Diy Canoe Building Plans Meaning

Getting Started in Boats � Further Reading, Vol 75 | WoodenBoat Magazine

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Even if we don't have the bimini in your vesselscrewed as well as glued tons of tasks, as I did not long ago. Wooden boat builder magazine 75 time in a H2O with out correct report is not sufficient for throwing these fish. Plans for designs 1 - 2,600 have to be performed from Cryptic Seaport Notable relic. Once we have your vessel embellished you'll be means to rug it out with no make mgazine difference we woodeh to .

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Your input will surely help others to build this model George Hazen, whose work revolutionized yachting as a pastime, a sport, and an industry, died from cancer on December 23, , in Annapolis, Maryland. He was Many boat owners� Read more �. Acknowledging the difficulty of old-fiberglass-boat disposal is essential to developing a complete life-cycle plan for the industry. Ideas from a number of countries suggest practical next steps in making sure� Read more �.

Providence, RI. But there are also lovely things growing outside, amid grounds that include a winter garden, perennial display gardens, and a rose maze. The Orangerie hosts winter displays. Once a trolley bridge and now a footbridge, the Bridge of Flowers lives up to its name: a stately foot span with cascades of bright blooms from April to October, and greenery arching up and billowing over.

Truly, this is a walk to remember. Portsmouth, RI. Artistry meets arboriculture at the oldest topiary garden in the U. Part of the Newport Mansions, this former country estate also boasts vegetable and herb gardens, orchards, and a Victorian house overlooking Narragansett Bay. Few places are as romantic as this hidden gem. The public is welcome to explore the six-acre wonderland, which also has hundreds of types of rhododendrons and wildflowers, trees, shrubs, and evergreens.

Donations welcome; many plants are offered for sale too. Mount Desert Island, ME. The ultimate one-stop destination for garden inspiration. Nearly destroyed by a hurricane, this acre Japanese-style landscape of intimate gardens, winding paths, and hidden nooks has been brought back better than ever by the Trustees of Reservations. Step into a storybook at Pickity Place, crowned with a c. Pathways meander among hundreds of alpine and rock garden plants, while a foot perennial border, a rose terrace, and 20 varieties of heather add a splash of color.

At the former art colony that saw the birth of American Impressionism, masterpieces of color can be discovered in the hundreds of heirloom perennials�hollyhock, iris, foxglove, heliotrope, and so on�that grace the gardens and grounds, restored to their appearance c. The lure for horticultural fans is its vast Colonial Revival gardens, first established over a century ago and now being restored by its caretaker, Historic New England.

Gardens and trails crisscross this acre property, where the gentle maritime climate encourages eye-popping displays of rhododendrons 10,plus , daylilies, hostas, and hydrangeas.

Make a day of it and pay a visit the museum collections too, ranging from folk art to vintage cars. Other highlights: vegetable, butterfly, cutting, and observation gardens, and allees featuring hawthorn and apple trees. The crown jewels of this mansion museum are the four greenhouses that include one of the oldest in the nation c. Together, they burst with a variety of living oddities and heirlooms, including century-old camellia specimens; the sales greenhouse is stocked with green things to take home.

South Paris, ME. The living memorial to Bernard McLaughlin, who tended this landscape for almost 60 years, is a place of uncommon serenity and inspiration. Frederick Law Olmsted designed the grounds at this grand seaside estate, best known as the home of heiress Doris Duke. The This living history museum takes its mission outside with six gardens representing different eras in the former Puddle Dock neighborhood.

From a 17th-century kitchen plot to a WWII victory garden, each is true to the plant types and gardening techniques of its time. The Connecticut state flower, mountain laurel, is a specialty, although the offerings have expanded to include more than 1, types of perennials, shrubs, trees, and conifers, many of them natives.

A unique place in the history of American art, bringing alive the work of American Impressionists where they lived and painted. Lush gardens sprinkled with statuary invite lingering.

The elegant display gardens are enough of a reason to visit�come for a scenic walk and stay for some great shopping. Cricket Hill was founded in as one of the first U. Perennial peonies also share the spotlight, along with hardy fruit trees and ornamental trees and shrubs. In between, pollinators and dahlia devotees alike take joyful refuge amid the plus creamyto-jewel-toned varieties available for cutting.

Founded by veteran plant experts Ed Bowen and Taylor Johnston a onetime horticulturist at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum , this intimate coastal nursery is a treasure trove of rare and uncommon plants, including under-theradar hydrangea and delphinium varieties.

Wandering the six greenhouses and retail shop at this familyowned exotic-plant specialist is a bona fide treasure hunt. Starksboro, VT. Imagination and humor run wild at this retail nursery created by Dutch native Marijke Niles at her Green Mountain home. Japanese maples more your thing?

Daylily fans, look no further: This threegeneration farm grows over 2, cultivars, filling its six acres of growing fields with all colors, sizes, and varieties. Topiaries are a specialty, filling two of the five greenhouses; among the array of plants, trees, and shrubs are examples of the elegant art of espalier. A family business since before the Revolution, Walker Farm is not only a one-stop shop for humdrumbusting perennials and annuals, but also a cornucopia of produce, including heirloom tomato varieties and a variety of Asian and Hispanic vegetables, plus berry plants, rare dwarf conifers, and European Boat Builder Magazine Model flowering shrubs.

A self-guided walking tour leads through 10 landscaped acres, while the greenhouse and the farm store invite shopping for bulbs, plants, trees, and an array of garden gear and gifts. Wicked Tulips had to make some creative pivots in but, thanks to the support of fans and friends, plans to return in to keep sharing the tulip love.

Touch the wild in a way you never dreamed possible! Located in the beautiful, accessible hill-country of Southern NH. Spanning 2. Elsewhere find specialty gardens devoted to perennials, annuals, tulips, and shade-loving plants. Waterford, CT. A fountaindotted oasis on the banks of the Piscataqua River, Prescott Park is the legacy of two wealthy sisters who in the s bought up land in this formerly run-down area and began planting.

Members of the decadesold swimming and social club known as the Polar Bears form an earlymorning exercise circle in the waters off Oak Bluffs. An archival photo of the Baptist Tabernacle in East Chop, a place of welcome for Black worshippers in the late 19th century.

A summer snapshot at Shearer Cottage, c. The reeds crowding the edge of the pond chattered; Canada geese squawked. A woman in a straw hat pedaled up the dirt road on her bicycle. My normally vocal dog stayed quiet as she approached. As she rode away, I thought about what she said, what she meant in the moment. No one could see me; I could see just birds, the pond, and, in the distance, a few taillights heading up Beach Road toward Edgartown.

I did feel hidden. I thought of all the other words that come to mind when I think of hidden: sanctuary, secret, refuge, escape, safety. Last March, many of the 17, of us who are year-rounders thought we would have the island to ourselves for the summer, with sidewalks, trails, and beaches largely empty of tourists.

It will be an old-fashioned summer, we said. Old-fashioned, like decades before, when at most a few seasonal residents escaped to their cottages here for the summer. Then the opposite happened.

People with homes they usually visited for only part of the summer arrived in March�and they stayed. So hard to leave? Which makes it a very good hiding place, indeed. And I think every single porch in town was used all day long this past summer. Riding my bike through neighborhoods jammed with cottages was like passing stage sets: On the porch of an inn, a man strummed a guitar; down the.

Visitors arrived, beckoned by the myriad opportunities to enjoy the outdoors, on bikes and trails and beaches and ponds. April looked like July. We are an island of refugees, of people who arrived over centuries to stay under the radar, to do things their way.

Even the indigenous Wampanoags left their original tribe to settle on the southwest corner of a land that was not even yet an island. Portuguese whalers jumped ship to stay here, rumrunners hid out just offshore, and toward the end of the 19th century, prosperous Blacks found safety and peace here. Grandmothers played cards with kids.

Generations of women drank wine and hooted with laughter. Starting in early spring, a friend of mine walked a different trail each day with her daughter, and they never ran out. Most mornings, my neighbor Laurel and I walked our dogs several miles a day�heading up-island to Sepiessa Point in West Tisbury, where we can walk out to the Tisbury Great Pond, or taking the counterclockwise Land Bank Trail that winds through the woods around Farm Pond, through Harthaven a neighborhood of dirt roads and cottages founded years ago , and back out to Beach Road along Nantucket Sound.

The group was started about 80 years ago by Black women who were spending the summers in cottages nearby. These days, men and women of all races stand in the water, linking hands.

When they count their exercises in unison, it sounds like chanting, the sun rising up behind them, the ripples spreading out to the Vineyard from their circle. On warm days, I put my dog in a backpack and ride my bike around the wide streets of Oak Bluffs. Sometimes I ride past the gingerbread houses of the Camp Meeting Association, or simply the Campground.

If this had been a summer typical of the past years here, this is what you would have seen on the third Wednesday in August: cottage owners hanging paper lanterns, some as old as the cottages themselves, preparing for the Grand Illumination.

By nightfall, 10, or more people would wander the lanes admiring the twinkling lights. I ride through the Campground, taking a different route each time, and out the other side to the Oak Bluffs harbor. Suesan creates mixed-media collages using bits of old advertisements, sheet music, buttons, maybe tiny spoons, her own photography and painting.

The structure is no longer there, but Baptist Temple Park remains as a little wooded dell threaded with paths. In , Charles Shearer, who had been born into slavery but later prospered in Boston, bought a cottage overlooking Baptist Temple Park with his wife, Henrietta. They soon expanded it and opened a summer inn, catering to Black guests who were not welcome at other island establishments.

The Commodores have stayed here; civil rights hero John Lewis visited a few years ago. On the Island, we did not have to worry about personal security. As important for African Americans was that on the Vineyard we were insulated from many of the racial assumptions and expectations, most of them negative, that at least intruded upon, and at worst defined many of our lives off-Island.

Early one evening, I get into the car, and I drive west. He dragged his foot once again and the majestic Aquinnah cliffs appeared. Hugh Taylor, one of the musical Taylor family that includes James, owns the Outermost with his wife, Jeannie. Permit me to digress.

Picture this: You are riding your bike around up-island, and you get to Menemsha, that little f ishing village where Quint had his boat charter business in the movie Jaws. Maybe you have a soft-serve ice cream from the Galley. Stately historic homes on North Water Street in Edgartown, once an enclave of wealthy whaling captains.

The Vincent House in Edgartown, the oldest unaltered house on the island. In the background is the tower of the Old Whaling Church. You notice some other bikers waiting, and they get on the bike ferry�and then, so do you. The little ferry goes back in the other direction, and in a few minutes you roll off onto Lobsterville Beach.

We joke that when fall comes to the island, we get to see the faces of our friends again, so dispersed are we during the bustle of most summers. This summer� with no fund-raisers to attend, no visiting relatives, no bars or indoor dining�outdoor dinner gatherings are the thing.

Deer stare at us from the. We have 27 estuarine ponds and more than 60 freshwater ponds, with hundreds of miles of shoreline and dozens of public access points. I quietly paddle closer. Two baby deer stare right at me, and then they are gone. We could take the long way and paddle the shores of Sengey for hours, but today we head to Felix Neck, the Audubon sanctuary in Edgartown. We search the shore for a perfect slice of beach.

Do we want to face the sun? Have some shade? We pull the boat up to the beach, and plunk our towels down. We spend a few hours swimming, reading, talking, eating egg salad sandwiches.

In short, our chemistry changes for the better. But here we sit, watching least terns and sandpipers, seeing an occasional kayaker or paddleboarder, enjoying quiet, sun, and companionship. Hiding in plain sight. The sun sinks into Vineyard Sound.

We toast each other, friends, and the amazing food. Eat on the terrace or the porch overlooking Main Street. Edgartown; alchemyedgartown. The place to go for terrific tavern food, right on the beach. Vineyard Haven; theblackdog. Oak Bluffs and Vineyard Haven; mochamotts.

Great menu with solid options for family dining. Oak Bluffs; nomansmv. Everyone knows Julianne Vanderhoop, whose family has run restaurants in Aquinnah for generations. Aquinnah; orangepeelbakery. New in , and featuring plenty of yummy vegan dishes to choose from. Oak Bluffs; thepawneehousemv. West Tisbury; stateroadrestaurant. A favorite of the Obamas, offering takeout or terrace dining. Oak Bluffs; sweetlifemv. Edgartown; harborviewhotel.

West Tisbury; lambertscoveinn. Classic in-town Victorian charmer with rooftop cupola. Oak Bluffs; oakbluffsinn. Five cozy studios with wraparound porches, nestled in the Highlands of East Chop.

Oak Bluffs; shearercottage. Oak Bluffs; featherstoneart. Edgartown; massaudubon. European-style clothing from a Swedish-born champion windsurfer turned designer. Vineyard Haven; stinasayre. West Tisbury; vineyardartisans. Edgartown; winnetu. West Tisbury; wtfmarket. Vineyard Haven; bunchofgrapes. Highlighting more than 30 sites, including the Shearer cottage and the homes of Adam Clayton Powell Jr.

Aquinnah; aquinnah. Proprietor Chick Stapleton dispenses kayaks and paddleboards from a stand at Little Bridge; tours and beach party events too. Oak Bluffs; islandspiritkayak. Vineyard Haven; mvmuseum. Vineyard Haven; windsupmv. Finding new homes for historic buildings is both a career and a calling for Bill Gould, shown in his Pomfret, Connecticut, workshop.

Bill Gould knows how to listen. On a warm July afternoon in Pomfret, Connecticut, Gould emerged from his workshop, stepping down off the thick granite step onto the grass, and his blond-white hair took the light the same way as the swaying hay in the field behind his house. The light in his eyes belies his 75 years. Given his wire-rimmed glasses, shorts, and a loose T-shirt, one can picture Gould onstage with a banjo as easily as doing the work he does, preserving and relocating historic buildings and homes in southern New England and far beyond.

Instead of letting a home or barn or even an old outhouse molder and disappear forever, Gould and his team step in and, piece by painstaking piece, dismantle the house, labeling each board, beam, baluster, threshold, sash, mantel, pane of glass, and stick of trim.

Then they put it in storage until a buyer wants it reconstructed, at which point, piece by painstaking piece, they put it back together again. In the process, the structures reveal their secrets, and Gould has spent his lifetime listening.

An urge to build and make was inborn, he explained, sitting in his office on the second floor above his workshop, in a building he built himself in from the trees taken down when a tornado ripped through his land. He gestured at the walls, the floors, explaining. One sensitive to the language of houses will detect it.

I learned how to get what I wanted, and who needs a degree when you know how to get what you want? The practical and the creative make an ideal combination for the work that Gould steered himself toward, which he did in part because he knew he had to make an actual living.

What happened in this place? Do walls talk? In dismantling these old New England homes, Gould has found evidence of many sorts of stories, and in his way, he keeps these stories alive. Some get told through objects left under thresholds, behind walls, above doors.

At the time we spoke, his flip phone was 16 years old. Downstairs, in his workshop, he showed his hand tools with pride: a gouge, a plane.

We stood and felt the difference between a railing that had been planed smooth and one that had been sanded. Layer by layer pulled away, to reveal something underneath. In the basement, cans of oil paint stand stacked on shelves and the sharp singe of turpentine fills the nose.

How we live, how we die, and what we pass on. His website historic-architecture. A listing for a two-story house built in in Hartford has the specialized language of the work: Drop summers, small joists, deep chimney girts and end beams as well as gunstock posts make up the hewn oak frame. Images from another property, an Cape in New Hampshire, show intricate molding, scrollwork up a staircase, a shaft of light against beams in the attic.

Such are some of the messages the old houses hold. A ghosty-ness up there above the rafters, stories under the floorboards. When asked if he believes in ghosts, Gould leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. So they put them in a room and fed them through a crack in the floor.

He talked of a house in Grafton, Massachusetts, standing in its kitchen and seeing light fall on a patch of floor, worn in the place in front of where the sink used to be. Much of the structure was built in the s; experts attested that some timbers dated from Then it was shipped by flatbed truck to Georgia, where a brand-new foundation awaited. In its new life the structure will be called the Hills-Galloway House and be part of the current inn.

A North Atlantic right whale dives at sunset in the Bay of Fundy. These are the most endangered whales on earth, with fewer than remaining amid threats from ship strikes and fishing gear entanglements. Skerry grew up in the central Massachusetts town of Uxbridge dreaming of exploration and discovery and adventure.

My parents were mill workers. Nobody in my town did that. It was a lofty dream. He worked on boat charters that took divers to New England wrecks, where the often murky and turbulent water taught him what would work with lighting and, more important, what would not. He researched marine life incessantly and sold his photos to magazines and newspapers, each dive adding to his craft. In , National Geographic asked famed underwater photographer Bill Curtsinger to shoot the pirate ship Whydah, which sank off Cape Cod in and whose cargo of treasure was being recovered.

He declined, and asked his friend Skerry if he wanted to put in his name. Curtsinger cautioned that visibility was terrible, the ship was covered in sand, and National Geographic editors gave only one chance to newcomers. But Skerry knew his way around wrecks�and his work on the Whydah has since led to nearly 30 major National Geographic magazine features, documentary films, and books such as Ocean Soul.

But as he witnessed firsthand the effects of climate change and overfishing and saw the lack of urgency to address them, his mission evolved. Coral reefs are dead or dying.

I was in a unique position to reach millions of readers to give context to what the science was talking about. But you want people to care. To fall in love with Wooden Boat Builders Uk Amazon these animals.

To understand that every breath we take is connected to the ocean. Which brings us to today, and to southern Maine, where Skerry, at age 59, lives with his wife and two daughters. Now much of his work will focus on the Gulf of Maine�going on dives off the Isles of Shoals or near Nubble Light, or making expeditions 90 miles off the coast to the little-known world of Cashes Ledge.

It is spectacular. This could still be the future. This is one holdout, one little remnant of what it used to look like here. I know we are not going to reach everybody. But if enough of us are beating the drum, it can come together. Park for three days straight, letting the gray seals there grow accustomed to his presence. One focus: the marine life in Cashes Ledge, a mile-long underwater mountain range that is home to the largest and longest contiguous kelp forest in the North Atlantic.

And since the Gulf of Maine is warming faster than any other ocean, there is a real urgency to the project. Late in the afternoon, a female blue came along and I was so excited I thought I might explode. Without really thinking, I opened the cage door and swam out � back then, no one was going outside the cage. I vividly remember them telling me [afterward] I was crazy. I swam towards the shark as she nosed her way through the slick, looking for morsels of chum.

I made a few frames before she swam away. To this day, I can remember that feeling of elation. For days I was walking on air recalling this special experience; it was like I knew a secret that no one else knew.

I was instantly addicted. At the depth of about feet, I saw a soda can, its shiny exterior encrusted with marine growth. From inside the can I saw a flash of color and moved in for a better view�. I crawled to within a few feet of the can. From the darkness inside, a tiny yellow goby stared at me with green eyes from his pop-top window. I inched closer and watched the fish disappear and reappear like the Cheshire Cat.

Thinking I might hear the goby speak at any moment, I focused my lens on the fairytale scene. For instance, scientists have been studying spotted dolphins for more than 30 years, opening a new window on our relationship with these wild and beautiful animals. I want to understand the science but want to see and capture the poetry. On March 17, , my husband and I f led our Boston apartment for Maine.

I had no idea what the future held�at that point, no one did�but with the number of Covid cases doubling every day in Massachusetts and New York, Sean and I activated our version of an escape plan. I secretly lived in that punchline, even though the closest either of us had come to animal husbandry was petting the sheep at the county fair. He was from suburban New York.

I was raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia and had spent summers in Maine since I was a kid. My parents had honeymooned on Lake Sebago in and in spite of a miserably hot, mosquito-infested week, they kept coming back each summer, renting houses on the coast as the family grew from two to five, plus dogs, in-laws, and eventually, granddaughters.

In the city, my parents worked days, nights, and weekends to save up for their own place someday, leaving us kids to run feral in suburbia. But for one magical Maine week each year, we became a family. Sometime after midnight, the sound of high weeds whacking the underside of the car would signal that our vacation had officially begun. After loading in and downing a beer, my dad would call in the dogs, switch off the lights, and climb the stairs to Mom, already unwinding with her chardonnay.

Maine put a spell on us. In Philadelphia, we were five people living in the same house. No one had any time; we merely tolerated each other.

My brother Dan, for example, six years younger, was an inconvenience and annoyance, a scrawny kid at the dinner table carefully extracting curds of ricotta from his lasagna and wiping them on the side of his plate. But in Maine, my mom cooked elaborate meals and my dad planned family hikes with his maps and trail guides. Cut off from friends and other distractions, my brother and I discovered that we had things in common.

I began to appreciate that scrawny kid with the weird eating habits. By the time my parents bought land on an island halfway up the coast to build a life quite separate from their suburban existence, Dan and I were in our twenties.

The new house had more light and less baggage, which gave us room to start fresh as quasi-adults. Those August nights with Dan were sacred. We might be small and inconsequential on a rock at the edge of the ocean under a vast universe of stars, but we were also siblings, which turned out to be another kind of marvel.

Over the decades�between schools, jobs, cities, and relationships� we always found time to lie under the Maine night sky. Sean stashed thing fundamental, almost like a religion. His house was inland, about five miles from the sea. Its Maine felt like a natural place to wait out a pandemic. Inside, the home was a manifestation of trouble. Sean had packed every closet pieced together from locals I knew.

Walt plowed our driveold recording equipment, microphones, way in the winter and helped my dad get musical instruments. Standing Just two months later, that theory in the living room in his Carhartts and would be put to the test. In turn, need. There was the pound bag of flour. There was the my dad had great respect for Walt, a man so unlike him. There was the extraI can say that Walt had a studied indifference to the large bag of cat food for the cats, I should add.

We packed modernity, the urban rush, and the comings and goings up the Subaru and headed north�this time, I thought, for of us summer people. I think he was grateful for his boat the long haul. Practicing a kind of Olde American zen, Walt seemed to regard people like us, people from away, like the tide. We came and we went. Others would come when we arrived, Sean and I did a big, panicky Hannaford shop and, were gone. I read struggle over the centuries from a remote and steady perch.

Sean bought the food. I deep-cleaned and sterilized everything. She was eager to help. When masked, disinfecting everything in sight, knowing the she learned that a couple who owned an organic farm on pandemic was real long before anyone else did. He was also immunosuppressed and made goat-milk soap, and paid for the installation of underadhered to the most stringent health protocols.

He assiduground pipes to get water from their house to the barn. Maine as it was. Now on the community. We kept our heads down. I was Sunday afternoons. Maine had been way up the coast, they texted photos. These there could see the storm coming. But things were changing fast. They were safe. Like ammonia. Not the pine year before. I implemented mandatory happy hour, just to keep up a routine.

Sean and I took walks down the country road during the day. Every night in my dreams, we were shopping or dining or traveling�so pleasant, until I realized in a panic that we were unmasked. Time was an uroboros. Every day was the same. I wondered what would break the cycle. Not long into this, Dan, then 44 years old, decided to leave Manhattan.

My parents, inching toward 80, remained isolated in Philadelphia. He was already thin, and then he was thinner. It was alarming when his regular flurry of texts suddenly stopped. I prepared for the possibility that we would lose him. My parents and I channeled our fear into action.

We contacted the local volunteer ambulance company to inform the staff that Dan was there and might need to be transported at some point. We alerted the local hospital and the Bangor hospital of his condition. The local pharmacist knew too, and arranged for curbside, contactless pickup of medications.

Everyone who might be affected if Dan needed to be moved was informed and prepared. While she was heading up, Dan accidentally broke a pipe, the house being partly in winter mode. He called the plumber my dad had used for 30 years and explained the situation: broken pipe, leaking walls. As a public health professional, he also felt compelled to add that he was probably suffering from Covid.

Instead, he alerted the sheriff. The sheriff then called my brother and lit into him for coming to Maine. By then, Dan had been febrile for more than a week. All I could say was sorry. Laura called the pharmacy and arranged for curbside pickup, then started down the driveway to get the meds.

Just before reaching the road, she discovered that someone had pulled a chain across the driveway and padlocked it tight, trapping them in. Apparently, the plumber had taken to Facebook. Someone, probably empowered by news that locals on the island of Vinalhaven had cut down trees to block outsiders from entering town, had taken the law into his or her own hands. Steadying my breath to hide my anger, I asked him for his account of what happened.

He spoke to me coolly and professionally. There was nothing he could do about the chaining, he said. But those days were long gone. His department could be sued for property damage, you know? During the bubonic plague, mothers abandoned children, husbands abandoned wives, sisters abandoned brothers. Only fear has that kind of power over mankind.

Continued on p. We found the perfect home at Thornton Oaks. Quarry Hill offers it all: a gracious, maintenance-free home with easy one-floor living and priority access to the fullest spectrum of care. Enjoy all the beauty and cultural sophistication of Camden, Maine and discover your best future.

Embrace a more carefree lifestyle Spring is here. Instead, embrace a maintenancefree lifestyle in a new home, one where our staff takes care of the home maintenance chores and light housekeeping, allowing you to enjoy more of what you love. Routine apartment maintenance Light housekeeping Chef-prepared dining Relaxed, rural setting with over 1-mile of walking trails Small, but friendly community Flexible financial options.

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