When Baker Island is enveloped in fog, its residents are cloaked in solitude. Alone in the beauty, we can also feel alone in the responsibility of caring for this place.
 
One aspect of Baker’s maintenance is the Sisyphean task of removing the debris incessantly washing up on its shores. Two traps hiked from the south shore to the landing requires one (strong) person two hours, not to mention the enormous volume of buoys, lines, plastic jugs, and occasionally curious flotsam. Transporting anything on and off the island even in ideal weather involves wet feet, skiffs, and moorings. And plenty of good old-fashioned toil.
 
On a recent socked-in July morning several boats emerged out of the fog, carrying 16 enthusiastic volunteers. For six hours, they cheerfully scoured the northeastern and southern shores, scrambling over slippery rocks, wrestling with tangled fishing gear, and hauling enormous sacks of trash to the landing. They cut through metal traps to remove bricks and sorted through gear to separate serviceable equipment. With the support of residents and KOBI volunteers John Cesari and David Sloatman, many skiffloads of detritus were ferried to the landing by foot and by tractor. Several workers were also planning a return trip to retrieve staged piles of excess cargo.
 
As dusk fell around mosquito-o-clock, we were once again shrouded in seclusion. Our tired bodies were soaked to the skin—as, surely, were those of the 16 tenacious NEHF workers (who also had the two-hour task of unloading up the ramp at Northeast Harbor). We were left with a cleaner island and a profound sense of gratitude for the remarkable efforts expended by all. Motivation is contagious and the following day, all island residents continued the work with renewed energy.
 
The relationship between Baker Island and the Northeast Harbor Fleet spans its full century; in fact, visits to the island predate the Fleet’s founding. Dance Floor picnics, offshore regattas and excursions have long offered adventure and respite from the whirl of MDI social life. While Baker residents and light keepers extended hospitality in the form of refreshment and stories, visitors brought variety and welcome company.
 
It is heartening to see the continuation of this relationship as Northeast Harbor Fleet members share in the stewardship of this special island. We look forward to enduring and growing collaboration with community beyond our shores!

Account by Cornelia Cesari, June 2021:
 
During my research for the Baker Island book, I discovered an interview with Leona Gilley Sawyer, the last baby to be born on the island. She was the daughter of Sam B and Harriet, granddaughter of Elisha and Hannah, great granddaughter of William and Hannah.
In 1884, her parents had a baby boy, Victor, who died as an infant. In 1890, Leona was born on the island. These were Sam and Hat’s only recorded children, after the previous two generations of nearly a dozen siblings in several families.
In the interview, however, with poor audio on an old cassette tape, I thought she said that she had a twin sister who died at birth. Family members I talked with were unaware of this.
 
After that, though, I began paying special attention to Victor’s gravesite. With the white flowers I usually planted, I added pink ones, off to the right where I thought a baby sister might have been buried, had she existed and died on Baker.
 
On June 21st, I was planting a pink astilbe to the right of Victor’s stone. I wanted to go farther to the right as in my mind it is a sort of double plot. But I kept hitting stone, as one does on Baker Island. Stone, stone, stone. Suddenly I realized it was shallow, solid, and continuous. Heart in my throat, I looked for a straight edge and found one! A few inches of sod covered a small headstone. I found the edge of it and stopped digging.
I sat down in the grass, a bit overcome. Then I returned to the schoolhouse and began calling Leona’s grandchildren. When I reached her grandson and his wife, they gave their blessing (and began notifying family members).
The next morning, all five living souls on Baker Island gathered to honor a newly discovered soul in the cemetery.
 
I was hoping for a name, but there wasn’t one, just “INFANT DAU of Samuel B. and Hattie M. Gilley” with the same birthdate as Leona Gilley Sawyer: October 30, 1890.
 
Leona lived a long life marked by one tragedy after another, starting with the day of her birth. She loved growing up on Baker Island but was never able to move back.
I keep wondering what might have been different had her twin sister and her older brother survived.
 
Unfortunately, the headstone suffered damage during its decades of freezing and thawing under the damp sod. In its place is a temporary marker, while Leona's granddaughter works on restoring the original headstone.
(Of note, the broken headstone of Charles Gilley will also be repaired shortly!)

by Cornelia Cesari

Folks on Baker Island are often asked questions like: “What do you do all day? Does anything ever happen out here?”

Today was an illustration of, “you just never know.” You really don’t.

This morning I was woken to the alert of “live whale, stranded east of the Nubble.”

My sharp-eyed neighbor Bettina had spotted it, thrashing in the water just off the low knob, dorsal fin out and flukes occasionally visible as it struggled to swim free.

There was little for me to contribute, as her husband David had sent out the alert—to the local fishermen, postmistress (of course)—and was on the line with Allied Whale at College of the Atlantic. I could only stand on the bluff overlooking the bar, thinking good thoughts and hoping the final swell of the rising tide would be enough. Fortunately, it was, and before any help arrived, our unintentional visitor wriggled free and set off with a blowhole spray. The (pilot?) whale swam away at a remarkably fast pace, over the bar and off to the west, just as a thick fog slid in, hiding the entire scene from sight.

On the way back up across the field, a persistent squeaking caught Bettina’s attention again, and this time we gazed in witness to the vain struggles of a vole in the jaws of a large eastern garter snake. The little rodent’s loud protests could be heard for an agonizingly long time, as its hind legs and stubby tail gradually ceased wriggling and disappeared from view. Despite the audience, the snake lay helplessly on its side, throat stretched and distorted. Within a few moments, strength regained, it slithered down under the long grass and disappeared without a trace.

Back to the question:
Does anything ever happen on Baker Island? 
It felt like a pretty momentous day out here by noon. On the other hand, we could have been napping , reading, or walking in the woods, oblivious to these life and death dramas playing themselves out.  What do we miss?

Good day for the whale; bad day for the vole; just another day for the snake.

A memorable day for a few humans stumbling upon a coincidental glimpse into Baker Island’s daily secrets.