About 20 years ago, Dr. Jack Fulmer and his bride, Holly, drove to East Boothbay, fell in love with an old house overlooking Mill Pond, and bought it.

Unlike many well-off retirees, Jack and Holly didn’t just move in, settle into comfy chairs on the porch, and watch the sun set over Linekin Bay and bitch about property taxes. They are just not built for that kind of lifestyle.

Jack is an Ohio kid raised not far from where that state meets Michigan and Indiana. Flatlands all. He grew up working in auto shops, learning how to fix stuff with his hands, while exercising his big brain in school, earning a medical education at Case Western. He did a tour as a Navy flight surgeon, while moonlighting in tiny Florida hospitals where, in his words, there were times when he was the only doc in the county.

For years, Jack and Holly raised their family on Florida’s east coast as he worked as a senior surgeon at Mayo Clinic’s Jacksonville hospital.

Along the way, he worked on hospital committees that improved and built the facilities.

The East Boothbay house, while picturesque, was, well, a hundred years old, and needed - well – stuff. And Jack got to work fixing this, repairing that, remodeling stuff, like crafting counters. Along the way, he shoehorned a pro-level wood shop into the barn, then looked around to see what was next. Meanwhile, Holly volunteered as a school nurse and spent time at St. Andrews Village helping some of the residents put their memories down on paper for their progeny.


About that time, with help from his neighbor, Scrimpy Lewis, Jack discovered Boothbay Region Land Trust. He again rolled up his sleeves and soon was invited to join the board.

That led to a 15-year-or-so career helping to lead BRLT’s efforts to preserve the beauty of, and, more importantly, access to, the great geography in our collective backyards. He fixed this, that, tested water samples, and made friends.

For years, the land trust had floundered around trying to find a headquarters. They looked around at buildings in town, but nothing seemed to fit.

Then a proposal that had been ruminating along for years became available. It was the last undeveloped saltwater farm in Boothbay Harbor. Now known as Oak Point, it is a 32-acre property with 2,000 feet of coastline on Townsend Gut.

First on the list, however, was finding a way to pay for it, and somehow, thanks to some generous donors, Jack and his fellow board members figured out how to swing the deal.

The property included a house dating back to the 1800s that needed a bit of attention, and that was just up Jack’s alley.

It wouldn’t be right for a group dedicated to conservation to heat the building with fossil fuels, so Jack proposed installing a geothermal heat pump system using the constant temperature of a freshwater pond to heat and cool the facility.

Add a few solar panels to the roof, and the land trust demonstrated how you could power your home and escape the clutches of Central Maine Power.

Then the volunteers mapped out trails and walks through the woods and along the shore, creating a park-like atmosphere in the confines of the harbor.

Meanwhile, Jack parked his red truck at Oak Point’s back door as he attacked the Revolutionary War-era house with a vengeance, repairing this, changing that, supervising all with the eye of a surgeon/woodworker.

Unlike some conservationists, who rate the geography and flora/fauna/critters above all, Jack and his land trust volunteers made sure Oak Point and the other preserves are open to the public.

In case you didn’t figure it out, Jack is my pal. For nearly 20 years, I have been privileged to begin, or in later years end, each day walking the preserves with Jack, Scrimpy, and Bill Haney.

In the early years, we walked in summer and buckled on snowshoes in the winter, then repaired to Hang’s coffee shop for her fabulous apple fritters. We sipped coffee and discussed topics grand and not so grand, argued politics, policy, lamented the Red Sox, cheered the Pats, celebrated our families, and might have spun a fib or three.

I tell you this story because Jack and Holly have decided to retire once again, this time moving back to what Jack calls “the mother ship,” Rochester, Minnesota, the home of the Mayo Clinic.

I penned this note to let Jack and Holly know they were appreciated by their friends, neighbors, and everyone who brings their kids and grandkids for a walk in the woods and along the shore.

Most of all, I wanted them to know we will all miss the company of a pair of good friends.