The mask depicts a Mighty Warrior-Superchief of the Sagamore’s; Mid-Central Maine’s First Nation’s people who governed the Algonquin-Abenaki family’s lands in the 17th century.

Midcoast Maine is the burial place of Abigadasset. The Abigadasset River in this area runs through Richmond, and Abigadasset Road stands near the historic Jellerson School in Bowdoin.

Many land ownership or usage challenges faced him in the early settlements of white men arriving up & down the Kennebec River.

SWANGO or SOWANGEN, Island of Eagles (now known as the Swan Island where Marine Biologist Steve Powell lived in the 1940’s and recorded voluminous statistics on geese, ducks, deer and other wildlife) was one of the most threatened territories the Bashaba most often visited. The head of the friendliest native band in the area from Bath to Hallowell: Chief Kenebiki of the Kennebec River. Considering Fort Richmond and the Chaudiere Corridor’s proximity, the area was coveted because of the access to all Maine points and for the trade vital to survival done all along the river.

In 1604 the French explorer Samuel de Champlain met with the Bashaba and called him “chief of this river” (referring to the Penobscot, Maine’s longest).

Jesuit missionary Father Pierre Biard met the Bashaba near Castine, Maine, in November 1611 to gather approximately 300 Sagamore peoples. Father Biard reported the Bashaba to be the most prominent Sagamore, “a man of great discretion and prudence.”

Abigadassett believed his task was to unite and protect the people of this territory from marauding tribes, mainly the Tarrentines, the Eastern-Etchemins & Micmacs. This group was most threatening to his people’s peaceful co-existence as they formed an alliance of traders and raiders who were hostile toward the Western-Etchemin & Abenaki-Pennacook peoples.

Eventually, despite all peaceful efforts to preserve his vision, he was killed by the Tarrantines within a year or two of Captain John Smith’s exploration of the Maine coast.


When the slate black of night
turns to pale lilac, as the dawn
rolls over the forest floor,
the sky turns once again
into silvery whiteness,
like the glow that emerges
from an eclipse of the moon.

The leafless trees,
thick and tall, stand close together,
rooted in years of layers
of richly composted leaves.
Fog begins to waft through,
revealing the direction of an
elusive breeze.

Turkey hens and Tom’s begin
a high-stepping parade, single file in
their always humorous jerky-walk.
Undeterred by dangling foggy webs,
glistening with morning dew,
pointy turkey beaks lead them
along the trail and up the hill
from the Kennebec river.


Bouts of extended coughing and

hacking accompanied by body wracking

shivers garner chilly looks.

Residents with cold feet,

share cool stares, extending

only cold shoulders,

glances from good books.

Cold stove, cold house, cold truck,

cold everything produces coughing,

cold air, cold feet, cold shoes, cold boots.

Cold hands wipe away deepening

snow, cold fingers chipping ice,

take a moment to wipe a cold,

drippy nose, toot, toot, toots.


DAWN affords clear

visibility beyond glass doors.

Darkness offered driving rain,

wild, whipping wind – howling, flexing,

rattling vinyl siding, walls and windows.

Ancient tall trees suddenly fell in

thunderous foundation-shaking thuds.

Thick branches cracked, split,

moaned in protest, earthy roots exposed.

Acorns popped against windows

like corn popping. Shredded chips

of summer leaves plastered sideways

against all glass surfaces, tick-tick-tick.

Covering the ground, a Matrix

of “spider web” branches

filled with leaves still green,

acorn “victims” pooled beneath.

Cavernous holes in the earth

where trees once grew, now

peeled back, earth-scabs

revealing matted shallow roots

grown over granite slabs just under

the surface of the earth throughout Maine.

Generators hummed throughout

the night. Sounds of rebuilding,

re-ordering the neighborhood.

Weeks fill with the sound of many

Buzzing chainsaws ripping mighty

trees into piles of wood chips.

Stillness descends,

turbulence at last quieted,

Mother Nature mourns

for the loss of precious trees,

stately children of her forest

on the Kennebec.

Curious homeowners scour

a once-thick forest, tripping over

downed branches or dangling roots

ripped from the storm-ravaged earth.

Deer, moose, small animals

sniff the wind, newly alert,

searching for new, secure homes.

Hunter orange soon mingles

with thick layers of yellow,

orange, red and chocolate brown

fall leaves whose tethers ripped

from strong tree branches

in micro-bursts whipping

through one town across the

Kennebec River to the next.


DEW reveals silken webs

engulfed in early morning fog

spun in afternoon sunshine,

woven by Celtic Forest Faeries

exhausted from dancing

in the late strawberry moonlight,

Faerie Fantasies filling their dreams.

Sheer delight, beathtaking sight

Early morning discovery

of glistening quilts by the dozens

filling the greening expanse

of carefree dandelion puffs

and deadly black cap mushrooms

emerging on the lawn.

The paradox of life,





hungry/fully fed,



Rule of Law/chaos


power/sheer helplessness.

We were all energized

Now all are exhausted.

What mix of reality or fantasy

will YOU choose,

going forward from today?