Hurricane Island

We visited Hurricane on or shakedown cruise a few weeks ago, and each time I go there I am drawn further in to the mystique of the place.

Now I find out Hurricane Island doesn't have a Wikipedia page.  I thought everything had a Wikipedia page.

So here's the story.

Hurricane is a high mound of pinkish granite, overlooking Penobscot Bay just west of Vinalhaven, overgrown with rough spruce and tangled black raspberry bushes.  Hurricane Island Foundation - comprising the same cast of characters who were the backbone and ribs of the now-defunct Hurricane Island Outward Bound School - maintains facilities there, and the owner of the island, a dissipated old physician with more money than sense, has a boondoggle of a house carved into the rock on the southwestern end which is accessible only by a rigorous hike.  There are no roads; HIF maintains some trails.

Between 1870 and 1914, Hurricane was a leading producer of granite.  The Civil War General Davis Tillson was one of the owners and the driving force behind the island's success - he was a paternalistic, benevolent visionary who oversaw well-managed operations which provided happy, contented laborers with honest work, housing and a company store in which they could satisfy all their earthly wants.

Well, either that or an autocratic megalomaniac who oppressed and essentially imprisoned his workers, economically and physically, in a company town.

Depends on who you ask.

The Scottish laborers called Tillson "Lord of the Isles," and the Italians "Il Bombasto Furioso."  Might be a clue there as to which version of the Tillson legend is closer to reality.

In any case, the granite business was good to Gen. Tillson.  By 1877 there were 600 souls living on the island, with an active quarry, a cutting operation, polishing mill, and highly skilled carvers turning out granite which found its way to buildings and monuments all over the United States, including the Washington Monument; post offices and courthouses in St. Louis, Boston, Baltimore, and Pittsburgh; the Library of Congress; the New York Custom House; and the Brooklyn Bridge.

The village, ca. 1908

The stonecutting sheds, ca. 1907

The quarry, ca. 1907

By 1905, however, architectural styles were changing.  Concrete was on the scene.  Production and shipping costs were rising.  Granite contracts were becoming fewer and farther between.  The Hurricane Island operations began experiencing periodic shutdowns.

In 1914, good news for the island came in the form of a contract for 1,200 tons of granite for the Rockport, Massachusetts breakwater.  The superintendent of the island, one John Landers (Tillson had died in 1895), was a trusted and talented manager who personally oversaw the cutting of the stone and its loading onto a stone scow in November of that year.

The scow, under tow en route to Massachusetts, made it as far as Rockland Harbor, then foundered and sank.  It was not insured.  Sixteen days later, John Landers died of typhoid fever.

Those two events - the latter perhaps more than the former - sounded Hurricane's death knell.  Operations were immediately and permanently suspended, and the hundreds of people who had lived and worked and married and borne children and buried their dead on Hurricane left in a panicked frenzy to find other work.  Virtually overnight, Hurricane was deserted.

Its inhabitants had not even paused to pack, but for a few personal possessions.  Tools were dropped next to half-finished carvings.  Homes were abandoned, some with tables laid for a meal and pictures still hanging on the walls.

Folks from Vinalhaven wasted no time in salvaging everything they possibly could, from the personal belongings to the buildings (the lumber and other materials were transported the short distance over Hurricane Sound for re-use elsewhere).  

In the century since then, the spruce and brambles have reclaimed almost all of the island, and there are very few traces of the thriving town and graniteworks other than stone foundations, several wells, and two untended graves.

There are many, many other islands around with abandoned quarries and granite wharves; some, like High Island, are uninhabited, while others, like Vinalhaven, have managed to sustain communities.  But only Hurricane is so haunting and compelling, the immediacy of its abandonment unique.

The churchyard

Abandoned stonework

Flywheel and boiler of the steam-driven air compressor

One of two lead-lined safes which still sit in the foundation of the bank.
They were reportedly the only things too heavy for the good men of Vinalhaven to liberate from Hurricane.

The quarry.
Under the placid surface of the water lies rusting rock-moving machinery.

This is the same view from above the quarry as
 in the postcard of the cutting sheds, above

Erik Lawson, aged one year, seven months, and twenty days.
This is one of only two graves remaining of the fifteen or so that were here in 1910 - either the others were vandalized and the stones removed, or possibly the graves themselves were moved after the island closed down.
According to one of the last residents of the island, most people buried their dead in their own (well, Tillson's) yards, which means there are lost graves scattered all over the island.

Sunset over Hurricane Sound

Repurposing Leftovers: Chef Salad

Here's another main dish salad strategy, with vegetables from our CSA and some leftover grilled chicken and ham.

Simply top a bed of lettuce with assorted vegetables (radishes, tomato, cucumber, scallions, and sugar snap peas, here), a boiled egg, some sliced chicken, ham, and Cheddar cheese.  I love Ranch dressing on these.

There are people in the world who make their livings as salad stylists, did you know that?

Clearly I am not one of them.

It sure tasted good, though.

Recipe: Gumbo

It's perverse, making gumbo in the summer, but the local grocery store happened to have frozen okra in stock.  You never know when they're going to have it so if you see it, it's prudent to grab a couple of bags.

I like okra.  I like it fried; I like it in soups; and I even liked it boiled, back in the day when my paternal grandmother's domestic Julia Mae (who called my grandmother her "white Mammy") was cooking for the family.  My husband's only exposure to okra prior to my appearing on the scene, however, was in college and involved West African students and a goat; it did not go well.

Between that traumatic event and the fact that the stores only rarely stock it (once in a blue moon you might find it in the fresh produce section, but by the time it's gotten here it's "fresh" solely in the sense that it is only partially desiccated), our okra consumption is limited to the occasional Cajun dish.  This week Shaw's has okra so we has gumbo.

Bad food photography alert.  

The recipe I use borrows heavily from one that came to me a couple of years ago through the Cook's Country recipe-testing process; it's the source of the innovative, hands-free oven roux I've since adapted to, oh, just about everything.  I simplified a couple of the fussier steps, removed some chicken and added okra and shrimp.  Other than that it's pretty much theirs. 

Gumbo

¾ cup flour
½ cup vegetable oil
4 bone-in chicken thighs (about 4 pounds), skin removed
1 onion, chopped
1 green bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 celery rib, finely chopped
A healthy dollop of minced garlic (from a jar; I'm not proud)
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
1 (32-ounce) box chicken broth

1 lb frozen sliced okra
¼ cup fish sauce (not a typo)
8 ounces andouille sausage, halved lengthwise and sliced thin

1 lb peeled, deveined shrimp

Adjust oven rack to lowest position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Toast ¾ cup flour in Dutch oven over medium heat, stirring constantly, until just beginning to brown.  In my experience this takes exactly 5 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in oil until smooth. Cover, transfer pot to oven, and cook 45 minutes. 

Pat chicken dry and season with pepper. 

Transfer Dutch oven to stovetop and whisk roux to combine. Add onion, bell pepper, celery, garlic, thyme, and cayenne and cook over medium heat about 10 minutes, until the vegetables start to soften, stirring frequently.  It will be very thick and gloppy.  Add tomatoes, then slowly stir in broth and fish sauce, whisking until smooth. Add chicken and okra and bring to boil.

Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, until chicken is tender, about 30 minutes. Transfer chicken to plate and allow to cool; debone and chop the meat into bite-sized pieces.  Return the meat to the pot (discard the bones). Add sausage and shrimp and simmer, uncovered, until heated through and the shrimp are opaque, about 10 minutes.  Correct seasonings and serve over hot cooked white rice and lashings of Tabasco. Gets better if you let it set a while and then reheat.

Serves 6 to 8

Company Picnic

Maine is in the grips of that heatwave which is causing havoc along the east coast.  It rarely gets this hot here, and almost never this early, but here we are not even at the end of July and we're already gone two rounds with the sort of temperatures that leave the HVAC units at my office gasping for mercy.

The next time I hear "I just shoveled eight inches of global warming off my driveway" from some ffffidiot who can't comprehend the correlation between rising ocean temperatures and increased snowfall, I am going to smack him with my windshield scraper.

Anyhoo.  My company's annual summer picnic happened to take place this weekend, down at FunTown/SplashTown.  We were fortunate that it was held Saturday and not Friday, because Friday was even hotter and the entire city of Saco was blacked out, so the busload of kiddies from the local Y's day camp drove for two hours only to find the park closed, and on the way back one of the bus' tires exploded from the heat.

That was Friday.  Saturday it was merely 99 degrees.

It stands to reason that in the middle of a heat wave, if you live in a part of the country where no one's house is air conditioned, you go to the water. 

Or the water park. 

The place was mobbed.

I am of the opinion that had there been water parks in Dante's day and he had visited one on a peak summer weekend during a record-breaking heat wave, his imagination of the sixth circle of hell might have taken a slightly different tack.

Don't get me wrong.  It's a great place for kids.  In fact, Thing Two and the friend she brought along plunged enthusiastically into the throngs the second we were inside the gates (the inscription over which did indeed read "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate").  I have no pictures of them because we never saw them until it was time to leave; they tell us they had a perfectly wonderful, marvelous time. 

Introverted, fair-skinned grownups who aren't particularly enamored of crowds or rides and whose children are of an age where they filch the last $20 from your wallet and then happily abandon you so that you find yourself sweating in the sun for hours on industrial vinyl chaise lounge chairs where thousands of people have sweated before you...  yeah, not so much. 

I'm just sayin'.

Recipe: Linguini with Fennel, Spicy Sausage and Clams

The CSA share this week had another fennel bulb in it, and in the course of poking around the interweb I found a recipe that looked like fun (Thing One is off boating again, which means the rest of us can enjoy clams for dinner).  I tweaked it just a bit; the original is here.





Linguini with Fennel, Spicy Sausage and Clams

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter
2 tablespoons minced garlic
1 yellow onion, chopped
1 fennel bulb, cored and chopped
1 teaspoon fennel seeds, crushed
1/2 pound spicy Italian sausages, casings removed
1 tablespoon chopped fresh oregano
1 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 cup dry white wine
2 pounds littleneck clams, scrubbed
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
3/4 lb. linguini, cooked and drained

Melt butter in heavy large skillet over medium heat. Add garlic, onion, fennel, and fennel seeds; sauté until vegetables begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add sausage and cook until browned, breaking up lumps with back of spoon and stirring frequently, about 5 minutes. Stir in oregano, tomatoes with juice, and wine; increase heat and bring to boil. Add clams, cover skillet, and cook until clams open (discard any that do not open), about 5 minutes. Serve over linguini, garnished with parsley.

Just being kids

Thing One's good friend is off to MSSM in a few weeks.  Doesn't seem possible...

We had a little going-away 'do at our house for the gang.  It's a good group of kids.

The Gang

They're growing up fast.  So independent in some ways; but get them together and they are still a bunch of kids who fill an afternoon with games...

...and music...

...and campfires...

...and friendship.

This is just the beginning; the first one of the bunch to leave the nest.  The rest will follow, too quickly.

Dammit.

Then and now

These guys have been buds since second grade.

Then:

Now:

Matinicus, again

A while back I posted a Shameless Plug for a book I was enjoying at the time - Well Out to Sea, by Eva Murray, which is a collection of her columns about living year-round on a remote island. 

Three of the recurring themes in her work:

First, the challenges of getting oneself and assorted stuff - groceries, vehicles, garbage, mail - on and off Matinicus.  Options are limited when the weather is nice; options are nil when the weather is not, which is a lot of the time.  Besides the ferry, which runs once a month, you have your neighbors with boats who might or might not be making a trip to the mainland, and Penobscot Island Air, which runs Cessnas between here and there.  Fog, wind, high seas, malfunctions, miscommunications, storms, your neighbor's change of plans - any one of these can mean your kids don't get home from college for Thanksgiving dinner or, worse, your Thanksgiving turkey doesn't get delivered in time.

Second, how islanders pull together to help each other in times of need.  Regardless of whether in real life the people involved actually like each other, when there is a crisis, it is all hands to the rescue, sometimes at great personal risk.  Look up the Harkness tugboat rescue sometime.

Third, the danger.  She tends to downplay it but it's a constant, steady undercurrent in her stories.  It's not the lobster wars (she doesn't write about that, because that's not what defines Matinicus, despite the place's reputation for lawlessness).  Rather, it's the daily reality of living twenty-some miles off shore and making a living from the ocean.  Buildings catch on fire; boats sink; men are lost overboard; planes crash.

All three came into play yesterday with the news that a Penobscot Island Air Cessna had crashed 200 yards off the Matinicus shore.  It lost power shortly after takeoff and ditched in the North Atlantic. There were four people on board, including the pilot. 

People on the island saw the crash and called 911. 

Fishermen on their vessels heard the emergency radio traffic and raced to the site. 

It was the fishermen who found four survivors, with injuries ranging from moderate to critical, clinging to the sinking wreckage, and hauled them out of the 60-degree water to safety. 

The outcome should have been much worse.  The pilot was able to level out before the crash and then was able to assist the injured passengers out of plane before it sank; the guys in their boats were able to get to the site within 20 minutes, before hypothermia set in.  As of this evening, local news is reporting that the three passengers are in hospitals in serious or fair condition and the pilot was treated and released. 

Eva Murray was one of the passengers.  All these years she's witnessed, and written about, stuff like this from the point of view of a participant, not a recipient.  I hope she is able to come home soon and start writing again, now that she's seen it from the other side.

To the pilot whose experience and quick thinking are credited with saving four lives, the people on the island who reported the crash, and the as-yet unnamed fishermen, my profound admiration and respect. 

And to the injured passengers, a speedy recovery.  Many thoughts are with you.

Day sail and picnic

The heat wave has broken, and the days have been gloriously clear and warm with cool breezes and the nighttime temps dipping into the upper 40s.

We collared my stepfather and made him come sailing with us today.

Guy Talk

Actually we didn't have to twist his arm too hard.

Wilson the Agoraphobic Goldendoodle was happy for the extra company.













Through the Muscle Ridge Channel, past Owl's Head...

Owl's Head

...is the cluster of Dix, High and Birch islands - this spot is perfect (IMHO).  Birch Island is small, edged with smooth granite and sandy beaches, low and treeless, mounded with scrub and rugosa roses.  High Island, just a stone's throw away, is an abandoned quarry, covered in spruce, pocked with old foundations and jutting granite piers.

Honestly, we enjoy High and Birch so much we've never gotten around to visiting Dix, which is supposed to be nice, too, though it's inhabited.

This day we opted for Birch's sand beach for our picnic lunch.

Wilson likes the sand too... easier to get in and out of the water.  He spent most of the day playing Stick.

In the background of that shot above is High Island, with one of the granite piers toward the left.

From among the tiny periwinkle, ladyslipper and clam shells Thing Two found the makings of a Mussel Manicure.

Perfect sailing, too; steady breezes and following seas.

One wonders why anyone would want to live anywhere else.

Recipe: Monkfish with Red Onion and Garlic Scapes

One has to wonder about the first human who looked at a monkfish and thought, "Hey, could be tasty!"  Thank heavens the CSF delivers fillets and not whole fish; I can deal with the fillets.

The texture is almost scallop-like and it's easy to overcook and toughen, so a quick high-heat sear is the preferred method of cooking, and then you have the makings for some sort of yummy pan sauce.  Garlic scapes and fresh dill from this week's CSA went into the mix, with some pearl couscous on the side to soak up the juices.  

Monkfish with Red Onion and Garlic Scapes

2 lbs monkfish fillets, cut into 1" sections

Juice of one lemon

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

½ teaspoon salt

10 garlic scapes, trimmed and cut in 1” sections

1 small red onion, sliced

6 tablespoons butter

Fresh snipped dill, for garnish

Combine the lemon juice with an equal amount of olive oil and the salt; stir to dissolve the salt.

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.  Working in batches, dip the monkfish pieces in the lemon juice mixture, then sear until barely done, turning just once (about two minutes per side).  Remove to a platter and keep warm. 

Deglaze the pan with the remaining lemon juice mixture and any accumulated juices from the resting fish, scraping up the brown bits, then add the butter.  When the butter is hot, sauté the garlic scapes until crisp-tender, then add the red onion and continue cooking until the scapes and onion are tender.  Correct seasonings.

To serve, place the fish on a bed of scapes and onion, then drizzle the pan juices over and garnish with fresh dill.

Serves 4.

Bastille Day! (and a recipe for French Silk Pie)

We used to throw a little dinner party every July 14, with boeuf bourguignon and red wine and friends.  That was back when we had a life.  And friends.  
 
Nowadays we happen to catch a snippet of the Marseillaise on the radio on a Thursday morning and we smack our foreheads and say, "Golly!  Today is Bastille Day!  Next year we must to remember to throw a little dinner party on July 14, with boeuf bourguignon and red wine and friends!" and then we forget about it again.
 
Thus, no dinner party tonight; but these two things in honor of the occassion.  
 
First:  Not a snippet, but the full-blown Berlioz choral and orchestra with superstar tenor rendition of the Marseillaise.  This'll make your bosom swell with patriotic fervor even if, like me, you're not even a little bit French.  
 
Second:  A recipe for French Silk Pie.  I printed this out from an e-mail listserv (remember those?) back 1994.  I think you can still find versions of it if you poke around the web, but they're all uncredited, which is too bad because whoever came up with this should be on the short list for the Legion of Honor.  
 
Raw egg alert:  the filling is not baked.  I think it's totally worth the risk but I live on the edge, you know.

French Silk Chocolate Pie with Meringue Crust

Meringue crust:

2 egg whites
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 300.  Beat egg whites with salt and cream of tartar until foamy.  Add sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating until very stiff peaks hold.

Fold in pecans and vanilla.  Spread in 9" greased pie pan.  Bake 50-55 minutes.  Cool.

Filling:

1/2 cup margarine
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 ounces (squares) unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 egg yolks
2 eggs

While crust cools, cream margarine and add sugar gradually.  Blend in melted chocolate and vanilla.  Add 2 egg yolks and 2 eggs, one at a time, beating 5 minutes after each addition.

Pour filling into meringue shell and refrigerate at least three hours, preferably overnight.

Serve topped with whipped cream, finely chopped pecans and grated bittersweet chocolate.

Serves 8.

Repurposing Leftovers: Pasta with Chicken, Artichokes, Spinach and Garlic Scapes

It’s been hot here. 

The temperature is nudging 90, it’s stiflingly humid, and the nights don’t cool down enough to get any relief. 

This happens a handful of days every summer.  Just often enough to remind us why we don’t live someplace where it’s like this more of the time.

Given the temperature, a light pasta sauce seemed to be in order last night.  Spinach, scallions and garlic scapes (I live for garlic scapes) in the CSA share this week combined with artichokes and some leftovers from a roasted chicken went together quickly and hit the spot.

Next time I think I’ll throw in a few red pepper flakes and some feta…

Pasta with Chicken, Artichokes, Spinach and Garlic Scapes

2 tablespoons olive oil

10 garlic scapes, trimmed and chopped in 1” segments

4 scallions, trimmed and sliced

¼ cup vermouth

½ cup (approximately) drippings from roasted chicken (or chicken stock)

1 small jar marinated artichoke hearts, drained and roughly chopped

2 cups cooked chopped chicken

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (or to taste)

8 cups fresh spinach

Salt & pepper to taste

1 lb. pasta, cooked & drained

Parmesan and chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Heat the olive oil over medium heat and sauté the garlic scapes until bright green and crisp-tender; add the scallions and cook a few seconds longer.  Add the vermouth, chicken stock, artichokes, chicken, and lemon juice.   Bring to a boil and add the spinach; cover and cook until the spinach is wilted but still bright green.  Season to taste.

Serve over hot pasta, garnished with parmesan and parsley.

Serves 6.

Schooner Cruise

Midcoast Maine is home to a fleet of windjammers which run excursions up and down and around Penobscot Bay for which passengers (mostly from away) pay quite a bit of money.

As we were casting about for something - anything - with which to occupy The Heir this summer, he hit upon the idea of apprenticing aboard one of these vessels and became ridiculously excited at the prospect.

Now, crewing is hard, constant work.   And an apprentice is at the very bottom of the food chain.

We are talking about a boy who is so disinclined to physical exertion that he moans for hours when it's his turn to mow the lawn, and we have a riding lawnmower.

So I was skeptical.

But he's doing it and loving it.  And he's getting some great pics.

The sequence that follows was taken while they were approaching and passing under the Deer Isle Bridge, in the Eggemoggin Reach:

Here's another one of the schooners passing under the same bridge.

Feeding a crowd is always an event, but cranking out three gourmet meals a day for six days for thirty people on a wood-burning stove in a tiny galley is pretty much a round-the-clock activity, and virtually all the proof we need that miracle-wielding saints walk - or float - among us. 

The galley slaves do get a break one evening of each cruise for the customary island lobsterbake. 

It's nice to know the boy ate almost as well as he would have at home.

He's home now for a couple of weeks before he ships out again.

He went off to bed after a long hot shower, six tacos, two chocolate chip cookies and half a gallon of milk.

I'm pretty sure he grew while he was gone. Not just physically.

I'm proud of him.

 

Recipe: Chicken Salad

Now that fresh vegetables from our CSA are back on our table...  here is one of our favorite ways to use up a bunch of things at once.

Chicken Salad 

Preheat the oven and thrown in some frozen french fries.

While the fries cook, on each plate, arrange a bed of lettuce.

Distribute a boiled egg, pepperoncini, and other stuff around the edges of the plate - sliced tomato, cucumber, sweet pepper, whatever vegetables have shown up in the share (scallions, radishes, and pea shoots, this week).

Top with the hot french fries, then immediately top the fries with shredded cheddar and a sliced grilled chicken breast.  Dress and serve.

Marvelous. 

Quick.

Doesn't heat up the kitchen. 

Try it with steak instead of chicken sometime too.

2011 Shakedown Cruise

The S/V L'Heretique went in the water on Friday and on Saturday morning we pointed her nose east-ish (doncha love my nautical parlance?) and cast off. 

First things first.  After this trip, to Wilson's list of phobias we can add:

Heights
Divers
Air horns
Dead seagulls

And then there's abandonment. 

"Will they ever come back for me?"

Never mind that only half the family left in the dinghy and the other half is still standing on the dock.

But this is not a new phobia.  It just gets worse as he gets older.

We left Rockland on Saturday morning and made for Hurricane Sound. 

Here's the Owl's Head Lighthouse.  Still one of the prettiest on the coast, say I.

Here you see The Heir has cleverly devised a way to steer with his feet, thereby allowing him to sit down.

Most of us stand up and steer with our hands, but most of us are not 14-year-old boys, thank God.

We took a picnic lunch up to the very tippy top of Hurricane Island.   This is a view from the top of the cliffs, over the granite quarry.



And here is Wilson catching a little shade while we have our sandwiches. 

Apparently spruce trees do not rank in the hierarchy of phobias.

 Hurricane Island has a pretty remarkable and fascinating history which is a story for another time. Himself is an Outward Bound instructor in his spare time, so he has strong ties to the island as well. We love going there.   

The kids jumped into the quarry and into the ocean a couple of times, pronounced the water too frigid for words, and retired to the boat for some mackerel fishing.

Wimps.

A week in Puerto Rico has ruined them.

The next morning we wound our way over to North Haven to drop Thing One off at the ferry terminal so he could get to his schooner on Sunday evening, then headed to Perry Creek to ride out thunderstorms which never materialized. 

Perry Creek is home to some of the finest, bar none, mussels on the East Coast.  Four pounds of them gave their all so that we could enjoy this Thai recipe with rice noodles on Sunday night.

This morning we felt our way home in a pea-souper.  I do not want to discuss it.  Especially the part about getting up close and personal with not one, but two state ferries.  It is the stuff of nightmares. 

Back on dry land now and staring down six loads of laundry - another class of nightmare entirely. 

Over and out.