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Since René Colson started working for Healthy Island Project in Stonington a decade ago, the small nonprofit has grown to do far more social work than anyone expected.
What began as a community health organization 35 years ago has become a multi-pronged social service agency for the bridged island in Penobscot Bay, which also includes the town of Deer Isle. The nonprofit runs three food pantries, sends schoolchildren home with food, delivers meals to seniors, helps people find and apply for resources, visits them in their homes, and tries to meet whatever needs they have.
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“We create our own programs here because we have to. No one is coming here to save us,” said Colson, its executive director. “That did not take me long to figure out.”
The needs just keep growing, according to Colson and members of the organization’s board.
Rene Colson, executive director of Healthy Island Project, chats with guests during Coffee with Friends on Dec. 17, 2025. “Challenging times create opportunities for both the best and the worst of people to come out,” she said. “And I am blessed to be able to see the best in so many.” Credit: Linda Coan O’Kresik / BDN
Some of that comes from a yearslong decline in other resources on the island, ongoing inflation and rising housing costs. But federal funding cuts under the Trump administration also mean Healthy Island Project and nonprofits like it are seeing larger gaps, less money available to fill them and more demands on their small staff.
In Stonington, other nonprofits build housing for its workforce, conduct research that helps its lobster industry, run its community center, conserve its land and provide arts programming. It’s an example of how much of the responsibility for providing such services is shifting to outside organizations, which are also filling holes in the state’s social safety net. Those gaps are now being stretched by abrupt changes in federal priorities — and locals are trying to patch them back together.
“Our nonprofits funnel revenue into our towns, and services into our towns, that towns and even state government can’t and don’t provide,” said Linda Nelson, Stonington’s economic development director, who is also a consultant for nonprofits. “So, we’re extremely dependent on those nonprofits for both delivery of services [and] actually acting as pipelines to the funding available for those services.”
Since January, nonprofits nationwide have seen funding abruptly cut, grants canceled and research projects terminated by the Trump administration. That’s taken a toll across sectors in Maine, but particularly health, human services and education, according to Jennifer Hutchins, executive director of the Maine Association of Nonprofits.
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“Nonprofits are Maine’s invisible backbone, delivering critical services efficiently, contributing to economic growth and strengthening communities,” she said.
In 2023, about 20% of the state’s workforce was employed by nonprofits, which contributed $16 billion to Maine’s economy that year, the group said.
Charlie Bye (left) takes a a 50-pound bag of carrots from Don Verry, facilities manager at Healthy Island Project, on Dec. 17, 2025. The produce was going to Deer Isle-Stonington Elementary School. HIP is a nonprofit organization focused on enhancing the broad health of the Deer Isle-Stonington community. Credit: Linda Coan O’Kresik / BDN
On a recent Wednesday morning, a former church building bought by Healthy Island Project was bustling. A Good Shepherd truck delivered food to supply its pantries, volunteers packed 130 lunches to deliver to seniors, and people arrived for coffee at tables decorated for Christmas.
“I don’t know, seriously, what seniors would do without HIP,” said Fran Roudebush, 89, as friends stopped to greet her before coffee hour.
There’s a need for its senior programming because resources have been dwindling on the island, particularly for residents over 65, who made up more than 30% of Stonington’s population in 2023. About 20% of its population lives at or below the poverty line, and almost a quarter of households on the island make less than $25,000 a year, according to a local housing report completed this year.
Hancock County’s last skilled nursing home shut down in neighboring Deer Isle in 2021, meaning people are staying in their homes for longer, according to Colson. Northern Light Health, which runs the nearest hospital and has ongoing fin ancial problems of its own, no longer employs an island social worker or sends visiting health care specialists.
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Janet Somerset, food insecurity coordinator, writes instructions where bags of produce should be delivered at Healthy Island Project in Stonington on Dec. 17, 2025. HIP has grown into a de facto social service agency for the island. Credit: Linda Coan O’Kresik / BDN
Federal heating assistance funds previously reached towns through Downeast Community Partners, a community action agency that collapsed this year. Its contracts have been taken over by a similar agency based in Aroostook County, which is in the process of forming a new tri-county agency. Even organizations that have resources available in theory often don’t have enough money or staff to make it to the island, Colson said.
At the same time, inflation continues while a worsening shortage of affordable year-round housing threatens the economy and community, according to local officials and residents.
Island Workforce Housing, a nonprofit that creates housing that workers can afford, has built apartments on the island and is building more to help meet that need.
It has never received federal funding, which isn’t available for people in the middle-income range. But its work is an example of how nonprofits fund projects that communities need by attracting donors when public money isn’t available, according to Pamela Dewell, its executive director.
Some of the housing is needed for the town’s lobster industry, the busiest in Maine. A local report earlier this year said lobster dealers often house their own employees in order to keep a workforce.
Other aspects of the industry are researched and supported by the Maine Center for Coastal Fisheries, another local nonprofit that aims to keep fisheries sustainable and economically viable.
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Grants it received during the Biden administration were canceled earlier this year, according to Executive Director Alexa Dayton, who declined to say what projects were affected. Some were later reinstated.
The center’s work reaches beyond Stonington, but it runs a free museum there, offers a maritime mentoring and education program for high school students, and conducts research relevant to the town’s fishing community, like opportunities for lobstermen to diversify their income with scallops and a cost survey of lobstering that could help inform new gear rules. Those three initiatives received federal money.
Dayton is less sure what will happen a year from now when current grants come to an end and new ones don’t open up, though she said she sees opportunities to get creative.
Fisheries research matters for Stonington because it needs to stay on the “cutting edge” and be able to help drive policy, according to Nelson.
Still, she and others interviewed for this story noted, federal funding has waxed and waned under different administrations; the island has been through lean times before.
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Volunteer Lynn Puddington (right) visits with Rosie Sewall, 96, at Coffee with Friends, a weekly program where guests enjoy coffee and conversation at Healthy Island Project in Stonington on Wednesday mornings. Credit: Linda Coan O’Kresik / BDN
Now, Nelson is encouraging wealthy and seasonal residents to make larger donations. So far, nonprofits said, they have been generous.
“When you say communities have to do it for themselves, we mean that the people that have resources need to take care of the people that don’t,” Nelson said. “It’s really as simple as that.”
As other organizations lose funding, Colson, of Healthy Island Project, expects to see more gaps that her nonprofit and its small staff will try to fill.
Though the group doesn’t receive federal money directly, fruits and vegetables for its ever-expanding food pantries come from Good Shepherd, which was hit by cuts earlier this year. People are still anxious about what’s ahead, what aid they might lose, or if their insurance costs will rise, according to Colson.
“We have grown, and our budget has continued to grow, in response to the needs around us at a time when the federal government has made severe cuts,” she said.
Competition for outside grants has also increased dramatically as other organizations lose federal funding and look to make up the difference. A growing Healthy Island Project is also applying to more of them than ever before.
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But some funders are now limiting how much they award and how often, according to Susan Toder, a member of the group’s board. The organization is ready to do the work whenever money becomes available, she added.
A group of seniors enjoys Coffee with Friends, a weekly program where guests enjoy coffee and conversation at Healthy Island Project in Stonington on Wednesday mornings. HIP is a non-profit organization focused on enhancing the broad health of the Deer Isle-Stonington community. Credit: Linda Coan O’Kresik / BDN
Toder spoke with a reporter while packaging biscuits with Edythe Courville, 89, who has lived on the island since she was 3 years old — before a bridge connected it to the mainland. Throughout her life, the island has always been close knit, with residents ready to help each other, Courville said.
Despite the challenges and continued uncertainty, the women love both their work and a community ready to meet whatever needs arise. Spirits seemed high as the coffee hour started.
“What we do should be filled with light and joy and happiness,” Colson said. “We’re not defeated in any sense.”
The logos for streaming services Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus and Sling TV are pictured on a remote control on Aug. 13, 2020, in Portland, Ore. (Jenny Kane/Associated Press)
Maine consumers will soon see a new line on their monthly Netflix and Hulu bills. Starting Jan. 1, digital streaming services will be included in the state’s 5.5% sales tax.
The new charge — billed by the state as a way to level the playing field around how cable and satellite services and streaming services are taxed — is among a handful of tax changes coming in the new year.
The sales tax on adult-use cannabis will increase from 10% to 14%, also on Jan. 1. Taxes on cigarettes will increase $1.50 per pack — from $2 to $3.50 — on Jan. 5.
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All three changes are part of the $320 million budget package lawmakers approved in June as an addition to the baseline $11.3 billion two-year budget passed in March.
Here are a few things to know about the streaming tax:
1. Why is this new tax taking effect?
Taxes on streaming services have been a long time coming in Maine. Former Republican Gov. Paul LePage proposed the idea in 2017, and it was pitched by Gov. Janet Mills, a Democrat, in 2020 and 2024. The idea was rejected all three times — until this year.
State officials said last spring the change creates fairness in the sales tax as streaming services become more popular and ubiquitous. It’s also expected to generate new revenue for the state.
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2. What services are impacted?
Currently, music and movies that are purchased and downloaded from a website are subject to sales tax, but that same music and those same movies are not taxed when streamed online.
The new changes add sales tax to monthly subscriptions for movie, television and audio streaming services, including Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, Spotify and Pandora. Podcasts and ringtones or other sound recordings are also included.
3. How much is it likely to cost you?
The new tax would add less than $1 to a standard Netflix subscription without ads priced at $17.99 per month. An $89.99 Hulu live television subscription would increase by about $5 per month.
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Beginning Jan. 1, providers will be required to state the amount of sales tax on customers’ receipts or state that their price includes Maine sales tax.
4. How much new revenue is this generating for the state?
The digital streaming tax is expected to bring in $5 million in new revenue in fiscal year 2026, which ends June 30. After that, it’s projected to bring in $12.5 million annually, with that figure expected to increase to $14.3 million by 2029.
The tax increase on cigarettes, which also includes an equivalent hike on other tobacco products, is expected to boost state revenues by about $75 million in the first year.
The cannabis sales tax increase, meanwhile, will be offset in part by a reduction in cannabis excise taxes, which are paid by cultivation facilities on transfers to manufacturers or retailers. The net increase in state revenue will be about $3.9 million in the first full year, the state projects.
Cars and trucks travel northbound along the Maine Turnpike in Arundel through a messy wintry mix on Feb. 4, 2022. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)
A wintry mix is forecasted to come down on Maine starting in the early hours of Monday morning.
A mix of sleet and snow is expected to start falling around 1 a.m. Monday in the Portland area and closer to 3 a.m. in the Lewiston area. The mix will likely transition to freezing rain on Monday morning in time for the morning commute, making roads icy, according to the National Weather Service in Gray.
“That’s going to make conditions not ideal for traveling,” said Stephen Baron, a meteorologist at the National Weather Service.
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As temperatures inch above 32 degrees Fahrenheit on Monday afternoon, the freezing rain is forecasted to transition to regular rain. Ice on the roads will start to melt over the afternoon as well.
The forecast for the rest of the week is fairly clear as of now. The only other potential precipitation is on Wednesday, with a festive snowfall on New Year’s Eve “around the countdown,” said Baron.
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Sophie is a community reporter for Cumberland, Yarmouth, North Yarmouth and Falmouth and previously reported for the Forecaster. Her memories of briefly living on Mount Desert Island as a child drew her…
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Nearing the end of December, the streams are shrouded in ice. The trout are there, but they are lethargic and in a state of semi-hibernation. From the middle of November, I spend my weekends cutting, splitting and stacking logs for the woodstove; that is, when I’m not plowing snow off the long dirt drive that snakes off the macadam like a woodland stream, winding through hardwoods and coming to rest beside our home.
I could pay Don from the auto shop to do the plowing and we can heat our home with oil, but the effort to clear the drive and keep the stove full is an excuse to spend time outdoors, which keeps me active and sane throughout the winter months and provides the illusion of self-sufficiency.
By the third week of February, the banks of snow have melted along the dirt drive and on either side of the walk leading into our house. Some hardpack remains under the dogwood tree or in the lee of the outbuildings scattered around the 12 acres surrounding our home.
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My jeans bear oil stains that Trish has been unable to remove. The strings from the frayed bottoms trail behind the rubber heels of my felt-packed Sorels like a dry fly reeled against the stream’s current. The fingers of my inexpensive work gloves are worn through in a few places, and I have wrapped them with duct tape to keep the lining from falling out.
This morning, I’m wearing a heavy shirt with a stiff canvas exterior over a long-sleeve T-shirt. The words “Oquossoc Marine” are stitched in black across the front of my cap, the letters rising upward through a grease stain like boulders in a lake around which smallmouth bass might school.
Neatly stacked hardwood inside the lean-to, ready to keep the home warm for months to come. Credit: Courtesy of Bob Romano
I walk the short distance across the yard to a small shed, the lawn crunching under my boots. The morning frost glistens like tiny diamonds sprinkled among the blades of matted grass as the sun edges over a line of spruce to reveal a flawless blue sky.
Lifting the latch, I open the door. The smell of grease and oil hangs in the cold stillness. I reach past the chainsaw and grab the maul from the corner of the shed, walking back outside, passing the near-empty lean-to that contains the remains of two cords of stovewood. By this time of year, the pieces that remain are stacked against the back wall, some littering the floor, a few wedged into the corners.
Throughout November and the early part of December, the sound of my chainsaw fills the air as I down trees, hauling them from the woodlot across the earthen dam of our little pond and cutting them into stove-sized pieces. By January, I’m spending my time splitting the 12-inch logs, allowing them to season in the open air throughout spring and summer until the following fall when I stack them, row upon row, under the eaves of the empty lean-to.
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When I was younger, I split wood from morning until three or four in the afternoon, breaking only for lunch, a mountain of billets rising quickly, leaving the remainder of the winter for feeding birds, exploring the woods, tying flies. These days, I wear a back brace and work for no more than three hours a day, taking an entire winter of weekends to raise my mountain of split wood.
I can rent a gas-powered log splitter and form the pile of logs in days instead of months, but where is the honor in that? No, I prefer this six-pound maul, the one I now cradle in my hands, the same maul I have used to create 40 winters’ worth of firewood. Once, I replaced the shaft when an errant blow splintered it against the side of a stump, only later learning a trick used by hockey players to protect their sticks — duct tape wrapped around the base of the blade.
This morning, I stopped at the three chopping blocks frozen to the ground in front of the rising summit of wood. Chinks and grooves cut into the edges of each stump wherever the maul’s sharp blade has powered through a log. The bark has fallen away, lying in shreds, mixed into sawdust with pieces of kindling, wood chips, shavings and twigs, creating a ligneous gazpacho.
On either side lies a pile of logs, mostly sugar maple, white oak, shagbark hickory and ash; the type of hardwood that splits easily and burns slowly, providing an efficient source of heat for the woodstove. There is a smaller amount of soft wood that is stringy, more difficult to split and faster burning like poplar and tulip.
I like the smell of the resin, the feeling of the sawdust, spongy under my boots, the maul, familiar in my hands, but it is the sight of the growing mountain that I most enjoy, with its base of split logs, ridges of sticks and crags of twisted branch.
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Feet spread apart, I grasp the maul, my left hand around the bottom of the shaft, my right around its base. I take pleasure in the power that spreads from my legs up through my shoulders and down through my arms, the motion of the heavy blade as it swings through the air, the crack of the log as it splits in two. After 20 minutes, I unbutton the canvas shirt, remove the baseball cap and run a hand through my thinning hair.
A few feet from the woodpile a chickadee flits among the branches of an ironwood tree. Landing on the metal rung of the tube feeder, the little bird cocks its head sideways, its black eye looking like a tiny plastic bead. As the bird flies off with a seed, a titmouse appears with its gray breast feathers puffed outward, a little dun-colored pompadour shooting up as it chirps a complaint.
I swing the maul down, the blade striking off center. A quarter of the log splits away while the remaining piece falls over on its side. While the titmouse plucks a seed from the feeder, two goldfinches and a nuthatch impatiently chatter from the branches of a nearby sugar maple.
Clouds have moved in from the west and without the sun there is a chill in the air. Even so, I’m sweating. I hang the outer shirt from a nail hammered into the side of the woodshed and roll up the long sleeves of my T-shirt.
The next swing of the maul fails to split the log. Aiming for a fracture, I try again, causing a chunk of wood to fly end over end across the frozen ground.
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I develop a rhythm — bend, pick up a log, split. Bend, pick up a log and split. There is ample time for reflection. Today, I fancy myself an aging samurai, past my prime, without a lord to follow or battle to fight, but still able to wield a weapon with grace and skill. After a while, I stoop down, tossing the scattered billets toward the top of the pile, the mountain growing high under the ashen clouds.
When snow begins to fall, I remove the canvas shirt from the nail and slip it back on. The flakes are light, dry. They settle on my shoulders, the chopping blocks, the woodpile, covering the branches of the ironwood tree and sticking to the ground.
The birds are now darting back and forth grabbing seeds without hesitation. In the stillness of the afternoon, I hear the flutter of their wings.
