Ed Robinson

One of the cliches of our world is the "helicopter parent" who tries to protect their child from any possible harm or disappointment. We have heard stories of mothers sterilizing baby nurseries to get rid of "germs" and fathers freaking out when their toddler eats dirt. It turns out that we should all go outdoors and get muddy.

The day began with fog, cold, and breezy drizzle, yet ended with sunshine, typical for coastal Maine in the spring. Arrayed along Pine Point in Scarborough, we tried to keep our binoculars and spotting scopes clear. The mouth of the Nonesuch River exiting the famous Scarborough Marsh is a favorite destination for bird-watching throughout the year, and the birds did not disappoint.

The winter has been cold and snowy enough to keep our bird feeders hopping, especially before and after storms. Most wildlife species are attuned to changes in weather and know when to eat hearty or take shelter for energy conservation. I have been watching one bird in particular, a snappy dresser and one determined little fellow.

You may have seen previous articles about the challenges of maintaining good health in the face of excessive environmental pollution. My April 2024 column reviewed the staggering amounts of microplastics in our air, water and food, while also highlighting growing concerns about a class of products called "forever chemicals."

Subash and I were in shock. We had spent two days cruising Vietnam's Ha Long Bay aboard a small ship and overnighting among 2,000 immense limestone towers eroded by the sea. The bay is designated a UNESCO World Heritage site for its "marine-invaded tower karst" geography and its diversity of wildlife.

Eighteen inches of snow for Christmas Eve? What happened to global warming? Mainers, especially our television meteorologists, love to speculate about the next "storm of the century." Hyperbole and selective use of data are the norm: "December was 6 degrees colder than average!" To hear the grumbling, you might think we lived in Greenland rather than our balmy little island community.

It is curious how we develop affection for certain species in the natural world. Whether flowers, birds or butterflies, we all have our favorites. As with Daniel Boone long ago, I have a warm spot in my heart for a long-lived, slow-growing giant that enhances the character of eastern forests: the American beech.

For years, my folks made the long drive from the Finger Lakes region of New York to take in the thrills and chills of the Fryeburg Fair in Maine. Dating from 1851, the fair is a major attraction for western Maine, with up to 300,000 attendees. Having grown up on a small hill farm, Dad loved the old steam-powered farm machines and the pulling contests among giant draft horses, like the famous Percherons and Clydesdales. The foliage of early October was a bonus for the trip.

At long last we had arrived. The plane banked low over the island for the final approach into the wind, providing our first view of a place we had dreamed of for 25 years. We were tired after 8,000 miles of travel but excited to finally experience the beauty, the wildlife and the welcoming people of this remote archipelago that stretches for 700 miles in the Indian Ocean.

We all have seen it, and most of us have done it. Enter a restaurant with friends, sit down, and within 20 seconds everyone whips out their "smart" phones. Watch a gaggle of young people anywhere and you'll wonder if their thumbs will require surgery by age 35. Pass a hiker or jogger on the trail and odds are good that person is wearing earbuds or headphones.