We all know a story of someone “doing something” only to make matters worse. Just “doing something, even if it’s wrong” is rarely the right answer. Staying put when lost is almost always the right answer. Doctors pledge first to do no harm. A few folks have even suffered from not heeding my wife’s advice that “It’s never too late to shut up.” When we don’t know what we’re doing, doing nothing is usually the best answer.

As I drove around the south end of Damariscotta Lake in Newcastle one mid-morning in August, a fisher bounced across the road from the lake, up the bank, and into the woods. I had glimpsed a live fisher only once before, dimly in my headlights: a black weasel-shaped animal, too big to be a mink.  I saw a dead one that was smaller – dark, dark brown with black legs.  But what luck to see a live one in daylight! As it leaped up the bank into the woods, I saw its mahogany-brown back. Oh no! It was supposed to be dark brown. Was it just a house cat?