As the summer sun set over Meetinghouse Pond in Phippsburg, Maine, on July 29, the show got started.

This time-lapse video, filmed at the college’s Coastal Center at Shortridge by ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ photographer Theophil Syslo, kicks off with the afternoon sun barreling toward the western horizon.

After a fade to black, the video picks up again around 11 p.m. with the viewer looking south. The camera then pans to the west and then north. The segment ends around 1 a.m.

All the while, the sky appears to rotate, due to the Earth’s rotation. (The camera itself is moving and rotating, too, thanks to Syslo’s.) The 22-second video comprises hundreds of still images taken 40 seconds apart. The night images were taken with a 30-second exposure to effectively capture starlight.

This time-lapse video begins with the sun setting over Meetinghouse Pond on July 29. Then the night show gets started.

“That’s cool!� said Assistant Professor of Physics Aleks Diamond-Stanic after viewing the video.

He said more, in fact. A researcher who studies the interactions of gas within galaxies, Diamond-Stanic offered to be our guide to the Maine sky. (For help identifying planets, stars, and constellations, he recommends this .)

At the video’s 10-second mark, Diamond-Stanic notes that “the Milky Way extends across the sky, more or less vertically, from the constellation Sagittarius, near the horizon, to the constellation Sagitta, near the top of the screen.â€�

Also prominent, he says, is Jupiter, “to the right of the Milky Way, lower in the sky, a bit above the star Antares. Saturn is visible to the left of the Milky Way.�

At around the 20-second mark — nearing midnight — “we see the blue star Vega high in the sky, while Jupiter disappears from our field of view,” he says. Meanwhile, low in the sky at right is the Big Dipper (Ursa Major). “We see the star Arcturus about to set below the horizon,â€� and, since the view is now to the north, “the North Star (Polaris) is at top right.â€�

Four items in the night sky above the Coastal Center at Shortridge; (1) the Milky Way; (2) Jupiter; (3) the trail of a passenger jet during the 30 seconds of the image exposure, with red dots indicating its flashing beacon; and (4) light from the city of Portland, made prominent by the long exposure. (Theophil Syslo/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

Besides heavenly bodies, viewers of the video can see occasional streaks of light. Those aren’t meteors but the paths of passenger planes with their beacons flashing, likely heading toward Europe.

In fact, the nighttime skies over Maine are a popular route for jets traveling east toward Europe. And in the morning, jets often pass overhead traveling west, arriving from Europe. (U.S. airlines typically fly more overnight routes to Europe so their planes can make return flights on the day they arrive.)

Meanwhile, the diffuse light seen on the western horizon comes from the city of Portland, about 25 miles down the coast. While Maine has some of the  — perfect for stargazing — light pollution worldwide continues to increase. It’s becoming “difficult for people to be able to see and appreciate the beauty of the dark night sky,â€� says Diamond-Stanic.

“The clear view of the night sky shown in this time lapse motivates human curiosity about our place in the universe.�

Seen in 2017, Assistant Professor of Physics Aleks Diamond-Stanic works with ´³´Ç²õé Ruiz ’19, who graduated in May with a physics degree. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

About an hour’s drive from campus in Phippsburg, the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College Coastal Center at Shortridge sits on 80 acres of woodlands and wetlands. The center provides residential support for academic programs and extracurricular activities, including facilities for field research, meetings, retreats, and conferences.

Adjacent to the center is ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area, comprising some 600 acres of permanently protected salt marshes and coastal uplands that ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ manages for research and educational purposes.

It’s safe to say that whoever is running the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area (and, nearby, the college’s Coastal Center at Shortridge) has a lot on their plate.

Any director of the site has “to have their eye on student learning, faculty engagement, and coastal research,â€� not to mention “what signage is needed to keep dogs off the beach,â€� says Darby Ray, who as head of ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€™ Harward Center supervised the conservation area director for a number of years.

Since 2008, that director has been Laura Sewall, who is retiring this summer, to be succeeded by marine scientist Caitlin Cleaver, who starts work on Aug. 16.

“Laura has been a tireless advocate for ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain,â€� says politics professor Ã�slaug Ã�sgeirsdóttir, an associate dean of the faculty who now oversees the area’s management. “She has been incredibly creative and enthusiastic about working with our faculty and students who do research there.â€�

With Seawall Beach in the distance, the Sprague river and marsh are shown from the summit of Morse Mountain. (Theophil Syslo/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

In its 600 acres located about an hour from campus on the Phippsburg peninsula, ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain incorporates two salt marshes, two rivers, a rare stand of dune pitch pines among its many trees, and the eponymous small mountain. Accessed through the conservation area but not part of it is Seawall Beach, a real beauty that’s the last undeveloped barrier beach in Maine.

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain is owned by a nonprofit corporation, protected in perpetuity from new development, and managed by ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ under the eyes of The Nature Conservancy, which holds conservation easements on the area.

It’s valued by locals and tourists for its beauty, and by scientists, including several from ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½, as a place to observe how diverse ecosystems are responding to unprecedented natural change.

“Laura has, with great finesse and diplomacy, balanced the needs and interestsâ€� of those stakeholders, says Ray, and in doing so has given the research mission primacy at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain.

Laura Sewall, who retires this summer as director of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area, observes the area from a small plane in June. (Brittney Lohmiller for ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

A writer who holds a doctorate in visual psychology from Brown University, Sewall has deep family roots in the peninsula. A former professor at Prescott College in Arizona, she is the author of the book Sight and Sensibility: The Ecopsychology of Perception (1999), which her publisher describes as “the first definitive guide to the new field of ecopsychology.â€� She has also served as a lecturer in environmental studies at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½.

Sewall’s retirement plans include more book work. She wants to finish a volume on perception that until now has been relegated to her spare time. In addition, encouraged by interest from an academic publisher, she’s working with ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ faculty and alumni on a compilation of research from ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain. That’s where we start our interview.

Who are the faculty taking part in the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain book?

Don Dearborn and I are co-editors. Joe Hall, Mike Retelle, Bev Johnson, Brett Huggett, Dyk Eusden, Don, myself, and a few alums are all contributing chapters. There are three still to be written. Then we’ll meet at Shortridge to synthesize the climate understanding or awareness we’ve gotten from our individual observations and disciplines, so we can write a summary chapter that will make a strong statement about coastal climate adaptation.

Laura Sewall (center) and, to her left, former ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain director Judy Marden ’66, lead alumni and friends on a hike at the conservation area during Reunion 2019 in June. (Theophil Sylso/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

What attracted you to the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain job?

Oh, boy, there is so much. One is the place itself, Morse Mountain. I live next door to it on what was my grandmother’s property, and in visiting her summer house from Arizona, I kept looking into the marsh and thinking, If only I could take care of the marsh with students. And so 10 years later, in 2008, my predecessor, Judy Marden ’66, said, “Laura, I’ve got a job for you.â€�

This was an opportunity like none I’d had for bringing a regional awareness to stewardship.

You’ve worked with ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ geologist Beverly Johnson and her students on measuring “blue carbon” — carbon stored in the marshes. It amounts to hundreds of tons each year.

I think the most important thing I’ve learned was how valuable the salt marshes are, including the degree of carbon storage.

Professor of Geology Beverly Johnson uses a sediment elevation table to measure the height of the Sprague Marsh, part of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area, in August 2018. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

Robert Costanza, an ecological economist who’s well-known for developing valuations for different ecosystem types, estimates that per hectare because of ecosystem services, which include things like storm buffering, water filtration, fisheries support. That makes the Sprague Marsh, at 74 acres, worth $5.8 million per year. This doesn’t even include carbon storage.

You have a strong history of engaging ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain with initiatives or organizations that have similar interests.

In my first four or five years I attended a lot of meetings pertaining to coastal issues — professional conferences, and meetings with state agencies and environmental NGOs.

People saw that the director of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area was showing up, and so opportunities to engage in various projects opened up. And it made ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ more visible as a partner in environmental work in Maine.

This pitch pine dune woodland at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain is a globally rare ecosystem and possesses a rare beauty, as well. (Laura Sewall/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

In fact, the Northeastern Coastal Stations Alliance was your brainchild — and one of the people who helped get it off the ground was your ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain successor, Caitlin Cleaver, who was then at the Hurricane Island Center.

That’s the partnership I’m probably most proud of. It’s a , ranging from Shoals Marine Lab, on Appledore Island off Kittery, to the College of the Atlantic stations off Mount Desert.

It’s a loose, grassroots organization with a great mission. The idea is to collaborate on basic monitoring so that we can track changing conditions in the near-shore zone across the expanse of the Gulf of Maine.

What other accomplishments at Shortridge and ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain are you proud of?

The Shortridge Summer Residency for students has proven to be a solid use of the facility. They’ve done field research, and shared that work with the public and policy makers.

Seen in 2015, Professor of Geology Mike Retelle reviews time-lapse photography of beach erosion with Ian Hillenbrand ’17 and Nicole Cueli ’16 at the college’s Coastal Center at Shortridge, adjacent to ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain. (Josh Kuckens/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

They’ve done thesis work, been artists-in-residence, been interns for local land trusts. More than 60 students have done the residency since 2009. Shortridge has been busy overall — 560 ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ people used it during the last academic year.

Also, I’m really proud of the way the two gatekeepers, the caretaker, and I have coordinated our work and been a really good team.

How is rapid climate change affecting ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain?

It’s mostly about higher tides. So the causeway across Sprague Marsh floods more frequently than it used to — we now warn people that high tide may cover the causeway and they should expect to wait or wade.

There has also been quite a bit of erosion on the dune front along Seawall Beach — about 11 meters in the center of the beach since 1992. Mike Retelle has been tracking that. I’ve seen a lot of erosion up in the marsh.

The dune pitch pines are dying back. It would be hard to say without putting in wells to measure hydrology and salinity, but their root system is the closest to the seawater.

“People love ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain, and I think everyone who’s a stakeholder has felt ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ has taken good care of it.”

Some parts of the marsh are healthy and luxuriant, and in other areas you now see muddy patches among the vegetation — little hillocks of plant growth with mud around them. I’ve been told by a salt marsh researcher from the University of New Hampshire, David Burdick, that it’s an early sign of conversion to mudflats.

The ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain bylaws require us to let nature take its course. So we’re able to observe without interference — the hemlocks are slowly dying because of hemlock wooly adelgid, and we need to witness it.

Holding a hemlock branch infested with invasive and destructive hemlock woolly adelgids, Assistant Professor of Biology Brett Huggett observes hemlock trees during a Short Term 2015 field trip at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain. (Josh Kuckens/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

I created a sign to educate visitors about the die-off. You walk up the mountain from the marsh and see a dying mess in the forest. It’s a visible sign of climate change, and it’s a teachable moment.

You’ve brought some of Beverly Johnson’s research techniques to the marsh near your own home — a sediment elevation table to measure changes in the level of the marsh surface, and a system for monitoring vegetation changes over time.

Bev and I installed the sediment elevation table right in front of my house in the Sprague Marsh, and I do a vegetation transect in that area every year. Both provide measures to help us predict the response of the marsh to sea level rise. We installed three additional SETs, along with vegetation transect sites, further up the marsh as well.

How has this job helped you make sense of your life?

I have always been purpose-driven. In my life, I chose every step along the way because I saw a more interesting purpose or a closer way to take care of some bit of the Earth.

Seen in December 2017, Isobel Curtis ’17 works on a project to establish forest survey plots at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain. The project is part of a multi-group effort to monitor significant Maine ecosystems in the face of climate change. (Phyllis Graber Jensen/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

That’s what ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain has been — a great opportunity to take care of a place. This has given me the opportunity to satisfy that yearning.

It’s also been satisfying to feel that I’m of service to the community there. People love ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain, and I think everyone who’s a stakeholder has felt like ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ has taken good care of it during my tenure and Judy’s, too. That feels really good. A big part of that has been the opportunity to educate, too — both students and the public.

You have quite a family history in this region — your house is on property that once belonged to your great-great-grandparents. Did you know the conservation area well before you became director?

When I was teaching in Arizona, I would finish up in May and I’d come back here. In the early evenings, I’d ride my bike over the mountain, which was, of course, against the rules. I didn’t know that — I saw very few people and no one ever stopped me. I certainly knew Seawall Beach, and the Sprague Marsh from paddling into it, but that was about it.

One of two rivers within the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½-Morse Mountain Conservation Area, the Morse River flows into the ocean near Popham Beach. (Brittney Lohmiller for ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

Your great-great-grandmother, Emma Sewall, was one of Maine’s earliest female photographers. She photographed working people, including workers in the salt marshes.

My sister Abbie Sewall is also a photographer, and she took many of Emma’s glass plates and published them in a book, Message Through Time. Emma also wrote a little book, The Rivers and Marshes of Small Point, Maine. It’s funny to think that I’m simply following in her footsteps, like my sister — both of us carrying Emma’s work into this era.

“I am pleased about the panels,” says Laura Sewall, referring to the solar electric panels on the roof of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Coastal Center at Shortridge, in Phippsburg, which she manages.

“And I am really pleased that when you drive up the driveway, everybody sees them right away. They make quite a statement.”

That statement got twice as big on Oct. 6 when a team from ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ and from ReVision Energy placed a second helping of panels on the roof at the center. The 12 new panels complement a dozen installed in October 2016, also by ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ students and ReVision technicians.

EcoReps install solar PV panels at the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Coastal Center on Oct. 6, 2017, and film each other doing it. Working with ReVision Energy’s Merritt Bussiere-Nichols (yellow shirt) are Matt Reback ’18 (green), Sophie Landes ’21 (dark plaid), Sophie Thayer ’18 (red shirt), and Liv Guion ’21 (red hat).

The complete array’s peak output is six kilowatts, enough to meet (or surpass) the center’s electrical needs on any given day. “That makes the building 100 percent solar throughout the year” on average, says Tom Twist, ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½’ sustainability manager.

“On a bright summer day, they’ll be exporting a lot of power to the regional grid — essentially running their meter backward. But at night they’ll be drawing from the grid.”

Coming and going during the day on Oct. 6, a young alumna and 11 EcoReps took part in the installation at the retreat near the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½â€“Morse Mountain Conservation Area. Teams took turns ascending to the Shortridge roof (two stories high, but it looks like three) to fasten panels onto metal rails and wire them up. Students on the ground used a ladder-and-pulley system to hoist the panels aloft.

The Shortridge roof is two stories high, but it looks like three.

Despite the pressure of classes on a weekday, “we had a good turnout,” says Twist, who organized the project with Sewall. One student even squeezed in an hour of labor first thing before heading back to campus for class.

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ EcoReps are students who pursue sustainability projects on campus under Twist’s direction. The alumna was Isobel Curtis ’17, a double major in biology and environmental studies who has spent the fall at Shortridge as a research coordinator.

“I wanted to learn more about sustainable energy and see what green power looks like in reality, not just on paper,” says George Fiske ’19, an EcoRep from West Hartford, Conn. “Also, it’s always a pleasure to go to Shortridge.”

The new panels form a row below the original dozen. As in 2016, technicians visited in advance to lay the mounting rails and make the major electrical connections that will feed the sun-generated juice to the grid. Merritt Bussiere-Nichols was the ReVision technician directing the final push on Oct. 6.

During the October 2016 installation, ReVision Energy’s Ashton Ireland unloads a Canadian Solar PV panel from its sled. The modules weigh 44 pounds. (Doug Hubley/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

For the students, the panel installation “was surprisingly easy,” says Olivia Guion, a first-year from Arlington, Mass. “We had three or four people working at a time, each with a small, simple task, so the process was very streamlined.

“It was a matter of pulling a panel up the ladder system, setting it against the metal tracks, clicking the wires into place, and tightening the screws to hold it down,” she explains. Merritt-Bussiere manhandled the panels from ladder to array.

“The only challenge came when we reached the end of the array,” says Guion, “because it is on a steeper part of the roof and we had to be a little more cautious.” (Everyone on the roof wore fall protection.)

It’s too early to calculate the financial benefit of the full array, but indications from the first year, with 12 panels, are promising. Sewall estimates that the 2016 installation cut the center’s electric bill by more than half. For instance, the center paid about $152 for the month prior to the installation, and $61 for the month after.

With the new capacity, “we may now be producing more power than we need.” ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½’s sustainability office covered the cost of the 2017 installation, approximately $10,000.

On its own terms, the full solar conversion is an important achievement. “Those panels will be doing their job for 45 years, so it’s a pretty big impact in terms of that building,” says Twist. But he also has a different kind of investment in mind: human capital.

The rooftop solar panels atop the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College Coastal Center at Shortridge on Nov. 15, about five weeks after a second installation of photovoltaic panels made the facility electrically self-sufficient. The lower row of panels is new, and the upper row was installed in 2016. (Laura Sewall/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

“The main focus of the project was to actually get students on the roof installing panels,” he explains. It’s good experience in and of itself, but it’s also about raising consciousness, both for the EcoReps and for people who learn about the project.

All the projects that Twist and his student EcoReps undertake are designed to “give students, staff and faculty some ownership of sustainability,” he says. “All these things that we’re trying to do are just to get folks feeling like, ‘Oh, this is part of who we are.‘”

And going the full monty with solar electricity harmonizes with one of Sewall’s dreams for the center: making it a showcase of sustainable practices. She’s thinking of things like detailed energy-use monitoring, heat pumps to complement the existing gas furnace, and even a charging station for electric vehicles.

Not to mention battery storage for the solar-generated electricity, e.g. Tesla’s PowerWall. This is no small matter: Because of the way the solar array is tied to the regional grid, a failure of the grid means no juice for Shortridge. The center was dark for six days following the Oct. 30 storm that left so many Mainers without power.

“Oh, this is part of who we are.”

EcoReps are applying for a ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ Green Innovation Grant for the storage capacity, as well as another for the energy monitoring system. Sewall says that an EcoRep told her that “we want to call it the Shortridge Sustainability Lab” — meaning a place “to try ideas for developing a sustainable building, and a model of sustainability for students who are there.”

With a ReVision technician on a truck nearby, members of the ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ team take a break during the Oct. 6 solar project at Shortridge. From left, Joanna Vollrath ’21, Isobel Curtis ’17, Madeline McGonagle ’18, and ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ sustainability manager Tom Twist. (Laura Sewall/ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ College)

ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ people use Shortridge for retreats, class sessions, and as a base camp for research at the nearby conservation area, with its woods, salt marsh, and beach. Up a long driveway from the road, surrounded by trees and set near a pond, the center’s location is ideal.

So there’s a certain unity to using the building to model ways of protecting its natural setting. “I think anyone who has been to Shortridge will agree that it feels like an oasis from the hectic atmosphere of campus,” Curtis says.

“It’s fitting that when I turn the lights on, I know the electricity has been generated renewably in an effort to protect healthy ecosystems like the ones around the house.”