I read this during the session, so here's the transcription.

On Tom's birthday a few days after the Portsmouth Maritime Folk Festival, I didn't really want to be at home…so I headed to the Maine coast. First I went to Portland and took the Casco Bay Lines mail run ferry cruise around the islands in Casco Bay – a delightful three hours on the water while they delivered mail and cargo to Little Diamond, Great Diamond, Long, Chebeague and Cliff Islands. Sailed past Fort Gorges, watched gannets and other sea birds, observed two massive cruise ships coming into harbor and talked to a lot of people from Puget Sound, Salt Lake City, Richmond, Virginia and other places. When I got back to Portland, I HAD to stop at the Dry Dock pub and restaurant for lunch on my way to my car. I had just finished Linda Greenlaw's book "All Fishermen Are Liars" the previous morning and it had taken place at The Dry Dock. And had a chance to hear the story of another woman who had been on the mail run with me. (It's all about the stories…)

Then headed to Brunswick, poked around, ate a great dinner at Bombay Mahal and found a reasonably priced place to spend the night. Next morning I explored down Harpswell Neck, Orr's and Bailey's Islands, and Cundy's Harbor – all places Tom and I had last been 16 years ago.

In Cundy's Harbor went right to the three prominent slate markers for poet Robert P. Tristram Coffin, his wife Ruth, and their daughter Peggy…right where Tom and I had left them sixteen years ago. Besides taking photos (I think I did rubbings last time I was there), I transcribed the epitaphs. RPT's was probably from one of his poems, but I've not yet located which one. I'm sure he wrote the epitaph for his wife Ruth, and that's what I read at the session. I teared up as I transcribed it and I choked yesterday on the last lines as I read it aloud. (The tympanum has three fir trees and a 6-inch band of life-sized strawberry plants – same as her husband's.)

Ruth Phillip Coffin
Died April 5, 1947

Summers, when the years were young,
You climbed this hill, you chose
This graveyard for your own between
The spruces and wild rose.

Now on this island where you found
Wild strawberries and love
You lie, in the graveyard of your choice.
And the sea winds blow above.

Deer stare at the tinkling cows.
Rest, where you chose to be.
The high fog comes in over the hill
Gray eternity.