When I was growing up, I loved hearing stories about my great-grandfather, Howard Teel, who owned the golf course, and lived in the big house on Kenniston Hill.

My dad called it "The Yellow House."

It made me feel part of this place. And though it was sold long before I was born, the big house greeted us every time we came to town, on our way to my grandparents' cottage on Linekin Bay — the most glorious weeks of my childhood. I loved the old photographs of my dad and his sisters on the lawn of the family homestead — the girls in crinolines and bows, occasionally astride a pony.

To me, they spoke of a magical time, more gracious than the one I was living in, and certainly more elegant.

When my grandparents had to sell their cottage I was heartbroken but determined, even then, to return to Boothbay.

My father and his friends returned every year for a homespun golfing tournament they called The Boothbay Open. They rented a cabin from my dad’s cousin, Frank Blake (Howard Teel’s grandson and Tom’s dad) whose family managed the golf course then.

The Open wasn’t big or splashy — its trophy was a shriveled pair of golf shoes my Uncle Donnie put in the oven to dry, and then forgot. My grandfather painted them silver and mounted them on a board. I loved their crazy stories.

Thirty-five years ago, I came back to Boothbay. My dad and I stayed at the Kenniston Hill Inn while we searched for a place to re-establish our family's roots. And we found one — another old house that sits up on a hill. I painted it yellow. My dad approved.

I confess it never occurred to me that the Kenniston Hill Inn could ever disappear. To me, the place that welcomed me every time I returned to my beloved peninsula was as rooted here as the giant trees in its front yard, as part of the landscape, and our history, as the rocks, the harbor.

And though I know nothing is forever, I, like Susan Brackett, feel it would be a real loss to our town to lose it. We do have the beautiful Opera House, thanks to hard work by many committed citizens, but only a dozen years ago was on its way to becoming a place someone might well have knocked down without a second thought.

These places, whether they have a plaque on them or not, are our history, and our legacy to those who come after us. They are not only our links to the past, but, as folks gathered at the Elementary School this summer unanimously agreed, they are also the key to a thriving and healthy future for the place so many of us love.

In a perfect world, this beautiful building would always sit regally atop Kenniston Hill, to welcome visitors and returning wanderers. In my dreams, it’s been restored to its former gracious elegance. But it is not a perfect world. And, of course, it’s not my house.

So I will do what I can. Hats off to Susan Brackett, Katharine Roth, the Boothbay Civic Association, George McEvoy and the folks at the Railway Village for offering safe haven to this 200-year-old beauty. My check is on its way.