Cinnamon Rolls

Recipe by Marian Chioffi, illustrated by Alex Barstow


1 cup milk

2 cups butter, divided

1 cup water ¼ warm water

2 packages active dry yeast

1 tablespoon plus 1 ½ cups sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla

6-7 ½ cups all-purpose flour, divided

4 eggs, beaten

1 tablespoon cinnamon

2 teaspoons nutmeg


Heat together milk and ½ cup butter in a small saucepan; stir until butter melts. Add 1 cup water. In a large bowl, combine warm water, yeast, and 1 tablespoon sugar. Stir in vanilla and 2 cups flour, add eggs and butter mixture; blend well. By hand, stir in additional flour until dough pulls cleanly away from sides of bowl. Cover with a cloth towel and let rise until doubled in size. Melt remaining butter in a saucepan; set aside. In a small bowl, combine 1 ½ cups sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Divide dough in half. On a lightly floured surface, roll out into two 12×18-inch rectangles. Brush each rectangle with half of melted butter, sprinkle with half of sugar mixture. Starting with 18-inch side, roll up tightly; and pinch edges to seal. Cut into ½ to ¾-inch slices. Place in two greased 9×18 pans. Cover, let rise in a warm place 1 hour. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Place rolls in oven, immediately reduce temperature to 375 degrees, and bake 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown. Makes 3 dozen rolls. Marian Chioffi, Monhegan Island Cooks

The Selchie

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick with poetry by Marjorie Mir


An islander like themselves,

they had seen her before,

basking on the harbor rocks,

swimming in this cove,

home waters to them all.

Now they see a stranger,

a half-grown, slender girl,

naked like themselves.

She sits looking down at them

as they play,

cousins. friends since earliest times.

Beside her lies the heap

of their discarded shirts and shorts.

Her own, just shed, lies wrinkled

at her feet.

She watches, studying

their movements, moving

her own new arms and legs

in imitation, then

makes her way, uncertainly

down the rocky ledges

to join them in their play.

“A summer visitor,” they guess.

Afterward, hurrying into

sun-warmed clothes,

racing toward cottages

and breakfast, only one,

the last and youngest,

sees the unclaimed silver pelt,

looks back for her,

will always in this place,

in years to come, look for her.

Like Ondine, like Yeats’ silver trout

turned blossom-crowned,

elusive girl, she had escaped

the bonds of story, found the rift,

if only briefly, between myth and mortal.

Where to look for her? Not here,

not on this island.

She belongs again to the poets,

the story-tellers, the ancient liars

who will happily lead you astray.

Look for her, if you dare,

but be wary of the fog

that comes in suddenly,

hiding the paths, obscuring the ledges.

No, she is not that cairn or boulder,

fallen branch.

The sound you hear of barking laughter

comes from the ones who know.

Their skins, like anoraks,

proof against all weathers,

all but summer’s Dulce Domum call

to plunge weightless in its waters,

play a little while with mortals,

then vanish into legend

still courting all pursuit.

– Marjorie Mir

Sunny Day Dormers

Image by Barbara Hitchcock

Clouds Over Manana

Dock Work

Tasty Invitation

Spring Treasure

Shades of Gray

Mackerel Sky

Image by Barbara Hitchcock

Dint’s Doughnut Recipe

Illustrated by Alex Barstow

Silken Sea Tangle

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick

The Cliff Trail

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick

Fish beach

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick

Hull of a Resting Spot

Image by Barbara Hitchcock

Along the wooded path…

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick

Cloud Wave

Image by Barbara Hitchcock

The Backside

Image by Rebecca Fitzpatrick

Rocky Boundaries

Image by Barbara Hitchcock

Golden hues at Lobster Cove

Image by Rebecca FitzPatrick

Gull Rock

Image by Barbara Hitchcock