Maine
Maine's singing, Scottish mailman contemplates a full-time music career
PORTLAND, Maine — Ross Adam is two people at once.
By day, as a gray-and-blue-clad mailman, he has trudged the same Deering neighborhood route on foot for nearly a decade. He stuffs letters through mail slots, scans bar codes, takes care with the occasional aggressive dog and deals with the weekly flood of Saturday fliers that make his satchel extra heavy.
By night, dressed in his trademark tartan trousers, Adam packs pubs and venues all over southern Maine with his brand of high-energy, multi-instrumental folk music. Adoring fans and strangers alike hoist their glasses and sing at full volume, eager to forget their troubles and revel in the tattooed, Scotland native’s relentless charm.
But late night music gigs and early post office mornings aren’t a friendly fit, and maintaining the balance is nearly impossible.
Increasingly, like many artists with day jobs and successful side hustles, Adam feels like he must make the difficult choice between one or the other.
Adam is a responsible father of two children with college expenses. He’s got a mortgage, a wife and a future retirement fund he’s nearly vested in.
At the same time, he recently released a popular new album and secured a music manager who is helping him get better-paying gigs. He’s about to embark on his first international mini-tour of Ireland, using vacation time.
He has the nagging feeling that at age 36, it’s now or never for becoming a full-time musician.
“You only get one life,” Adam said. “It’s so sacred. You’ve got to be able to look back and be happy with what you did with it.”

Growing up in the small Scottish town of Burntisland, Adam didn’t come from a musical family. He discovered music as an eight-year-old while sheltering from a rainstorm on a family camping trip inside a music store.
There, he picked out the melody to “The Skye Boat Song,” a traditional lullaby his mother sang to him, on a piano. His astonished parents soon bought him a small keyboard.
At 11, he and a friend wandered into a free bagpipe lesson. Adam stuck with it, coming back every Wednesday night, learning the pipes and life lessons from older men he recalls as being “big, tough guys.”
The band was called the Burntisland and District Pipe Band, and Adam was soon traveling, marching and competing with it, all around Scotland and England.
“When I joined that pipe band, it changed who I was,” he said. “It was my whole life. It gave me discipline.”
High school rock bands followed but, at the same time, Adam was fascinated by folk musicians who could get a crowd of distracted pub-goers all singing together. He was especially impressed by Alex Killin of the Kingdom Folk Band.
“He could get everyone singing — old people, young people, even the bartender,” Adam said. “I always thought it was a cool superpower.”

Adam was soon emulating his hero, playing solo gigs and doing whatever it took to get a crowd singing. But, as a young adult, grownup realities also started to take over. He earned a social work degree, worked with at-risk youth, married an American woman, moved to South Portland and started a family.
Crossing the ocean, he left his professional musical ambitions behind. Instead of gigging, Adam got a good job at the post office with decent pay, union benefits and a retirement plan.
But a subsequent divorce and what turned into a new marriage changed all that.
Shortly before the pandemic, he went on a blind date that morphed into a bonfire party with friends. There, Adam pulled out his guitar and entertained the gathering the way he would have, in a pub back home.
“I knew I was going to marry him after about the first 10 minutes,” his blind date and now spouse, Shannon Adam, said.
Enamoured and encouraging, she urged Ross Adam to take his talents seriously and booked him for a St. Patrick’s Day show at a pub. The gig was a success, and his music career took off.

At a recent show at RiRa in Portland, it was standing room only with all eyes and ears on Adam as he commanded the room. Using special, sound-looping pedals, he played guitar, fiddle and banjo at the same time while stomping another pedal creating a drum sound — which made the crowd clap along to the beat.
At one point, wearing a wireless headset microphone, Adam left the stage and asked the rowdy crowd to be quiet while he sang them a tender song about whiskey. Almost like magic, the hushed room stayed silent as he walked among the audience like a revival preacher, singing, patting children on the head and laying his hands on shoulders.
Then, as Adam finished the a capella song, he raised his pint and released the audience with a toast. The crowd burst into whoops and applause while he remounted the stage and got the party going again with traditional Scottish and Irish songs, as well as the hip-hop classic “No Diggity.”
A few days later, on a gray, snowy morning, Adam pulled his postal van up to the sidewalk on Stevens Avenue, and he stepped out of the sliding side door. There was no applause as he started his route, mail satchel slung off one shoulder, his steaming breath hanging in the air.

Adam said he genuinely likes his post office job and cherishes the connections he’s forged.
Down one side street, he found Steve Robnett, standing in his driveway. After handing Robnett his mail, the two chatted for a while. Robnett said he knew all about his mailman’s other life.
“We’ve actually had him play two house concerts here,” he said. “We love Ross.”
Further on, at the Rwanda Bean coffee shop, manager Alexa Kelly said Adam has always been more than just a mailman and helped her as she struggled through a messy divorce.
“He was one of my biggest rocks,” Kelly said, “I didn’t have anyone else in my life who knew what I was going through.”
To this, Adam mostly shrugs.
“You leave a trail wherever you go,” he said, “so I try to be good to people.”
But, as his music career blossoms and takes up more time, Adam has a decision to make. A recent bout of pneumonia exacerbated by exhaustion made it even more clear: one job or the other has to give.
Right now, he’s leaning toward full-time music. There isn’t anything which makes him feel more alive or in the moment.
“There’s nothing like it, even in a small pub. It feels incredible when people sing along. It’s almost like they’re part of the band — it’s magic,” Adam said. “I feel like I was made for this.”
Maine
Opinion: Owen McCarthy offers Maine Republicans real change
The BDN Opinion section operates independently and does not set news policies or contribute to reporting or editing articles elsewhere in the newspaper or on bangordailynews.com
Michael Capeci is the former chairman of the Bangor GOP.
Let’s be honest about Maine’s current state.
For many families, the cost of living has become unsustainable. Housing is out of reach for many young people. Energy bills keep rising. Many small businesses are struggling under taxes and regulations that make it harder to grow. Rural hospitals are under strain and despite years of increased state spending, the results are not showing up in people’s daily lives.
Concurrently, Maine continues to lose young workers to other states. That is not a statistic, it is a warning sign.
To me, the question in this Republican primary for governor is not about slogans. It is whether we continue with a political approach that has failed to reverse these trends, or whether we nominate someone with new ideas. I think that someone is Owen McCarthy.
Owen is not a political insider. He is an entrepreneur from Patten, a small town where opportunity is not assumed, it is built. He grew up in a working-class family, became the first in his family to graduate from college graduating from the University of Maine, and founded MedRhythms, a healthcare technology company focused on neurological treatment.
He didn’t just talk about opportunity. He built it. That distinction matters, because Maine’s problem is not a lack of debate it is a lack of results. We have seen the trajectory: higher costs, slower growth, and a steady outmigration of young workers. I believe Owen McCarthy represents a break from that pattern.
His Maine 2040 plan focuses on creating 50,000 new jobs in sectors where Maine has real advantages — maritime and defense, advanced forest products, and life sciences. These are export-driven industries tied directly to Maine’s workforce, geography, and institutions. What sets Owen apart is not only what he proposes, but how he approaches governing.
He prioritizes modernizing permitting so projects do not stall. He supports using technology to reduce costs and increase efficiency. He focuses on making it easier to build, hire, and expand in Maine.
That same practical mindset extends to healthcare. Expanding telehealth, strengthening EMS systems, improving provider flexibility, and shifting toward earlier intervention are not abstract reforms. They are system upgrades designed to improve access while controlling costs.
Maine voters consistently respond to competence. They reward candidates who understand problems and present plans to solve them. I believe they are tired of rhetoric that does not translate into results, and skeptical of politics that prioritizes messaging over execution.
Owen’s approach is grounded in solving the issues that shape daily life — affordability, healthcare access, job creation, and government efficiency. That is not just policy positioning. It is a governing model that speaks directly to voters.
Some will point to his lack of political experience. But I believe Maine’s core problems are not the result of insufficient political experience; they are the result of policies that have failed to deliver measurable improvement. Experience inside a broken system, by itself, is not a solution.
If Republicans want to win, this primary must be taken seriously. From my perspective, it is not about choosing a nominee for governor who can energize the base. It is about selecting someone who can compete in a broader electorate that is frustrated and looking for change.
That requires a candidate who can speak beyond the base, not by abandoning principles, but by demonstrating competence and a credible plan to address Maine’s challenges. I believe Owen McCarthy offers that combination. He represents a shift away from managed decline and toward economic execution.
This is not just another primary. It is a decision about whether Republicans position themselves to win Maine or whether they remain trapped in a cycle of repeating the same strategies and expecting different outcomes.
If Republicans want to compete for Maine’s future, they cannot afford to nominate a candidate who only motivates part of the electorate. They need someone who expands it.
I believe Owen McCarthy is that candidate.
And if the goal is to win Maine, then the choice should be unmistakable
Maine
Stalwart 7 in Varsity Maine baseball poll
The only notable change in the top-seven of the Varsity Maine baseball poll is that Gorham now has eight first-place votes, two more than last week. The order of the seven teams is identical. In fact, the only change in the top-seven over the past three polls is the swap at the top after Gorham’s win over South Portland on May 19.
Furthermore, Gorham, South Portland, Oxford Hills, Cheverus, Bangor, Mt. Ararat and Fryeburg have been ranked in the top seven for four straight weeks, and six of those squads have been among the top seven in every poll this spring.
Meanwhile, Scarborough is ranked for the first time since May 5, and Ellsworth and Thornton swapped spots.
The Varsity Maine baseball poll is based on games played before June 2, 2026. The top 10 teams are voted on by the Varsity Maine staff, with first-place votes in parentheses, followed by total points.
1. Gorham (8) 89
2. South Portland 79
3. Oxford Hills (1) 75
4. Cheverus 55
5. Bangor 42
6. Mt. Ararat 41
7. Fryeburg Academy 30
8. Ellsworth 27
9. Thornton Academy 25
10. Scarborough 12
Also receiving votes: Washington Academy 8, Monmouth Academy 4, Cony 4, Leavitt 2, Falmouth 2.
Maine
Maine harbormasters are having a moment. What do they do?
Harbormasters are the municipal protectors of Maine’s 5,300-mile coastline, where a single day might include tasks as diverse as saving a sinking skiff, sorting a same-day mooring request and seizing undersized quahogs.
The job has existed for more than a century, but a buzzworthy political campaign and a heated lobster turf war have elevated this obscure government position to a new level of visibility in the public discourse, even if few people know what they really do.
“No day is the same,” says Daryen Granata, harbormaster and shellfish warden for Scarborough and Cape Elizabeth. “Ride in my truck or my boat for a week, and I can practically guarantee you that we wouldn’t do the same thing twice.”
Graham Platner used his $3,000-a-year gig as Sullivan’s former harbormaster to help frame his run for U.S. Senate. Meanwhile, South Thomaston hopes that hiring a harbormaster can resolve a dispute over dock access that some lobstermen say threatens their livelihoods.
Beyond the headlines, however, the duties of Maine’s 250 or so harbormasters vary from town to town. Some are highly paid police officers with arrest powers; others are seasonal mooring managers, like Platner was before he resigned in August, according to the town manager.
“Most people doing this job aren’t doing it for the money,” says Granata, who is vice president of the Maine Harbor Masters Association. “They’re doing it to be a steward, to be an ambassador of the harbor.”
Platner, who operates an oyster harvesting business, said he took the post to make sure the person hired to “run the show” had local waterfront experience. He said he was “bummed” that he had to give up the role due to his campaign schedule.
“There is something to be said about working-class folks coming together over the water despite their differences, all with the same goal in mind — to protect and preserve their way of life,” he said.
South Thomaston was one of Maine’s rare shoreline communities that had resisted hiring a harbormaster. Residents preferred to solve their own problems to keep their mooring prices artificially low. But that changed when a lobster turf war broke out.
The town is now advertising for a per-diem harbormaster to resolve the dispute.
A typical day for Granata might start by answering office emails at 7 a.m. and end with a 5 p.m. radio call about a boat sinking off Prouts Neck. In between, he juggles calls for illegal fishing, a shark sighting and a boat diesel spill, all while juggling walk-ins.
One of the most time-consuming parts of a harbormaster’s job, regardless of whether they are a police officer or a seasonal volunteer, is managing the vessel placements, or moorings, in their local harbor, Granata said.
Maine has more than 30,000 moorings. Small harbors may have a couple dozen, but larger ones can have up to 1,300. The harbormaster ensures each one is in the proper location with enough depth for a boat’s draft and enough anchor to hold it in place.
Unlike their counterparts in warmer climates, Maine harbormasters face a seasonal scramble. Because of winter ice, most of the state’s moorings must be pulled ashore in the fall and reset each spring to avoid being dragged around by moving ice.
The role is also one of public safety. Harbormasters coordinate with the U.S. Coast Guard and Maine Marine Patrol on search-and-rescue operations, monitor for navigational hazards, and inspect critical marine infrastructure like piers, docks and cranes.
In Portland, harbormaster Paul Plummer and his six seasonal deputies spend a lot of time keeping Portland Harbor safe — from marine debris that could cause accidents, from environmental threats, and from commercial-recreational boating conflicts.
His office escorts big commercial vessels through the busy harbor to protect the people in kayaks and sailboats that fill it up during the summer, many of whom are not familiar with Maine landmarks and water rules, Plummer said.
“We are out in the harbor and visit the islands every day,” Plummer said. “It’s not just to protect boats, but also the fragile working waterfront infrastructure. We have a lot of old piers and wharves that require a lot of care but are critical to our economy.”
Despite these differences, state law requires all harbormasters to get certification through the Maine Harbor Masters Association within a year of taking the job. The four-day certification must be renewed every three years.
Success in the role requires more than a technical knowledge of shackles and swivels, Granata said. Harbormasters must be able to shift from “swearing like a pirate” with a lobsterman to politely guiding a Vineyard Vines-clad tourist to a local luncheon spot.
“You can’t be down here being a stiff shirt,” Granata says. “This job is crazy, but it’s a privilege. Drinking straight from the hose, every day. You never get a break, not really, but you never get bored, either.”
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