A Shoaler in the Making, Part 6 by Nelson Linscott

There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence, depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse, our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen

– William Wordsworth, The Prelude. Book 12. 208-218 (1850 edition)

I woke slowly and gently, one eye opening at a time and the thin red flame cap of the sun broke the horizon, casting its light though my window painting pink and gold on the wall behind me. I looked down past my rumpled pillow to see Baxter looking up at me with a curious smile. I greeted Baxter and asked if he was hungry, a question I already knew the answer to. I struggled out of bed, my back was stiff as a board and the pain reminded me that I was still alive. I checked my watch. It was 4:12 am.

After feeding Baxter, I threw the curtains open to the glory of Star Island. I opened the door and like he had been living at the room in the motel for years, Baxter limped out of the room and down the stairs to relieve himself. I stood on the porch gazing at the new morning and started snapping photos. Baxter found a spot at the bottom of the stairs to nibble grass and look at his new surroundings.

It was time to explore! After Baxter finished his breakfast, I popped him in the stroller and headed toward the Oceanic. There were a few people, employees and visitors who greeted us as we looked around. Inside the Oceanic, I was amazed at the lobby. Behind the main desk, up on the wall in a prominent place, I spied a clock. It was definitely old and obvious to me it was a Chelsea Clock. Chelsea clocks are high quality clocks, are made to this day as they were in the late 1800’s in Chelsea, Massachusetts. The company is well know for their nautical clocks. I put my camera to my eye and using the zoom lens to it’s maximum, I could see engraving in the brass patina top and bottom of the outer ring.  In Memoriam was engraved around the upper radius and below was engraved Ellen Adams. I was instantly very interested. Here it was 4:30 a.m. and I began asking. “Do you know the history of the clock in the Oceanic Lobby?” I received several suggestions on who to ask but at 4:40 am I had only the internet to investigate. I couldn’t find a thing about that clock. I then started examining all the antiques, books and anything I could find. Being a watch collector and sometimes watch and clock repairman, I was still stuck on that clock, but there were people to meet, things to see and breakfast to eat. Breakfast was a ways off so we headed out, Baxter in the stroller and me pushing on rocks, sand and hills, a labor of love. I started taking photographs.

Though I come from poverty, I have always found a way to obtain a camera. I started taking photos in the late sixties on a Yashica TL Electro-X. I have taken hundreds of thousands of photos. I am told I have the knack. Photography, like poetry and writing have come to me by reading. I am a high school dropout. I had learned everything I needed by eighth grade. By reading, I became educated. I have amassed a library of over a thousand books. I hit the road at age sixteen, living in hotels and sometimes wrecked cars and dilapidated buildings. I love exploration, meeting new people, and spontaneity. Bohemian life was my way.

I knew before I won the trip to Star Island that it was a photographer’s dream. Documenting my trip photographically was going to be easy. Caring for a hurt dog and myself, keeping my anxiety, PTSD and other maladies would be a challenge. I also had the innate feeling that there was something uniquely beautiful about the people of Star Island. This feeling was already substantiated waiting to board the Thomas Laighton in Portsmouth.

Down the hill we rolled, heading for the dock to look back up toward the Oceanic as a summer sun rose behind me. A seagull swooped by. The lights of the grand hotel still blazed. I clicked off several photos, let Baxter out of the stroller to sit in the glass. Baxter snuggled against my leg. “I am the luckiest man in the world”, I thought.

Finally we were signaled that breakfast was being served. As I walked in with Baxter in tow on his leash, I scanned the tables to find my group. Every table was buzzing with excitement, every face had a smile. I knew Star Island was more than its man made and natural physical beauty. The people who guided me here despite Baxter’s handicaps and my own made us feel like I always imagined a family would be like. Shoalers are the family I never had. I became acutely aware of every moment, living and loving every minute. I didn’t think of the past or the future. I was busy with now, and now made every event, every new friend and every sky, a moment that stood as unforgettable to a Kittery boy and his dog whose solitary love was about to burst open to include everyone. My distrust of people, the result of being abuse as a child, was gone.

As I ate my oatmeal, I asked if anyone knew about the lobby clock. I knew the Chelsea clock had a story, and I like stories.

Photographs by Nelson Linscott

A Shoaler in the Making, Part 5 by Nelson Linscott

Star Island Bodhicitta

I went voluntarily sent
by luck of the draw
Though my World resides
inside a temporary shell
that will crumble into dust
The island called to me
a place I only dreamed of
I felt the spirit long
before I set foot upon the rock
the beauty of the land 
cold Atlantic and sunrise sky
could not compare to the people’s 
pulsing, loving hearts
I am not dust yet
I shall return

NL June 2018

Some may say when contemplating the life I inherited, I am not very lucky in life. I disagree. I have been very lucky. I wouldn’t be alive if not for luck. Many times I found myself in a wrong place at the wrong time, but I stumbled out all of these misfortunes always a bit more clever and most times no less for wear. But Star Island!! Star Island, I was at the right place at the right time. I am a lucky person. I don’t remember signing up for the Veteran’s Raffle. For a while I was convinced that someone else signed me up. I think it may have been Karma, but I haven’t blessed this world with enough positive Karma to deserve a trip to Star Island.  Maybe it was some other Divine Intervention.

Baxter sat tall in his stroller as we strolled the walkway, up the hill to the porch of the grand Oceanic. Ally pointed out a few highlights as I stared out to the sea that I had just crossed. Being hearing impaired, I noticed the absence of background noise. The gentle breeze stirred the air with a scent of salt and blossoms. One lone cloud slowly rode the air currents above. The Thomas Laighton was busy getting ready for the trip back to Portsmouth. We headed for the room, on the boardwalk to “The Motel”. After a little talk, Ally left and Baxter indicated he wanted out of the stroller.  I picked him up and cringed as I looked at his right rear leg. He was obviously in pain. Hopefully, this was going to work. With the front door open I emptied my bag. Baxter sniffed every corner, nook, and cranny of the floor and plunked down in the frame of the open door and gazed out over his home for the week. I opened the window over the desk and sat peering out over the same view Baxter had. I had to attend a fire safety presentation in an hour and then surely supper would be served. I closed my eyes and created the internal vibration in my head, silently repeating my mantra. Ten miles out to sea from my Kittery home, I sent my message of love through my internal vibrations and feeling them being returned sitting in a different chair, a different place, with different people, I settled into a deep meditative state. When I opened my eyes, Baxter was on his side, pink tongue extended. I stood and stepped outside to the rail. I thought, “this is going to be fun.”

Photos by Nelson Linscott

A Shoaler in the Making, Part 4 by Nelson Linscott

“If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.” William Shakespeare

Across the dock to the gangplank, I pushed Baxter in his stroller toward the good ship Thomas Laighton. I now had a posse of well wishers, friends and helpers, when I had just one when I arrived to the dock, Ally my point of contact from Star Island . The crew helped lift my most precious cargo Baxter, strapped into his stroller, wide eyed and wondering what this was all about. I visualized a rumpled, dirty bag of anxiety left on dry land on the bank of the Piscataqua River across from my home in Kittery. Soon the boat was filled with Shoalers going to their promised land. I was swept away with them without effort, without plans other than to let it be. I carried in my heart a seed of hope that I was going to plant on that little island ten miles out to sea. The boat’s engine rumbled to life. The passengers also sprang to life. Baxter let out a few sharp barks. He realized he was in for a ride. The ropes were thrown and we pulled into the fast moving river. The Memorial Bridge center span began rising. We were on the way!

The day was perfect – warm, but not hot, a few wispy clouds and light breezes. I turned back to look at the city of Portsmouth and my home of Kittery as we left the mouth of the river and entered the Atlantic Ocean. To see the landmarks I was so accustomed to on land, now the vantage point of the sea side was thrilling. Baxter was enjoying it too as a stream of well wishers scratched his head and welcomed him aboard. Then, my eyeglass lens fell out.  Sure enough the tiny screw that tightened the eyeglass frame around the lens was missing. I thought , I hope this isn’t a sign of how this trip will go. On my hands and knees I searched for the tiny screw to no avail. I explained to a young lady sitting on the deck below me what I was looking for. After picking the screw up off the rough deck she looked at me with a smile and said, “Is this it?” I was elated! “Thank you!” Maybe this is how the trip was going to go. No matter what happened there was someone there who had your back. With the point of my little jackknife, I replaced the screw tightly, cleaned the lens off and was completely sure this was going to be a trip to remember.

I have been taking photographs since the 1960’s. I was slow coming around to digital photography, but when I did, I knew it was going to change my photography completely. I had learned from old school 35 millimeter cameras with out light meters. I knew how to control depth of field, light, speed. Having that prior experience on old school equipment made digital photography easy. Instead of technical concerns, I could pour my energy  into the creativity part of photography. I had plans of photographing this trip with many people who couldn’t wait to see them. I started clicking away at the dock in Portsmouth. I also planned to keep a journal. I started it from the day I was informed that I won the Veteran’s Raffle. 

Baxter, getting a bit nervous, needed to mingle. Mingle we did. Though I didn’t know a soul on the boat, I felt like I have known many forever. Though Baxter wasn’t 100% physically, he was into the mingling. Before long, the Isles of Shoals were clearly visible. I could sense the excitement on the Thomas Laighton. I looked up at the clear blue cap over planet earth and Wordsworth’s “Prelude” floated like a cloud into my head. “There are in our existence spots of time which with distinct preeminence retain a fructifying virtue, whence, depressed by trivial occupations and the round of ordinary intercourse, our minds, especially the imaginative power, are nourished, and invisibly repaired.” This trip would provide spots of time, not one, but many. They began as distinct as the sky was blue, as the Island Star is beautiful and as Shoalers are Shoalers. 

On the trip out, the smell of the ocean, the gulls and the fast disappearing mainland kept me busy, not only looking but taking photos. I picked Baxter up and let him wander around. I looked at his right rear leg sticking out at an unnatural angle as he limped painfully. “Oh Baxter”, I thought. “I hope you will be OK.” That worry set off the anxiety, but I took advantage of a trick a therapist had taught me. I said aloud, “Stop!” and changed what I was thinking about. It worked and I picked Baxter up so he could see the water. With Baxter in my arms, a stream of well wishers welcomed us. Baxter was loving it. I was a little tentative. Soon the Star Island was in sight. The trip was shorter than I anticipated. I carefully put Baxter in the stroller to his disappointment. Looking over the bow, I gazed at our destination. I was immediately surprised by the buildings standing so tall and stately against a perfect spring sky. My heart was pounding. We were almost there.

We bumped the dock and the ropes were tossed. On the dock, young people grabbed the ropes, working in unison like they had done this a million times, but it was the smiles and the enthusiasm that piqued my inquisitiveness. These people loved their work. To my right I heard jubilant singing. Due to my deafness, I could not pick out the words, I knew this was a welcome song. I stared in amazement at the smiling faces in unison singing to us. I had to ask a friend for the words and now that I know them I am even more enamored of the song, the Shoalers and the Island.  

S-T-A-R, S-T-A-R, Oceanic, Oceanic, ra, ra, ra – you DID come back, you DID come back, you DID come back!

With much help from the crew, and Baxter in his stroller, we departed the Thomas Laighton. I walked the down the dock, the paved path, past the blooms, the gazebo, and the flag. I stood in awe at this grand hotel, the Oceanic, all painted white, proud, and majestic. I felt small in many ways. People causally walked by enjoying the day. I looked down at Baxter who was busy looking and taking it all in. As I was nearing a trance-like state of meditation, a voice broke the spell. “Let me show you your room, Nelson.”  It was Ally. We had arrived.

Photos by Nelson Linscott

A Shoaler in the Making, Part 3 by Nelson Linscott

“Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.”  William Butler Yeats

It was April and I worked on my packing list. Making sure you have everything is essential when you are a beat up old guy and your best friend is an even more beat up eleven year-old miniature Australian shepherd. Just the medical equipment, prescriptions, Baxter’s things and his dog food was a substantial load. My anxiety was building. Though I was in treatment for PTSD, the disorder is a constant battle. At home, I didn’t deviate from my unconscious schedule. I don’t swim and I fear water. I avoid groups and certainly don’t seek attention in places I am not familiar with. I’m Buddhist and I didn’t know much about the Universalists. I started dreaming about Star Island on April 14th. In the dream, Baxter was healed and running in open spaces on Star. Since I had only seen photos of the island, my overactive imagination filled in the scenery and people. On April 18th, I came back to Star in a new dream! Though it was April, June 16th was quite a ways to go, I read everything I could find about Star Island. My dreams occurred often and increased in an enlightened discovery of a place I hardly realized even existed a few months before.

As the snow disappeared and the buds of all the trees burst forth in greenery, I traveled around the coast looking out to sea to the islands. Baxter was not walking well, so I bought, with the money my friends and acquaintances gathered together to help me and Baxter,  a sling to carry him in. Baxter weighs close to thirty pounds. What was I thinking? My back is in terrible shape with degenerative disc disease. I was thinking of thirty pounds as I thought of it when I was twenty years old. The sling lasted a day. I was hobbling. I thought, “Who will carry me now?  Sciatica set in. This is not what I had planned.

 I started looking for alternatives. Baxter’s doctor suggested a wheeled contraption that Baxter could be strapped into, lifting his hindquarters off the ground in a harness connected to two wheels. He lent me one. Trying to strap a wiggly, scared dog into one of these carts was difficult. Baxter was horrified and didn’t trust this equipment at all. I returned it the next day. On Amazon, I saw a baby carriage for dogs and with two day delivery and $30 – I soon was pushing Baxter down the road. Baxter loved it! I was still hobbling.

With my back in tatters, I called my pain specialist and agreed, very reluctantly, to epidural steroid injections. I have had several rounds of these shots and I don’t like them and have had very little improvement from them but, “Hey, I am going to Star Island!” In a few days I found myself face down on a table, shirtless under the “C-arm” having my back drilled with needles too big not to be nervous. At least the local anesthesia would give me relief for the afternoon but it would take three days to tell if the injections worked. They did not. Now I was going to rely on ibuprofen and “grin and bear it”. At least Baxter’s problems were solved. 

Suddenly it was June. I live in Wallingford Square, Kittery which is the site of Kittery Block Party once a year, every June. It was on the same day as my departure to Star Island. There is no vehicle traffic allowed in the square for the whole day. I carried my baggage from my apartment up the hill to the laundromat to be picked up by my brother, Ronnie, to drive us to Portsmouth. I headed back to get Baxter in his stroller and as I wheeled into the laundromat parking lot, Ronnie pulled in. My heart was pounding in anticipation of the trip. Baxter knew something was going on and was smiling like I was. Off we went.

As I waved goodbye to Ronnie, I had the feeling I was walking into another world. I hadn’t been on a vacation for a decade. Health problems, divorce, poor decisions, continual PTSD and depression had stifled my once indomitable spirit. I stopped, staring at the Thomas Leighton, the people, the river, and took it all in. Suddenly I had cold feet. I was scared. Baxter was fidgeting in his stroller. I got edgy and irritable. “Baxter, take it easy”, I said. I was looking for an excuse to turn around. Change can be a trigger of PTSD. I use an exercise when the “stinkin’ thinkin'” sets in. I physically say “STOP!” and change the direction of my thoughts. I pushed forward. As I neared the people, I heard my name being called. It was Ally Miner, my point of contact, and her smile dissolved all my fears and apprehension. It was the first smile of many I would experience as I checked in and sat with the people also heading to Star Island. My acceptance was unconditional and overwhelming. A tear came to my eye. I was leaving a bag of misery on the dock. I felt like I was home for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time in my life.

Photos by Nelson Linscott

We’ve received an outpouring of responses to our most recent blog post by Nelson Linscott, and are pleased to share the second installment of the series, A Shoaler in the Making. We think you’ll appreciate reading about Nelson’s life and experience leading up to his first trip to Star as much as we did. His story is incredible, but relatable still – especially if you have a beloved pet or have ever felt anxiety before visiting a new place.

A Shoaler in the Making, Part 2 by Nelson Linscott

“Just living is not enough… one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” Hans Christian Andersen

From the day I received word that I was the Veteran’s Raffle winner, all things seemed brighter, the sun seemed to follow me. I had six months to wait. There were some obstacles, however. My dog Baxter had been injured, tearing his rear right leg’s tendons.  The injury was inoperable. He also had contracted a tick borne illness,  canine anaplasmosis, and to top it off, hypothyroidism. I was also broke. Dog veterinarians and treatment for Baxter’s ailments would cost hundreds, maybe thousands, and there was no guarantee he would walk again. I was carrying him. I couldn’t leave Baxter at home with a sitter to go to Star Island. I contacted Star and let them know I would have to decline. The good people of Star Island wouldn’t hear of it! “You can bring Baxter with you!”, they said! I was amazed and so grateful. One problem solved! The next problem was carrying Baxter. Though he is a mini aussie, he is heavy. I have degenerative disc disease and I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry Baxter around the island without further injury to myself and Baxter, if I fell. At the same time, my friends in Kittery rallied together and started a Go Fund Me account, and in a day I had money for Baxter’s medical care. The first purchase was a dog stroller. Now, I could get around. At the vet, Baxter was prescribed medications for the anaplasmosis and the hypothyroidism. The diagnosis for his leg was grim. He may never walk again. I thought, time heals most things, “all things must pass.” After the week at Star Island, I would pursue other possibilities and treatment. At least Baxter was going to get a vacation, a change of scenery, and that may be the best medicine at all. We also had months before we left on the trip.

With things falling into place, my excitement was evident. I hadn’t had a vacation since I retired. Disability doesn’t provide a lucrative existence. I lived payday to payday. I began reading all things Star Island. I began a journal. With my usual enthusiasm, I planned for the day to board the Thomas Laighton. With months to go, I began to worry. 

 *Note: The following paragraph describes a scene during Nelson’s time in the Vietnam War. We are mindful that such descriptions can be triggering for some, and invite you to skip ahead to the *End note if preferred

I had won the Veteran’s Raffle. I had a terrible time in Vietnam. I was a top secret courrier in a helicopter unit during the time Saigon was being evacuated. I was chosen for a secret mission. I would be flown from my kaserne in Germany on several different aircraft, ultimately landing on an aircraft carrier. Two guards and I would then fly by helicopter piloted by my friend, commanding officer, and copilot, from the carrier to the target in Saigon, land on the building, and we would take the ladder to a lower floor. I would open the safe, retrieve the contents, and climb to the roof and depart. What could go wrong? Plenty. As we approached the building, we started taking on small arms fire. We landed quickly and the three of us jumped out and headed for the hatch in the roof, which was open. The helicopter suddenly left due to the live fire from the street. That was not a part of the plan. We made our way to the safe. I had been trained for months in Germany for this. As I knelt on the floor, I noticed a small amount of Vietnamese money on the floor. I scooped it up and pocketed it as a souvenir. I pulled my .45 and placed it on the floor, a move that saved my life. I began opening the safe from the memorized combination. As I began dialing the second number, there was a bang so loud it disoriented me. My ears rang and gunpowder smoke floated in the air. Instinctively, in a flash, I grabbed my .45 and took two shots. Two people hit the floor. It was then I realized my guard on the right had been shot and killed. I was covered in blood and tissue. The guard to my left was standing clutching his M-16 in shock. I screamed, “Bob, guard the door! Wake up!!”  I began redialing the combination. The safe opened and I retrieved the paperwork. “Let’s go!” I howled. On the way out, I looked at the two Vietnamese on the floor. They looked young. I gasped.  We left our comrade on the floor, made our way up to the flat roof.  No helicopter! I thought we were dead. Then, in about two minutes, which seemed like an hour, I heard the blades of the UH-1 helicopter. It landed and we dove in. My guard was quietly crying. I was silent. I noticed my .45 was missing. I forgot it on the floor. I thought, “Oh well, they will understand.” When I got back to Germany two days later, I was written up for leaving my .45. The information I had retrieved was useless. The day we performed the mission, the Vietcong overran Saigon. Our deceased guard’s body was not retrieved. I was not happy. Depression sunk in. I hoped that almost 40 years later, after winning the Veterans Raffle, I would not be asked to speak too fondly of “my service” or asked about details of it. My feelings were still complicated, though this was the first time I had ever been recognized in a good way for my army time. It was a beginning of a healing process, decades later. It started on Star Island.

 *End note 

I also have several medical problems. My back was in tatters. The effects of my bout with cancer, though I am cancer free now, concerned me. I am almost deaf and even when I do hear, many times I cannot understand. It is almost like trying to communicate with a person speaking a different language. Crowds scared me a bit and I depend on disposable catheters to urinate. I take several medications. “What a pair! Baxter and his buddy, both limping their way across Star Island. This ought to be a sight!” I had to ensure I had enough medical supplies to last the week. What about privacy while I use my catheters? Though I still had maximum enthusiasm, I worried. I decided to open up about my condition before I went. By email, since I can’t hear well on the telephone, I explained. I communicated to several people at the island. I had never talked to any organization in my life with the professionalism, empathy, and compassion as exhibited by the crew at Star Island. I was assured that no matter what I needed, it would be provided. I felt the love before I boarded the boat. The sun shined brilliantly and the love reverberated in my heart.  I had an innate feeling of love not just for Star Inland, but for the people who work there. I had found my flower in life.