by: Maureen Steele
Vinalhaven is not just an island; it is a step back in time, a granite bastion of old America. Fifteen miles out to sea off the coast of Rockland, Maine, it rises out of the Atlantic like an unscripted poem, sturdy and timeless. To live there is to live simply, not in deprivation but in a richness our modern lives have forgotten. The air is laced with salt and independence, and every morning in Carver’s Harbor, the symphony of diesel engines firing up announces the dawn. This is a place where people know what it means to live.
Fifty percent of the island's population are lobstermen, and their wives are often lobstermen too, rising at zero dark thirty to haul traps from the depths. I joined Lee and Kelly Oxton on their boat one morning, banding lobsters and baiting traps with fish so pungent it seemed to sear itself into my nostrils! The work was relentless, but the beauty—oh, the beauty—was breathtaking. The horizon stretched endlessly, punctuated by seals gliding like silent guardians, dolphins playing in silver arcs, and even the occasional shark slicing through the water with primal grace.
Lee and Kelly, veterans of this trade for decades, were as enthralled as though it were their first day on the water. They marveled at the unexpected treasures of the ocean: a blue lobster gleaming like a sapphire, a starfish painted in shades of the setting sun. They stopped not to take, but to appreciate. These were not merely lobstermen; they were stewards of the sea, guardians of a delicate ecosystem that fed their families and nourished their souls
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And yet, these very people—these natural environmentalists—are scrutinized by federal authorities who, from sterile offices in Washington, impose regulations on a way of life they cannot begin to understand. The irony is as thick as the fog that rolls in at dawn. Here, on the edge of the earth, are people living in harmony with nature, while elsewhere, forests are clear-cut, rivers poisoned, and land desecrated in the name of progress. The true desecration lies not in the hands of the lobstermen but in the unchecked sprawl of “Generica,” a landscape of strip malls, cookie-cutter suburbs, and cubicles; all of which federal bureaucrats approve of.
Vinalhaven is not Generica. It is a place where life is measured in tides, not in quarterly reports. The granite beneath your feet is eternal, and the quarries—cool and clear with spring water—whisper stories of a time when labor and land were intertwined. The homes, weathered but proud, stand as testaments to grit and resilience, their shutters worn but still standing firm against the Atlantic winds.
This island reminds us of an America we have almost lost: an America of grit and self-reliance, where people lived not in isolation but in community. Need a hand? A neighbor is there. Need advice? Turn to someone who has been doing this for fifty years. Here, life is raw and real, stripped of the pretense and complexity that modernity has laid upon us.
In the cities, we live by the clock and the screen. We are suffocated by regulations, confined by cubicles, and lulled into a false sense of progress by the hum of air conditioning and the glow of LED lights. We have forgotten the joy of working with our hands, the satisfaction of a day’s labor, the beauty of nature unfiltered by glass and steel. We are tethered to a thousand things that weigh us down, while the people of Vinalhaven are tethered only to the sea and the sky.
There is a purity to their lives that we in the modern world can hardly comprehend. They are free—not in the abstract, patriotic sense we like to brandish, but in the tangible sense of living by their own rhythms. They are free to be awed by the world around them, to live simply and fully, to be connected to the earth in a way that most of us only dream about.
Kelly and Lee Oxton are the kind of people you don’t forget—steadfast, hardworking, and deeply connected to the island they love. As lobstermen, they embody the spirit of Vinalhaven: a life lived close to the earth and even closer to the sea. Their days begin in the early morning quiet, the sound of the diesel engine of the Fathom Alvin rumbling across Carver’s Harbor as they head out to set and haul traps, battling the tides, the weather, and the grind of relentless labor. Side by side, they live and work together—a seamless partnership forged by years of navigating the unpredictable waters of both the Atlantic and life itself.
Vinalhaven is a reminder that there are still bastions of this freedom left in America. It is a call to reclaim the simple, the true, the good. To live like the lobstermen: not taking more than you need, marveling at the beauty around you, and respecting the forces greater than yourself. It is to live with grit, grace, and gratitude—a life not lived for convenience but for meaning.
In this place, carved out of granite and shaped by the sea, you feel the pulse of something ancient and enduring. Vinalhaven is not just an island; it is a sanctuary of the soul, a reminder that there is another way to live. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the way we were meant to live all along.
Maureen’s work is also featured in Boston Broadside, and Pete Santilli frequently showcases her pieces. You’ll also find her essays on American Made Substack and soon on the American Made Foundation website. She’ll be compiling her essays from the year into a book—stay tuned for that, as it promises to be a masterclass in the art of the written word.
Maureen Steele’s passion for the written word is matched by her love of the country she roams. Her descriptive style has promoted and chronicled national movements, including The People’s Convoy where she also journeyed long miles in the cab of a big rig. Contact Maureen Steele of AMERICAN MADE on X @MaureenSteele_
or msteelepa@gmail.com
Fifth in a series of personal essays on hardworking Americans who proudly live and breathe freedom in their lives and their work.
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Contact Maureen Steele: maureensteelepa@gmail.com
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