I lived a charmed life as a child in Boothbay. My grandparents’ home on Murphy’s Point sprawled from the formal and elegant big house (and I mean “big”) down through the fields abundant with blueberry bushes and rustic (wine grape) arbors, to the shore via the well worn dirt road. My grandfather, who was in his 70’s when I was born (my grandmother was 30 years younger~a story for another time), had lived his life, amassed his wealth, and took pleasure in creating fun for his family. At the shore he had built a summer cottage to resemble the home he had grown up in on the Irish coast.

In the kitchen was a pale green enamel wood cook stove, a weathered pine table used for rolling out pie crusts, cleaning blueberries, picking lobster meat, and of course dining. We chosen few grandchildren would spend special summer days and nights down there with Nana and Ada (the Jamaican cook). The lawn expanded to the beach. The river beyond is known as Back River. A calm, pretty inlet from the Sheepscot River which opened up to the ocean. With the “spy glasses,” tankers could be spotted making their way to the shipping lane and sails of all sizes in the summer were abundant.

The occasional yacht would venture up and discover Back River and attempt to pass in to Ovens Mouth. The name itself should have been warning enough that this was not a friendly stretch of water, but the beautiful little cove with the brickyard beach that awaited the curious on the other end was sometimes worth the navigating. However, for the first timers, once the helmsman would see the churning spiraling whirlpools, he would generally bring things “hard a lee” and make a hasty retreat.

It was a muggy summer afternoon in the early 60s, but no one in my family can recall which year. (My Mom says it was the just after Bette Davis and Gary Merrill were divorced.) History on Gary Merrill as it appears in Wikipedia: for readers who are scratching their heads here!

Back to the muggy summer afternoon: I was picking raspberries along the old stonewall when I saw Grandsir coming up the ramp from the dock. A sailing yacht had tried to make it up the mouth, realized it was not for them, and attempted to make that “hasty retreat” and ran aground. Tide was only about half out and they were already “keeled” over in the mud flats. As young as I was I knew they would be there,  “between the tides and the light,” 12 hours. If they were to get that keel out of the mud, they would have to sit there till high tide.

I followed Grandsir into the kitchen of the cottage; he was telling Nana and Ada that it was the actor, Gary Merrill, with some Silver Screen Stars and the crew. They were day sailing from his summerhouse on Westport Island and had little food on board (but lots of drink, I heard him say in a low brogue). We would be good hosts and make them a meal and row it out (there was enough water that a flat bottom “Murphy Skiff” could get along side the yacht).

Ada sputtered something in her native dialect; Nana ran to the mirror to adjust her lipstick and long red hair and reentered the kitchen looking like legendary actress Maureen O’Hara. I plunked my basket of raspberries down on the table, knowing in that moment my delicious pickings would be heading out to the flats.

(Continued tomorrow with part 2.)

Margaret Salt McLellan is Executive Chef of Linda Bean’s Perfect Maine and 2008 Maine Lobster Chef of the Year