will Steinharter knows all about the power of collaboration. He and his family are the founders of Osprey’s Echo Sea Kayaking, working as what he calls the “self-appointed ambassadors” for Deer Isle and Stonington. They make sure visitors and locals alike get to see the area from the water, exploring all aspects of the island community. On that June morning, those visitors included the Fellows’ crew. Standing on the shore of Webb’s Cove, we watched as Will demonstrated how to paddle and steer their tandem sea kayaks. With two people in each boat, their ability to work together would be the key to a successful day out on the water.
“Stonington is an absolute playground for kayakers,” Will mused as we pointed the noses of our kayaks towards the rest of the archipelago. One could spend a lifetime hopping and playing between the 70+ islands laid out before us, but our tour held another purpose. We soon arrived at an unassuming barge and series of small rafts. We’d paddled to Pen Bay Farmed Scallops, Stonington’s pioneering vertical scallop farm.
Pen Bay was founded by Marsden Brewer and his son Bobby, the latter of whom greeted us from the boat. A former lobsterman who watched his industry change around him, Marsden had begun to look for ways to diversify his catch. He found his answer in an unexpected place: the fisheries of coastal Japan. Taking a leap of faith to work with others on the opposite side of the globe Marsden and Bobby quickly saw that the qualities of a good fishery transcended the boundaries of language. Two weeks later, they had learned how to build and run a successful scallop farm.
“We weren’t the first ones to try,” Bobby told us, gazing first at the granite outcrop on the skyline and then at the lantern nets hanging in the water below. “But we were the first to be commercially viable.”
The Brewers and Steinharters are longtime friends and neighbors, and their shared love of Stonington helped launch a collaboration between Pen Bay and Osprey’s Echo which the Fellows got to experience firsthand. Kayakers pre-order bags of scallops from Bobby, paddle out to the farm to pick them up and hear the story of the business, and then eat the scallops raw or cooked on one of the local islands. The scallop tour is now so popular that Osprey’s Echo plans on selling Marsden’s new scallop cookbook from their shop after tours. “Cultivating partnerships has been incredibly rewarding,” Will reflected. “[It’s] helped us become solid and contributing members of our community.”
As a Fellow, that sentiment is one I’ve returned to as often as the tide rushes back up the Damariscotta River in my backyard. It’s sometimes against my instinct. I grew up fiercely independent, pulsing with that electric determination of a young girl who believes she can (and must) do it all. It was only when I trained as an ecologist and a community planner that I realized: nothing and no one gets by on their own. The plant communities I studied persevered against a warming climate because they partnered with bacteria and fungi under the soil; the city I worked for in college became happier, healthier, and more resilient once neighbors stepped out on their porches and talked to one another.
The resources that our communities depend on—like the Damariscotta river, and the aquaculture it sustains—need stewards who are willing to work with one another in the face of climate and community change.
Working as the Fellow in Damariscotta, my role is to help my community implement our ten-year comprehensive plan—a task we cannot do with staff capacity alone. Over the past eleven months, I’ve watched Damariscotta take steps towards collaboration that will support our town in this decade and far beyond. By partnering with local land trusts, we’re not only conserving natural resources, but setting aside important land for future housing and mixed-use development. We’re exploring ways to work with neighboring communities like expanding services through a possible joint public works department. Our commitment to collaboration will undoubtedly help see this comprehensive plan to the finish line.
“Deer Isle and Stonington, and Maine, have a huge opportunity for collaboration,” Will Steinharter had reminded us all as we stood on the shores of Rock Island. Pen Bay Farmed Scallops and Osprey’s Echo are a time-tested example. As I drove home from the retreat on Route 1, the tree line opened up to a view of Damariscotta and Newcastle, the river rushing in between. This, too, is proof that our coast cries out for collaboration. The resources that our communities depend on—like the Damariscotta river, and the aquaculture it sustains—need stewards who are willing to work with one another in the face of climate and community change.
That morning on the water, as Elizabeth (the Fellow on Islesboro) and I paddled our way out of the cove and into the archipelago, rafts of rockweed gently knocked against the keel of our boat. We worked to synchronize our strokes, slowing only to run our fingers over the surface of the water or to gaze at the towering osprey nest for which Osprey’s Echo is named. At one point a porpoise fin sliced the surface, and I spent the next few minutes trying to replicate its quiet ease with my own paddle.
Sitting in the back of that kayak, the bluest water and boughs of pine trees stretched out before me, I sure was grateful to have another person navigating with me, bearing witness to such a beautiful scene. As summer marches on, and Maine’s island and coastal communities try to move towards a resilient future, may we all find the joy that comes from having a friend in our boat.
