Books stacked on a small table in front of a fireplace with fire in winter.

When, at 19, I packed my seabag for Honolulu to sign articles on my first merchant ship, I took along a few books from home as ballast. When more ballast was needed, I walked the short distance from our berth at Pier Four to Froggies and Jellies — two used bookstores — where a brace of paperbacks could be had for the price of a Budweiser. Thus had my compulsive book-buying habit begun in earnest.

That was over 30 years ago.

Durin Chappe writes in the shadow of Schoodic Mountain, in Downeast Maine.

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