I took this shot 21 years ago. This cannery, in Prospect Harbor, Maine, had been packing sardines for 79 years.

Yesterday it was announced that after 100 years, Stinson Canning is closing. 130 people will lose their jobs, and, as this is Maine's last surviving sardine cannery, it marks the end of an era. It is very sad.

I am not much drawn to the new and the now. I have always felt I lived a generation or two too late. I missed out on sailing ships and steam locomotives. A fair trade, I guess, for missing two world wars and a depression. But I hate to see venerable American symbols pass on.

There will no doubt be talk of "retraining workers for the new economy." Most of these folks would just as soon have the old economy back.

But let's face it. How often do you eat canned sardines?

What is this kid looking at? Before I get into that, I must note that this is my nephew Andrew. He is now much older and a terrific Creative Director in NYC.

He is looking at Portland Head Light, our area's most famous landmark. Note that there are three words, for Pete's sake! The Coast Guard calls lighthouses "lights," and this is the one that sits on Portland Head. Seems simple enough? Not. Virtually everyone, including our most esteemed local TV anchorpeople insist on calling it "Portland Headlight." It drives me friggin nuts. So here I am to straighten this out. A headlight is something on an automobile. Even motorcycles and trains have them. But not prominent points of land. Okay? Sheesh. Do not malign your historic landmarks.

This shows Andrew's head, at the light near Portland. You may also wish to visit "Cape Neddicklight." You will find that it is reallyquitebeautifulatsunset.

These two hombres are us on our very first trip to Maine in the srpring of 1980. We had already committed to move here, so we decided we probably ought to travel up from Syracuse and check things out. We drove around in rural areas trying to guess where we might want to live. Spring in Maine mainly sucks, and it was cold, wet and uninviting. Exactly why did we decide to stick with the plan and move? It probably says something about Syracuse, but I think it was mainly that we took a look around and concluded that our wardrobes would be appropriate here.

Would I be willing to be that poor again if I could be that thin again?

(Can I get back to you on that?)

How come I got worse-looking and Marvo got better-looking? Where's the justice? She still tolerates me, and we are still here almost thirty years later.

New Years Eve! Pay attention; this gets complicated.

I'm from New Orleans, where I lived til age 5. 27 years later, in 1982, a Maine college basketball team hired me to accompany them on a road trip to Louisiana over New Years. By chance, in New Orleans we stayed in the same hotel as the University of Georgia football team, which was in town to play in the Sugar Bowl. Georgia happens to be my alma mater, so I asked a Georgia coach if he could get me a press pass. Sure enough, there I was shooting on the sidelines at the Super Dome. Fun! There I ran into an old dorm-mate from college who had also gone on to become an editorial photographer. The balloon lady? Heck, she is just someone who passed through the hotel lobby.

Later, the hoopsters and I moved on to Natchitoches, where Jim Croce had tragically died. Even down there, people know the decade ends a year from now.

Well, it's that time of year again. The time when many Mainers sharpen their pencils and try to figure out if they have the finances to become "snow birds" yet. Again, this time, our verdict is no.

This image is from one of our first winters in Maine. It's all well and good to decide to up and move somewhere for the pure adventure of it. But my early memories of Maine involve not turning a profit yet, having few friends, feeling alone and guilty while my wife was off working, and wondering what the hell we were doing here.

Fortunately, in time, my soul thawed out, and things worked out quite well.

Here are two very important people in my life. They were married then, and life seemed much simpler in many ways. We would just go out riding and look for America. This car was abandoned in a field.

My friends had two wonderful daughters. One, Andrea, now has a very chic store in Brooklyn called Eponomy. She wants a print of this image for a show there. I love Andrea and if she calls, I answer.

Near Trumansburg, New York; Late 70s.

I shot this image out the window of a moving car. It seemed to me like something was going on here. Like the foreground guy had just been turned away, dissed by the other characters. Maybe not safe to turn around and try to go back in the store... I dunno.

This was up in the Thousand Islands area, perhaps in Messina, New York. Late 70s.

Being a small businessman myself, I always draw inspiration from other shoe-string operations. You've gotta hand it to a crew that hopes to get from the short tracks of Maine to the high banks of Daytona on the strength of sponsorship from the Little Ducklings Preschool.

I would give my right arm to drive any race car. But that would make it harder.

My wife Marvo (left) and I went bicycling in France with our friends Jack and Nance (right). It was about ten years ago, I think. Nance and I had a power struggle. I thought I was holding my own until I led the group on a 40-mile excursion north of the river. Problem was, we were supposed to go on a 15-mile jaunt south of the river. Lucky for me, humble pie goes down better with French wine.

Nance still loves me, though.

I can sit in Fore Street and enjoy cuisine with the best of them. But for pure D satisfaction, nothing compares to finding a good diner after a hard day on the road. I think this one was in upstate New York or Pennsylvania, and it was terrific. Homeward bound, knowing the trip had been successful, sitting in the diner, reading USA Today while savoring the meatloaf. It doesn't get much better than that.

When's the last time I went out shooting with a "photo buddy?" Probably with my man Jules (right), in the late 70s. We were out along the old New York Central mainline near Syracuse.

I got one of my favorite shots that day.