Matinicus Island Recycles. This slogan comes from the
efforts of a committed few islanders- one in particular- to change waste management away from old
fashioned country livin’ methods that were probably fine when trash was almost all metal, glass or the occasional leather shoe sole. We now sort recyclables, Eva trucks them off
on the ferry, and we have a hazmat disposal day or two each summer to get rid
of crank case oil, old paint, solvents and other nasty things. Here I learned to wash food packaging, and now wouldn't go back to throwing stinky meat trash in the garbage can.
Last month, on a gray windy day, I watched a chickadee
engaged in its own recycling program on my deck. Seamus, our cat had coughed up
his dinner a few days earlier, and the remains were now crispy dry on the deck.
The chickadee pecked away and gathered tufts of Seamus’ fur out of the pile
until the fluff was as big as his head before taking off into the trees. Even hairballs don’t go to waste.
The unusually warm winter also produced some plant
recycling. When I got back in April, I noticed small sproutlings of chard and
bok choy in the garden. A few weeks later, the sprouts had turned into tall,
shiny and thoroughly delicious greens. At the end of each lobstering season, I
toss the many dozens of algae covered rope coils onto the garden. I believe the
rope is saturated with nutrients that then soak into the garden and make our
plants very happy.
Somebody has to be last. I got an early start that somehow
ended up being a late start. In March, I got a big jump on fixing up Close Enough, though as usual, I didn’t
come close to finishing up the list before deciding she should just go into the
water. Somewhere between the yard and Matinicus Harbor, it got to be late
May; that first few hundred feet took two months.
At this point, I was late,
and feeling trapped by my office job, and about ready to chew off my
paw to get free and put some gear in the water.
I was late and the shedders were early, so now it’s mid June
and I’m still not all the way up to strength on traps in the water.
Living a double life sucks. I don’t know how
preacher/philanderers, conservative congressmen who pick guys up in bathrooms,
or double agent spy types can stand it.
By necessity I’ve gotten back into law practice to get
through the winter, pay my creditors and keep myself fed and sheltered. I am
lucky to have a nice office in a nice town, but the compass always points
south-southeast to Matinicus- it’s always about getting back here to my humble
cape in the middle of the island with a slightly out of tune but beloved piano.
It’s all about getting back out on the water, getting bait-stinky, making
muscles and joints sore.
The big downside is the back-and-forth, which needs to
happen usually every week. In order to keep life here going and clients happy
on the mainland, I juggle weather, court and real estate closing schedules, kid
time and the ever present quagmire of whether I can fly, or whether it’s too foggy
and I can take my boat, or whether it’s too windy, whether I can take the
ferry, George’s charter, Marty’s lobster smack or some other random transport
option. It is a 20 nautical mile salt water Rubik’s Cube.
It's more than worth it.
