I’m Jake Newman. The Portland Logbook is my love letter to this city: the food worth hunting down, the history that refuses to die, the corners you only find if you’re paying attention.

LOBSTER EGGS

The harbor looks dead in February.
Gray water, a few buoys knocking around, someone walking a dog that refuses to head back inside. People call this the quiet season.

It isn’t.

All winter, female Maine lobsters sit under rocks carrying thousands of eggs tucked beneath their tails. Each one is about the size of a grain of sand. Fishermen call them berries. If you’ve ever watched a trap come up and a perfectly legal lobster get tossed back overboard, that’s usually why.

It actually started last summer. After molting, the females mate and store the sperm for months. Later, they fertilize the eggs and glue them to their undersides one by one. Then they just hold onto them. Through storms. Through January. Through the stretch where the ocean looks like nothing could live in it.

She mostly hides and just keeps fanning them. Pulling seawater across the eggs so they don’t suffocate. Cold water slows everything down so much that the babies take almost a year instead of weeks.

If a berried female gets caught, she goes back. Usually, there is a small V-shaped notch cut into the tail so every other fisherman knows too, even after she drops them. The whole industry protects the one lobster nobody eats.

By late spring, the eggs turn translucent, and you can see two tiny black dots. Basically finished. Just waiting for warmer water.

Then one night on a moving tide, she releases them. Thousands rise into the water at once. Almost all of them get eaten immediately. A few make it to the bottom. Fewer survive the years it takes to grow big enough to measure.

By August, we’re arguing over hot vs. cold and whether the extra twelve dollars is ridiculous or justified.

Summer doesn’t start in June.
It starts under a rock in February.

Watch the lobsters up close

Where People Actually Go Sledding in Portland

I drove past the Eastern Prom after the storm, and there were already twenty people halfway up the hill.

Not even fully packed down yet. Just fresh powder and optimism.

Every time we get a heavy snow like this, the same thing happens. Someone drags a sled out of the basement. Kids who haven’t worn snow pants in a year suddenly can’t wait to go outside. And I keep meeting people who genuinely don’t realize we’re allowed to sled around Portland, like it requires a permit or a ski pass.

It doesn’t.

Here’s where people actually go.

Eastern Prom is the obvious one. If Portland has a default sledding hill, it’s this. Big open slope. Ocean in the background. The Cutter Street side usually gives you a decent runout at the bottom, which is helpful. If you’re going to try one place first, this is usually it.

Payson Park feels more flexible. It’s wider, and you can kind of pick your own section depending on how steep you’re feeling. It’s less scenic and has more neighborhood energy. Parking along Ocean Ave can get tight after a storm, so plan for that.

Riverside is the move if you want space. Long rolling hills and fewer people clustered in one spot. It’s a little more spread out, which makes it easier to find your own lane instead of lining up behind everyone else.

What I like about snow days here is how simple it is. No planning, no sign-ups, no official anything. Just people remembering they own a sled and heading for the nearest hill. You don’t need tickets or a reservation. You just need a hill, and for the next few days, we’ve got them.

Sledding in Portland 101

THIS WEEKS CONDITIONS
☀️ SUNRISE: 6:14 AM
🌅 SUNSET: 5:23 PM
🌊 SEA TEMP: 36.5 °F (Casco Bay,)
✨ Local Favorite Shop of the Week: Carlson & Turner Antiquarian
✨ Local Artist of the Week: William Cox

Really happy for my clients on this one!

The kind of move you know is right the second you walk in.

Work With Jake

🐾 Adoptable Buddies of the Week! 🐾

🐶 Draco – 6 months
All legs, all zoomies, all heart. A big goofy puppy who wants to learn and be near his people at all times. Smart, loyal, still figuring the world out. If you want a dog you grow up with, Draco’s that kind of start.

🐱 Roots – 10 yrs
An orange queen who decides when affection happens. Plays a little, naps a lot, and prefers adults who respect her space. You don’t own Roots. You live with Roots. And that’s the appeal.

🐱 Minnie – 13 yrs
A gentle old lady who just wants warmth and kindness. Blind and hard of hearing, but very tuned in to comfort. Soft blankets, steady routine, quiet home. If you’ve ever wanted to give a senior a peaceful landing, this one matters.

🐕 Interested? Check them out here

If the link doesn’t open anymore, it means they’ve already been adopted!