Butch Lawson

We sat in the old Scout, the engine idling smoothly for a change, waiting for a break in the traffic. The old man, tan and lean, one hand on the steering wheel, spat through his open window and slowly said, “I don't think these fools know this road is a dead end.”

It’s a beautiful morning on the rock. After an unusually long rainy spell, Ma Nature seems to have slaked her thirst enough to bless us with one of those rare and perfect Maine summer days, sunny and warm with a slight onshore breeze.