Up at the Sharp End
The tragic secret of an old Maine harbormaster
I have plenty of food snob pals who moan while sucking on a bit of wagyu beef and whimper when presented with a foamy combination of rhubarb and dandelion, but despite having the best vegetable garden here on Georgetown Island in Maine, my old friend Dan was not one of them. He liked to keep things simple. Since he was unmarried and his crusty manner had run off his brothers and sister and most of his friends, a nice lady here was worried one Thanksgiving that he might be lonely. So she invited him to dinner with her family. “Want me to bring anything?” he asked. “Some of your famous vegetables,” she said. Old Dan showed up bang on time on Thanksgiving morning and thrust an enormous package of frozen peas into her startled hands. “Here’s your vegetables,” he said.
I suspect Dan came out cantankerous, but his 15 years as harbor master here accentuated the natural inclination. Dealing every day with lobstermen, fishermen and boating fools from away would have even Mother Theresa barking away like a red-faced banshee. I can’t tell you the number of times I heard him telling someone — using the exact same klaxon as they use in a diving submarine — that he was a complete idiot. But he never did it to me.
I met him on my first visit to Maine. Courtship had reached the point where the…
