The Seafarer Inn

Many of you already know that we lost my mother-in-law on January 27th. Here is her obituary in the Boothbay Register. The dedication in Fogged Inn, the fourth Maine Clambake Mystery, reads:

This book is dedicated to my mother-in-law, Olga Carito, the incredible proprietor of the Seafarer Inn, and the person who introduced me to Boothbay Harbor, Maine.

A life-long reader with wide tastes, Olga loved that Fogged Inn was dedicated to her. In her honor, I’m rerunning a previous post I wrote about Olga, the Seafarer, and some of her guests.


I’ve just returned from 10 days at the Seafarer Inn in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the Inn’s wide front porch watching the sailboats glide across the harbor is one of my favorite things in the world.

The Seafarer Inn

Your hostess at the Inn is my mother-in-law, Olga. Ignore the first name, which came from a novel her mother favored in the 1920s. Her maiden name, DiIanni, is much more meaningful. Like the Marchmains of Brideshead, the DiIannis of Olga’s generation are cursed with a dangerous charm, albeit in a version I like to think of as “Marchmain lite”—without the grandeur, but also with far less alcohol.

For almost 15 years, Olga has put the DiIanni charm to good use running The Seafarer as a Bed & Breakfast Inn. Often have a reserved mid-western couple hoping for a quiet night in Boothbay been surprised, after the communal breakfast and ritual picture taking, to find themselves enthusiastically hugging and kissing Olga good-bye on the big front porch, promising to come again.

Some guests go even further. Olga has a small but fanatical following who seem to like nothing better than to come, stay for several days, and do her chores for her. These guests arrive every year to wash the lawn furniture, pull the weeds, hang pictures and do other rounds of endless activity and then pay her for the privilege.

My mother-in-law Olga and my kids on the front porch of the Seafarer. 1990

We, her children, have wondered about this for some time. Appropriate to its architecture, The Seafarer is decorated in the Victorian manner, which is to say that every available surface, either horizontal or vertical, is covered with—something. We gave up moving any of this stuff around long ago (except occasionally to clear off a chair so we can sit down), because we found that liberating any space at all only created an invitation to fill it up again. Therefore, we have often been mystified by the sudden appearance something like a heavy bureau in a third floor bedroom.

“Picked it up at the dump,” my mother-in-law will proudly explain. “Solid mahogany. Can you imagine someone getting rid something like this?”

“Perhaps it was someone who already had three or four bureaus per bedroom,” my husband will suggest, gazing around meaningfully.

“How does she even get this stuff in here?” he would hiss soon as she was out of earshot, imagining house elves or magic mice.

“I think,” I answered, “It’s the damn guests.

My suspicions were initially aroused when I answered the phone at the Inn one day. “Hi,” proclaimed the chipper voice at the other end. “It’s Steve. I was just calling to make my reservation.”

“When did you want to come, Steve?” I asked.

“Second week in October, the same as always.” Steve seemed a little offended that I wasn’t aware of this. “I come every year to see the foliage and put up the storm windows.”

The Harbor

This year, I finally got the chance to catch the action first hand. While I was staying at the Inn, Al, Marsha and Miles O’Brien arrived from Peabody, Mass., for a two night stay. Olga actually closed the Inn two summers ago, but that has not stopped the most fanatical of the chore-doers from coming, even though now the place is now 100% amenity-less. For these people, making your own bed and breakfast at the Bed & Breakfast only adds to the appeal. I have to say that on the surface the O’Briens seemed like perfectly normal—even nice–people, though Miles was perhaps a bit more polite than the average adolescent dragged off to a Bed & Breakfast with no TV or internet by his well-meaning but clueless parents.

The minute they arrived, Al huddled with Olga about the to-do list. They inspected the property. He had ideas. Of course, so did she.

“Time for bed,” Al announced to his family immediately following dinner on the first night with all the anticipation normally reserved for a fishing trip or a cruise to Monhegan. “The hardware store opens at 6:00 a.m.!”

I came down the next morning to find Olga in the kitchen. “Where are Al and Marsha?” I asked.

“Marsha ran to the supermarket and Al is trimming the bushes,” she answered showing absolutely no awareness that these are not vacation activities–are, in fact, the very activities that most people go to a Bed & Breakfast to get away from.

The view from my rocker (look familiar?)

As I sat on the porch, sipping coffee and gazing at the boats in the harbor and occasionally at Al doing his Edward Scissorhands impression in the hedge, I thought I had the answer. “Ah,” I thought, “Al is one of those men who don’t know how to relax, who think puttering equals recreation.”

But Marsha put that notion to rest as soon as she returned. “I can’t get him to do a thing at home,” she said, gazing fondly at her husband who was sweating profusely while tangoing with a winsome rhododendron. “I have a to-do list and I have begged him and begged him to do just one thing on it.”

“Don’t you have to make your own bed in rehab?” my daughter Kate asked a little later. She was sitting in the rocker next to mine, painting her toenails and staring at Al, who appeared to be covered in small cuts, and, along with his hedge-clippers, was now so entangled in a lilac bush he looked like he was battling a giant squid. Kate’s furrowed brow told me she, too, was trying to understand the O’Briens.

“Yeah,” I answered, “but I think that only does something for people who are so addled they can’t make their beds at home.”

That night, Marsha reminisced at dinner. “The first time we came here was the week you opened. We were on our honeymoon. I helped you hang the curtains in the living room.”

“Is that so?” Olga replied politely.

Frankly, Marsha seemed a little hurt that Olga couldn’t remember this, but really, so many guests, so many chores…

Later, we looked at through the photo albums (assembled by guest Jeanine Weinstein, 1994-2002) trying to find pictures of the O’Briens on that fateful visit. We came up empty, though we did find snaps of the year they stained the deck.

I never did unlock the mystery of why people come to work and pay money to Olga for the privilege. Maybe it’s that deadly DiIanni charm. Or maybe their parents live far away, or are gone, and these guests want to remember what it’s like to spend a weekend doing annoying tasks with poor tools and an irritating level of supervision. Or maybe they want not so much rehab as “hab,” that feeling of satisfaction that comes from helping someone who needs the skills you have and the time you can give, and who provides friendship and connection in return.

About Barbara Ross

Barbara Ross is the author of the Maine Clambake Mysteries. Her books have been nominated for multiple Agatha Awards for Best Contemporary Novel and have won the Maine Literary Award for Crime Fiction. She lives in Portland, Maine. Readers can visit her website at
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15 Responses to The Seafarer Inn

  1. C.T. Collier says:

    She was a treasure! If you could only bottle that charm . . .

  2. Monica says:

    Sorry to hear of her passing. It’s wonderful she had the gift of true connection.

    The first time I read one of your books I kept trying to puzzle out why the scene sounded so familiar. Then I read the author blurb – Boothbay Harbor – of course!

    If any of those stalwart guests are looking to transfer their skills, I’ve got a place in Freeport…

  3. Lea Wait says:

    So glad I met her … a very special woman, for sure! Thanks for reminding us with this blog!

  4. Dick Cass says:

    Lovely appreciation, Barb. I have occasionally found myself under the spell of someone like this . .

  5. No wonder you capture the charm of Maine so well. A lovely way for Olga to be remembered, Barb.

  6. Cynthia E Blain says:

    That was such a wonderful obituary and tribute to your mother in law. Loved the way it chronicled her life.
    Wishing you the very best with your latest release. I need to order soon.. Thought I had but realized I was hoping for it to come out in audio CD or MP3. Will that be happening
    Cynthia B

  7. Dina says:

    What a wonderful lady she must’ve been!

  8. Gram says:

    RIP Olga.

  9. Skye says:

    Dear Barb: sorry for your loss, and what a lovely tribute to your mother-in-law. I also loved the Marchmain family ( and what a wonderful story, too). This is a wonderful post with memorable photos.

  10. Barb Ross says:

    Thank you, everyone, for your kind thoughts toward my mother-in-law.

  11. Kathleen Powers says:

    I am one of those folks who had the good fortune, to not only be a guest a the Seafarer Inn, but to be a cousin to Olga. We will always have the memories of our cousins gathering on a weekend, singing, cooking, reminiscing,playing trivia, and above all, sharing love and laughter. Thanks Olga

  12. bethc2015 says:

    The idea of paying guests pitching in an helping out is heartwarming. We have rented a cabin in Lubec for several years. I always try to leave it spotless and then leave a tip for the housekeeper. My husband laughs, but I enjoy my time by the sea so much that it is like polishing a cherished heirloom – a way of saying thanks for sharing this beauty.

  13. Carol Vallone says:

    As always Barb, your words conjure up fantastic images of the people and situations you describe. A lovely woman with the ethics and charm of a bygone era…

  14. Beautiful memorial to a unique personality. You have all been blessed.

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