(light music)

- [Narrator] "Putep's Tale:

The Lost Finback of Mowry Beach,

Lubec, Maine 04652".

Story by Rhonda Welcome
and Chuck Kniffen

with Turtle Dance
Co-op, winter 2020.

Illustration by Andrew Long,

artwork by Sherry Ashby,
voiced by Kit Rogers.

(gentle music)

- [Kit] Dear children
of the earth,

not so long ago, free and wild.

I swam the seven seas
in all six directions.

I ranged through
mountains of iceberg,

frolicking with puffins.

I migrated south to caper
with clownfish and to start a

family in the waters
of loggerhead turtles
and coral reefs.

I leaped high over the
sparkling sea as salty brine

flew from my
flippers and flukes.

I dove a thousand feet down

(whale calling)

beneath white capped rollers
into inky black depths,

chasing mackerel and krill.

My life at sea
ended 25 years ago

when I beached on the mudflats
of a small fishing village

in down east Maine.

The townspeople
tried to drag me back

into the deep water,
but I would not budge,

not even a bit.

I weighed 50 Tons and was as
long as a five story tower.

People came from near
and far to take pictures

and write poems.

They cried, laughed
and sang about me,

a few threw stones,
but don't worry.

A pebble is not
much to a dead whale

and they were only curious.

It took two weeks and a huge
excavator to dig my grave.

Tangles of rope remained
twisted around my tail.

My great flukes were last
to slide into the hole and I

became known as the
lost finback of Lubec.

Still and quiet I laid
under tons of thick mud.

Many moons passed
and seasons changed,

but I was stuck mired in the
clam flats of Mowry Beach.

My wonderful song no longer
serenaded undersea friends

across fathoms of
crystal blue water.

I tried to call out for help,

but no one can hear a
whale without a voice.

(whale calling)

One day a reporter asked
if anyone remembered

the last finback of
Lubec, some did,

they made a radio show
called The Big Fish Story.

Then I was left alone again

with the gentle lapping of tides

and raucous squawks
of shore birds.

I dreamed of days long gone
and wished for the world

I once knew.

(seagulls calling)

(wind blowing)

One wild winter

the cat food factory blew
off its rickety perch

by the Lubec cannery.

She sailed away on the waves
of a wicked nor'easter.

The brining shed
took off soon after,

tumbling off his 20 foot
pilings into the raging narrows.

He only made it to
Campobello island,

both hailed me on the way by,

and I wished them a bon voyage.

Lost buoys and bits
of flotsam stopped by

and told tales of their
time as ghost gear.

They were lost and
without purpose searching
for a new life,

they washed away with
the outgoing tide.

I longed to be free

of this boring hole,

winter gales and
the robust winds of

tropical storms pushed the
muck this way and that.

Finally the crown of my skull

and the tip of my 12
foot jaw bone broke free.

Rockweed and algae sprouted

on my newly bared bones.

Surely I will be noticed now.

(water splashing)

I had met a few sea kayakers

during my summers in
the Gulf of Maine.

One of these ocean travelers
saw a puppy chewing on a giant

bone and got the
bright idea to help me

out of this mess.

Thank heavens for curious pups.

The beach combing kayaker called

upon a crew of willing diggers.

The man who had
buried me so long ago,

brought his mighty
machine to lift

my mini-Cooper sized
skull from the growing pit

they had dug.

Professors and students
from far away schools,

as well as clam diggers, locals,

summer visitors and plenty
of children all came

to help me out.

A great P.U rose from the crowd,

diggers and onlookers alike
gasped at the offending stench.

That's the reason they
buried me in the first place.

Once I was hauled off the beach,

they laid me gently in a pile

of sweet smelling
Cedar shavings.

And added a dollop
of horse manure,

loaded with hungry microbes

to hurry the cleaning process.

I was left for nearly a year

to shed the ragged remains
of old meat and rotten skin.

Now I am a shiny stack of
bright white whale bones

living in the Peacock
Building at 72 Water Street.

One of my new friends, Nippygone
Draugr calls me Putep.

That is the Passamaquoddy
word for whale.

(native American drums banging)

My new life is filled with
song, dance and dreams.

My friends are all sea
junk puppets put together

with trash and treasures
from the bold coast of Maine.

(seagulls calling)

Billi Gee is a dragon of
driftwood, fishing buoys,

and lost party balloons.

I am so happy

that they have all
found a new life,

no longer useless
flotsam and a hazard to

sea turtles, shorebirds and
all the creatures in the sea.

I love to dance with Cheena,
Queen of the Alder Swamp.

The children, that's
you, treasure me so much.

I sing tears of joy
into the cool night sky.

I hear you whisper,
"I love whales."

When you see my massive
bones that fill the room,

your eyes sparkle
with awe at my size

and stories of my travels.

I too am in awe of you.

You are saving my
brothers and sisters,

the children of my pod as you
clean our seas and shores.

The oceans are trying to heal
and you are helping them.

Come, see me, touch
my singing bones,

study me and learn
more about yourself

and this amazing planet.

I look forward to our
adventures together.

I end my letter,

open my heart and send a both
welcome and thanks to you.

Yours truly, Putep.

The Finback of Lubec.

(whale calling)

(gentle music)
(water splashing)