(upbeat music) (projector clicking) - Have you ever wondered where the television signal you're watching is coming from?

♪ (projector clicking) - Welcome to True North.

(upbeat music) (mysterious music) - Good evening and welcome to Mainewatch (upbeat music) (projector clicking) (gentle music) ♪ It's away and to the westward ♪ ♪ It's a place a man should go ♪ Where the fishin's always easy ♪ ♪ And they've got no ice or snow ♪ ♪ But I'll haul down the sails ♪ Where the bays run together ♪ And bide away the days ♪ By the hills of Isle Au Haut ♪ Now the Plymouth girls are fine ♪ ♪ They put their hearts in your hand ♪ ♪ And the Plymouth boys are able ♪ ♪ First-class sailors, every man ♪ ♪ But I'll haul down the sail ♪ Where the bays run together ♪ And bide away the days ♪ By the hills of Isle Au Haut ♪ Now the trouble with old Martir ♪ ♪ You don't try her in a trawler ♪ ♪ For those Bay of Biscay swells ♪ ♪ They roll your head from off your shoulder ♪ ♪ Haul down your sail ♪ Where the bays run together ♪ Bide away the days ♪ By the hills of Isle Au Haut ♪ So the winters drive you crazy ♪ ♪ And the fishin's hard and slow ♪ ♪ You're a damn fool if you stay ♪ ♪ But there's no better place to go ♪ ♪ Haul down your sail ♪ Where the bays run together ♪ Bide away the days ♪ By the hills of Isle Au Haut (audience applauds) - I shall never forget that homeward passage back to Casteen.

I was first mate aboard the Laydebee, and Captain Phillips was at the command, but he was below decks in his cabin with a cruel rheumatism.

And I was as good as in command.

I went below decks with the lead and said, "Captain Phillips, we are too close in with the land.

The fog is too thick.

The wind is too fresh to be carrying so much canvas, may I shorten sail?"

And he said, "Mr. Bliss, I want you to take that lead that you are carrying with you.

And heave it and bring it below and let me see it."

Well, I heaved the lead myself for I wished no slip ups.

And I brought it below and said, "Captain Phillips it's five fathoms with sand sir and a cracking good breeze."

"Let me see the lead, Mr.

Bliss."

Well, I passed it to him and he held it in the palm of his right hand and scraped a bit of the sand out of the hollow at the bottom of the lead, which the lead had brought up from the ocean floor and placed it on the end of his tongue.

Staring at me with his steel gray eyes he said, "Mr. Bliss, don't you mean seven fathoms?"

"Well, I subtracted two to be on the safe side, sir."

"Right Mr. Bliss, right, I am glad to find you so particular.

We are close in with the land and cannot be too careful.

Now I want you to keep this vessel northeast, half-east, straight as a gun barrel.

You will come within earshot of the breakers off Carsteen in just 15 minutes time.

If you do not hear the sound of the breakers, then let me know it.

And open ear for these breakers, Mr. Bliss, for we cannot be too careful and bend on all sail for we shall bring this vessel home in style."

Well, I went back on deck and sure enough, just 15 minutes had passed and we heard the sound of breakers off Carsteen.

"Luff, luff and shake her!"

I cried.

And the vessel was brought to the wind in an instant and anchored.

And the dark line of casting to our stern told me that all was well.

But I could not understand how the old man could navigate so well with nothing more than just a pinch of sand to go on.

So I took the lead and spun it round my head like David and the sling and heaved it high on Carsteen shore, no more than 250 feet to our stern.

I hauled it back aboard and brought it below to show the old man.

"Captain Phillips it blows spitefully in flaws and spits thick.

We have gone more than 15 minutes time and still have not heard the sound of breakers."

"You have not held this vessel straight Mr. Bliss.

Now let me see that lead."

Well, he took it and he scraped a bit more of the sand off the bottom in the little hollow and placed it on the end of his tongue and spat it in disgust all over the cabin floor.

"Mr. Bliss, I take back what I said to you.

You have held this vessel straight as a gun barrel.

There is no fault in your steering, but I regret to inform you that Carsteen has sunk and we have have sailed directly over Man Hackett's compost heap."

(audience laughs) (audience applauds) - This is a song from Newfoundland too.

It was written by a fellow named Otto Kellan who was a fishermen.

And he's one of these characters that really likes his work.

♪ Take me back to my western boat ♪ ♪ Let me fish off Cape St. Mary's ♪ ♪ Where the hog-down sail ♪ And the fog horns wail ♪ With my friends the Browns and the Clearys ♪ ♪ In the swells off old St. Mary's ♪ ♪ Let me feel my dory lift ♪ To the broad Atlantic combers ♪ ♪ Where the tide rip swirls ♪ And the wild ducks furl ♪ And the ocean calls the numbers ♪ ♪ In the swells off old St. Mary's ♪ ♪ Let me sail up Golden Bay ♪ With my oilskins all a-streaming ♪ ♪ From the thunder squalls where I hauled my trawls ♪ ♪ And the old Cape Ann a-gleaming ♪ ♪ In the swells off old St. Mary's ♪ ♪ Take me back to my western boat ♪ ♪ Let me fish off Cape St. Mary's ♪ ♪ Where the hog-down sail ♪ And the fog horns wail ♪ With my friends the Browns and the Clearys ♪ ♪ In the swells off old St. Mary's ♪ (audience applauds) - I was clamming in the flats and I come across a body in the kelp.

It was face down and before I turned it over, I decided to go up and to make sure that it was not old Tom who tended the light on the point.

I knocked on his door and in three minutes old Tom opened it up and I said, "Tom, there's a body down in the rocks, amongst the kelp."

He said, "Was it wearing a red shirt?"

"Yes."

"Did it have green trousers?"

"Yup."

"A gray hat still on him?"

"Yes."

"Dark hair?"

"Uh huh."

"Did he have boots on?"

I said yes.

"Was they low boots?"

"Yes, they was."

"Are you sure they were not high boot turned down low?"

"Well, now come to think of it, Tom."

I said, "They was high boots turned down low."

"Oh," he said, "Thank God.

It weren't me."

(audience chuckles) (audience applauds) (gentle guitar music) - This is about a courtship.

It's a Newfoundland song.

♪ When I first came to Trinity ♪ In the brave old days of yore ♪ ♪ It was there I took a stroll ♪ All around Green Island shore ♪ ♪ It was there I met a pretty fair maid ♪ ♪ She's the girl that I adore ♪ A more handsome little female I never saw before ♪ ♪ I've got as fine a bully boat ♪ ♪ As ever rode the ground ♪ She can beat anything with sails ♪ ♪ From the Horse Chops to the sound ♪ ♪ And what's more I've got a big Poole gun ♪ ♪ With a five foot barrel or more ♪ ♪ And 'tis for your sake I'll shoulder her ♪ ♪ All around Green Island shore ♪ ♪ I've got a feather bed, I've got a watch ♪ ♪ And of a new house I've the frame ♪ ♪ And I'll take you home to Robin Hood ♪ ♪ If you will share my name ♪ If Billy Hookey tries to win your heart ♪ ♪ I'll leave him in his gore ♪ And sail far away from Trinity ♪ ♪ And the dear Green Island shore ♪ ♪ To wed you now, dear Johnny ♪ Would be a poor look out ♪ For you have got two very small legs ♪ ♪ Which scarce carry you about ♪ And what's more you cannot stand ♪ ♪ The cold of a cold and wintry day ♪ ♪ I'd rather marry a weasel, so Johnny, go away ♪ (audience chuckles) (audience applauds) - Holman Day was the Rudyard Kipling of Maine.

It was around the turn of the century that he wrote his most famous poem, "The Kennebec Mariner."

"I guess I've never told you, sonny, of the strandin' and the wreck of the steamboat Ezra Johnson that run up the Kennebec.

That was 'fore the time of steam-cars, and the Johnson filled the bill on the route between Augusty and the town of Waterville.

She was built old-fashioned model, with a bottom flat's your palm, And a paddle-wheel behind her, drove by one great churnin' arm.

Couldn't say that she was speedy, sploshed along and made a touse, couldn't go much faster than a man could tow a house.

Still, she skipped and skived tremendous, dodged the rocks and skun the shoals, in a way the boats of these days couldn't do to save their souls.

Didn't draw no 'mount of water, went on top instead of through.

This is how there come to happen what I'm going to tell to you.

Ain't no need to keep you guessing, for I know you won't suspect how that thunderin' old Ez Johnson ever happened to get wrecked.

She was overdue one evening, fog come down most awful thick; 'twas about like navigating inside a feather tick.

Proper caper was to anchor, but she seemed to run all right, so we humped her, kept her sloshing, though 'twas risky, through the night.

Things went on all right till morning, but along 'bout half-past three, the ship went dizzy, blind, and crazy, waves seemed worst I ever see.

Up she went and down she scuttered; sometimes seemed to stand on end.

Then she'd wallopse, sideways, crossways, in a way, by gosh, to send shivers down your spine.

Then she'd teeter, fetch a spring, and take a bounce, Then squat down, sir, on her haunches with a most je-roosly jounce.

Folks got up and run a-screaming, forced the wheelhouse, grabbed at me, thought we'd missed Augusty landin' and had sailed clear out to sea.

Fairly shot me full of questions, but I said was just a blow.

Still, that didn't seem to soothe 'em, for there weren't no wind, you know!

Yas, sir, spite of all that churnin', weren't a whisper of a breeze, no excuse for all that upset and them strange and dreadful seas.

Couldn't spy a thing around us, everywhere 'twas pitchy black; And I couldn't seem to comfort them poor critters on my back.

Couldn't give them information, for 'twas dark's a cellar shelf; Couldn't tell 'em nothing 'bout it, for I didn't know myself.

So I gripped the Johnson's tiller, kept the rudder rigging taut, Kept a-praying, chawed tobacker, give her steam, and let her swat.

Now, my friends, just listen steady: when the sun come out at four.

We weren't tossing in no breakers off no stern and rock-bound shore; But I'd missed the gol-durned river, and I swear this here is true, we had sailed eight miles 'cross country in a heavy autumn dew.

(audience laughing) There I was clear up in Sidney, and the tossings and the rolls simply happened 'cause we tackled several miles of cradle knolls.

Sun come out and dried the dew up; there we was a stranded wreck, And they soaked me eighteen dollars' cartage to the Kennebec.

(audience applauds) (gentle guitar music) - McKeon was a Canadian, he had a little schooner.

He used to run it with his son sometimes, sometimes with another man.

And as many other people did, he got in the rum running trade here, and he was caught.

He was arrested and thrown in jail in Massachusetts and his schooner was impounded.

Sold for auction.

And it was five years he was in there.

And when he got out, it took him two years to get him back home.

This is "McKeon's Coming."

♪ Now when the wind is bright with the spring ♪ ♪ And the snow is gone away ♪ The days grow long and the time has come ♪ ♪ To hoist my sail and go ♪ And I'll hear no more your dungeon door ♪ ♪ Nor eat your bitter beans ♪ Surely it's a long and windy road ♪ ♪ For the stray who comes home ♪ I'll go down to the Naskeg Sound ♪ ♪ Where the tide runs fast and strong ♪ ♪ The water's deep and the hills are steep ♪ ♪ And the night's are cold and long ♪ ♪ And through the rocks of Jericho ♪ ♪ I'll wind my weary way ♪ And roll her off for sable aye in the gray seas of Fundy ♪ ♪ When the wind is fair and the tides of the spring ♪ ♪ And the time has come to go ♪ Hoist my sail on a northern wind ♪ ♪ And I'll be on my way ♪ Oh but there's no one can go with me ♪ ♪ And there's no one by my side ♪ ♪ Surely it's a long and windy road ♪ ♪ Till McKeon's home again (audience applauds) - Cutler?

Cutler Harbor?

You asked me about Cutler.

Why, that was where I was born and raised, lived there all my days, man and boy, following the sea.

Well, I say following the sea, I ain't never done much blue water sailing, mostly just coasting.

You see, I got myself a little jib and mainsail boat, the Nancy and Betsy.

And me and me nephew, Willie, and me we runs it.

We don't carry no hands.

We really don't need no hands, 'cause though the mainsail's kind of heavy for Willie and me, we just ease the peak and let the mainsail flap.

Well, now you'd have think we'd have known every ripple and reef from here to East Port and back again.

But then again, I recollect we was taking on a deck load of lumber for transporting off to Ram Island.

And we got in off Goat Head there when there come a hail from shore, it seems they was having a hair-setting party.

What you might call a christening.

Well, we dropped anchor, we lowered the jib, but we didn't have to lower the mainsail, the mainsail's kinda heavy for Willy and me, so we just eased the peak and let the mainsail flap.

Well, we went to shore there.

And when I tell you that they had two barrels of Barbados rum jacked up there on the shore, you'll understand me when I tell you that they were parting the baby's hair good and proper.

(audience titters) Well, after a while, Willie and me, we started parting a few hairs ourselves.

And then I says to Willy, "Look, if we're going to get out of here with this deck load of lumber, we better get a move on."

So we went back aboard the Nancy and Betsy.

We weighed anchor, raised the jib, but we didn't have to raise the mainsail.

The mainsail was kind of heavy for Willie and me.

We had just eased the mainsail and let it flap.

So we raised the peak and set sail out of there.

And we're gone for no more than five minutes time when there come in one of them fogs you get around Cutler, so thick you can't see your nose in front of your face.

Well I says, "Willie, where be we?"

He says, "I don't know."

Well, I says, "Willy, you go below decks and bring up that coast-wise pilot and maybe we'll find out where we be."

Well he brung it up and it were kind of a tattered edition and he no sooner got it open to the Cutler page when there come along a little puff of wind and blew that page overboard.

Well, I says, "Willy, what are we going to do now?"

He says, "I don't know."

Well, I says, "Willie, I think we just better sit and think, and maybe it'll come to us what we should do."

So we dropped anchor, we lowered the jib, but we didn't have to lower the mainsail.

We just eased the peak and let the mainsail flap.

And we sat there and we thought.

He thought, and I thought.

I thought, and he thought, until finally it come to me.

I stood bolt upright.

I slapped him on his back and "Willy," I said, "I've got it.

I tell you what we're going to do.

We're going to weigh anchor, we're going to raise the jib.

We're going to raise the peak.

We're going to set sail out of here.

And we're going to keep sailing by God from mighty, until we get over into this next page here, and then we'll know where we be."

(audience laughs) (audience applauds) (gentle guitar music) ♪ Oh the times are hard and the wages low ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ The Western Ocean is my home ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ I'm growing thin and I'm getting sad ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ Since first I joined this wooden clad ♪ ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ She would neither wear nor steer nor stay ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ She shipped at Green both night and day ♪ ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ Here's to you lads, may you never be ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ In a hungry vetch, the likes of she ♪ ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ Oh the times are hard and the wages low ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ The Western Ocean is my home ♪ Across the Western Ocean (audience applauds) (upbeat guitar music) - Where's this road go?

- Don't go nowhere Mister.

Stays right here.

(audience chuckles) (upbeat guitar music) - Well, I'm going to Portland.

- Well go right ahead.

I'm not stopping you.

(upbeat guitar music) - How many miles is it to Portland?

- It's about 30,000 miles the way you're headed and there are some stretches of pretty wet wheeling.

(upbeat guitar music) - Well can I take this road to Portland?

- You can, but Portland already has enough roads is it is.

(upbeat guitar music) - Well, now there seem to be two signs here and they both point to Portland, but they're pointing in different directions.

Now does it matter which one I take?

- Not to me it don't.

(upbeat guitar music) - You know there isn't much between you and a fool.

- No, nothing but this fence I'm leaning on.

(upbeat guitar music) - Do you know where the nearest gas station is?

- No, I don't.

(upbeat guitar music) (audience laughs) - You don't know much do you?

- No, but then again, I ain't lost.

(audience laughs) (audience applauds) (gentle guitar music) ♪ March 29th, 1910 ♪ The little brig Daisy did sail ♪ ♪ The morning was clear, and the sea was down ♪ ♪ And we raised a great pod of whale ♪ ♪ The captain had three of the boats lowered down ♪ ♪ And in them the mates they did go ♪ ♪ There was Mister Dalomba and Mister Alves ♪ ♪ And Mister Eneos also ♪ Clew up your royals and top sails ♪ ♪ Haul your headsails down ♪ For you'll never see the whale no more ♪ ♪ Or the cold South Georgia Ground ♪ ♪ The whales did rise a mile from the ship ♪ ♪ And the other two mates made their kill ♪ ♪ But Mister Eneos was caught in the pod ♪ ♪ Where the whales were lying still ♪ ♪ Mister Eneos stood still in the bow ♪ ♪ And he had his lance in his hand ♪ ♪ But the whale he had harpooned would not break away ♪ ♪ And would neither sound nor run ♪ ♪ It struck at the boat and lifted her high ♪ ♪ And the men fell out over the stern ♪ ♪ We saw the flukes come thrashing down ♪ ♪ Where Mister Eneos had been ♪ Clew up your royals and top sails ♪ ♪ Haul your headsails down ♪ For you'll never see the whale no more ♪ ♪ Or the cold South Georgia Ground ♪ ♪ The captain had the stern boat lowered away ♪ ♪ And we searched where the whales did sound ♪ ♪ Five men we gathered from out the sea ♪ ♪ But Mister Eneos was gone ♪ Clew up your royals and top sails ♪ ♪ Haul your headsails down ♪ For you'll never see the whale no more ♪ ♪ Or the cold South Georgia Ground ♪ (audience applauds) I've got to read you a poem.

It's called a ballad.

And it's written by Ruth Moore.

She lives here on the island.

She lives in Bass Harbor.

She wrote this crazy little book of ballads.

Most beautiful little book I've ever seen, it's called "Cold as a Dog in the Wind Northeast."

And this is the "Ballad of the Night Charlie Tended Weir."

A weir is a fish trap, put stakes out and you hang nets from it.

"Charley had a herring-weir Down to Bailey's Bight; He got up to tend it, in the middle of the night.

Late October, midnight black as tar; Nothing out the window but a big cold star; House like a cemetery; kitchen fire dead.

"I'm damn good mind," said Charley, "To go back to bed.

"A man who runs a herring-weir, even on the side, Is nothing but a slave to the God damned tide."

Well, a man feels meager.

A man feels old, in pitch-black midnight, Lonesome and cold.

Chills in his stomach like forty hundred mice, And the very buttons on his pants, little lumps of ice.

Times he gets to feeling it's no damn use; So Charley had a pitcherful in his orange juice.

Then he felt better than he had before; So he had another pitcherful to get him to the shore.

Down by the beach-rocks, underneath a tree, Charley saw something he never thought he'd see; Sparkling in the lantern light as he went to pass, Three big diamonds in the frosty grass.

"Well" he says, "Diamonds.

Where'd they come from?

I'll pick them up later on.

I've always wanted some."

Then he hauled in his dory, she felt light as air.

And in the dark midnight rowed off to tend weir.

Out by the weir-gate Charley found an old sea serpent swimming round and round, Head like a washtub; whiskers like thatch; Breath like the flame on a Portland Star match.

Black in the lantern light, up he rose, A great big barnacle on the end of his nose; He looked Charley over, surly and cross.

"Them fish you've got shut up in there, belongs to my boss."

"Fish?"

says Charley.

"Fish?

In there?

Why, I ain't caught a fish since I built the damn weir."

"Well," says the sea serpent, "Nevertheless, there's ten thousand bushels at a rough guess."

Charley moved the lantern, gave his oars a pull, And he saw that the weir was brim-belay full.

Fish rising out of water a trillion at a time And the side of each and every one was like a silver dime.

"Well," says the sea serpent, "What are you going to do?

They're uncomfortable, and they don't belong to you; So, open this contraption up and let 'em go.

Come on, shake the lead out.

The boss says so."

"He does?"

says Charley.

"Who the hell is he, Thinks he can set back and send word to me?"

Sea serpent swiveled round, He made a waterspout.

"Keep on brother, and you'll find out."

"Why," says Charley, "You're nothing But a lie so old you're hoary; So get your dirty whiskers off the gunnel of my dory!"

Sea serpent twizzled, he heaved underneath, He skun back a set of sharp yellow teeth, he come at Charley With a gurgly roar, And Charley let him have it with the port-side oar.

Right on the noggin; hell of a knock, And the old sea serpent he sunk like a rock.

"So, go on back," yells Charley, "And tell the old jerk, not to send a boy to do a man's work."

Then over by the weir-gate, tinkly and clear.

A pretty little voice says, "Yoo-hoo, Charley, dear!"

"Now what?"

says Charley.

"This ain't funny."

And the same sweet voice says, "Yoo-hoo, Charley, honey."

And there on a seine-pole right in the weir, Was a little green mermaid, combing out her hair.

"All right," says Charley.

"I see you.

And I know who you come from.

So you git, too!"

He let fly his bailing-scoop, it landed with a clunk, and when the water settled, the mermaid, she had sunk.

Then the ocean heaved behind him, With a mighty heave and hiss, And a thundery, rumbly voice remarked, "I'm Goddamn sick of this!"

And up come an old man, white from top to toe, Whiter than a daisy field, whiter than the snow; Carrying a pitchfork with three tines on it, Muttering in his whiskers, and madder than a hornet.

"My sea serpent is so lame that he can hardly stir, And my best mermaid, you've raised a lump on her; "And you've been pretty sassy calling me a jerk; So, now the Old Man has come to do a man's work."

"Look," says Charley, "Why don't you leave me be?

You may be the hoary Old Man of the Sea, But, I've got a run of fish here, shut up inside, And if you keep on frigging round You'll make me lose the tide."

The next thing that Charley knew, He was lying on the sand; The painter of his dory was right beside his hand.

He could see across the bay, calm and still and wide; It was full daylight; and it was high tide.

"Well," said Charley.

"What am I about?"

His oars weren't wet, so he hadn't been out.

"Oh," he thought.

"Diamonds, underneath the tree.

Seems to me I found some.

I'd better go see."

But he couldn't find any; not one gem; Only three little owl-dungs with the frost on them.

(audience applauds) - I was digging clams in Dougal Flats when a low humming sound came to my ears.

I couldn't quite rightly understand what it was.

So I dug and dug until I came upon a small clam that I reckoned was emitting the hum.

I heard some more humming sounds and I dug some more and come up with some more humming clams.

Well, since I played sliphorn in the Penobscot chowder band, I knew a little bit about music and I knew I might have a chorus in these clams.

I brung them home, brought 'em a little box of mud, the same mud that I found them in.

Settled them down in there.

And over the next few weeks, singled out a soprano, alto, tenor and bass clam out of the 100, 150 or so odd clams that hummed in that batch.

Then by feeding them a little extra chopped liver and bacon when they sung in harmony by accident every now and then I got 'em to sing "Home of the Brave."

And I took 'em out across the country on tour from coast to coast.

But then I made my big mistake.

I booked 'em for a European tour and I've regretted it ever since.

I took two state rooms aboard the Queen Mary, one state room for my clams and one for me.

And we had no sooner got out to the lighthouse off Nantucket where there was ever so slight a swell that them clams up, took seasick and died.

(audience chuckles) (audience applauds) My pa as he grew older, become a little barmy.

I brung him down to Portland to see the big city sights.

We was walking along Front Street and a seagull flew in from the harbor overhead and let one drop right on Pa's bald pate.

Well, I said, "Now Pa, you stay right there.

I'll be right back with a box of Kleenex."

He said, "Son, don't you worry about that Kleenex 'cause by the time you get back out here with it, that seagull will be more than a half mile from here."

(audience laughs) (audience applauds) (gentle guitar music) - That's a classic.

You can go home and tell your children that one.

I want to do that tune called "Gulls in the Morning."

I made it up when I was living on the Steven Tabor.

She's an old schooner that sails around here.

I used to live on her in the winter and it's about gulls, but more what they're doing than what they sound like.

And it's in a slightly South American style because I wrote it for a friend of mine who's a guitarist And he comes from south America.

(gentle guitar music) (audience applauds) - I was raking leaves on one of them raw foggy days you get along the coast of Maine in the fall.

When Mr. Smith come out and asked me if I'd like to come in and get warmed up by the fire and have a little something to drink.

Well, I said, "Mr. Smith, I'd like first rate to come in and get warmed up by the fire.

But if it's all the same to you I'll not have anything to drink."

You see, I haven't partook of spirits for over 35 years, but I recollect just like it was yesterday, that last time I had a drink.

I was building boats in them days and also building coffins.

And I recollect I'd just finished a cat boat for Henry Furniss's boy when Charlie Peers come down, he run the general store and did some of the undertaking on the side.

He asked me if I'd like to finish a coffin for him by Thursday.

Well, I said, "Charlie, it's kind of short notice, ain't it?"

And he said, he knew it was and he'd brought me down a jug of Barbados rum.

Well, I didn't spare myself none, nor neither did I spare the rum.

And Wednesday night I went to bed feeling pretty good with a job well done.

Thursday morning, Charlie come down and I showed him to the shed and I noticed he kind of started some, as he walked in through the door.

And there that coffin stood and it had a rudder and a centerboard on it.

(audience applauds) - I'd like to read you a poem called "Drying Sails in Isle Au Haut."

You'll have to pretend it's a little bit colder here than it is right now.

"Now when the first October gale is gone, White summer lifts her head Along the shores in silent light.

The spruces bask along the hills And yellow houses scattered up the fields Slate themselves with sun against the winter.

A little girl stands down among the rocks, unmoving, Faded to blend among the stone And considers the ketch in stolid silence.

She watches as she would a pausing bird That with the coming storm sought haven here In her front door yard.

Now it lifts its wings into summer's short return, But does not fly.

Perhaps she knows that these will be the last white sails She'll see before the winter comes, She who had schooners moored Where other folks would plant their gardens.

Now she wonders why this migrant bird Would spread its wings And yet lie quietly floating in the sun.

The rest have flown a month ago And there should be seven months of snow Before she finds one sudden morning, some bright sail and looks and sees it's summer.

Yet, it's probably not at all important to her.

She'd know the change of year as any child would find it.

In the feel of water, wind and trees.

She sees the long grass yellow down on the field.

She hears the loon come down to salt marsh pastures, Finds it strange that all the seals are gone And considers then that soon she'll play in snow.

But still to her, the boats send back the word.

When they have gone, the white calm days go too And soon the spruce will darken and the fields Run white with frost along the cresting granite.

And so this last stray bird of summer Brings with one bright day, The sudden dream that still perhaps there's time to run in fields neglected when she thought The season was still young.

And now she stops to watch The ketch's mainsail flapping slowly.

Not really watching it at all, But seeing instead in one clear brittle moment, All the universe of seasons dreaming and endless, Caught now between boat and water and island And hearing herself thinking very carefully, "This is the whole wide world.

And at this moment I am seven years and almost four months old And halfway between that sailboat and this rock Is all that's left of summer."

(audience applauds) ♪ Oh the times are hard and the wages are low ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ The Western Ocean is my home ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ I thought I heard the old maid say ♪ ♪ You sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ One more pull and then belay ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ Here's to you Johnny, we'll work no more ♪ ♪ You'll sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ Draw her pale and blow ashore ♪ ♪ Across the Western Ocean ♪ Oh the times are hard and the wages low ♪ ♪ You'll sail her where you're bound to ♪ ♪ The Western Ocean is my home ♪ Across the Western Ocean - [Announcer] The preceding was made possible by a grant from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.