He Cries Sometimes

"One day I looked up and he's pushin' eighty

And there's brown tobacco stains all down his chin

Well to me he's one of the heroes of this country

So why's he dressed up like them old men."

~Guy Clark (Desperados Waiting for a Train)

His barns are all sagging now. They are growing old along side him. They have heaved and twisted, settling with age. They are full of treasures that he has collected and stored throughout the decades. His Maple tree is fringed with red and orange, even though it's just mid August. The year and the evening grow old as we sit in the grass under his Bull Pine. But his woodshed is full. With pleasure he looks in the door knowing that all of it will help to ward off the cold and the wind that will come a-callin' through his plaster walls and single pane windows. Like all the years that have gone on before he cut, split, and stacked his wood with care, but this year he went slowly, sometimes not at all, 'cause he is tired.




His fingers, that worked and toiled all through these years are hard as leather, worn and weathered, but they have kept him alive; him and all those he supported through the years. The Good Lord knows those hands and the sacrifices they have made.

He walks now so that he can see the world spin 'round again. One foot in front of the other he walks down roads he has traveled in various vehicles, he now knows them intimately. And he watches these roads change with the seasons. Walking and living ~ in the sleet and rain, when the sunshines, and when wet snow flakes fall ~ covering his wool shirt and white beard. What dreams, what thoughts, what discoveries do you make, Old Man, on these daily journeys that you partake?

His causeway, being a joy to him, has become a daily haven. He has watched it ice over, become solid, and then recede from the shoreline until it became again a living, moving flow of water.

Tears well up and he cries sometimes. He remembers the past and a few good friends. The heartache and the joy of living. But his bills are paid and he has a lovely wife.

He dreams still ~ wonderful and full of life. But sometimes now he dreams of Heaven and it doesn't seem so far away. He thinks of those he loved; waiting for him there and sometimes he feels he could reach forth his hand. Reaching for a Savior, a brother, a father and mother. But sometimes he loves life and all the beauty he finds here. And he cries.

From my heart to yours, Jen

Blowin' Smoke at the Squirrel Corral

For Bunks and every other boy,

young and old, who has dreamed

the Dream of days long past.

Wild and free,

with boots and hats,

a Colt .45 and a Model 94.

This is your story.


"I did not intend that any of the band should get the drop on me if I could help it."
Wyatt Earp
(reflecting back on the fight at the OK Corral)

We were called in to clean up this town, Pa and me, we meant to do it, too. Now, Pa's a hero from way back, say 'bout '68 or so and he rode with the US Army for a bit so he knew how to shoot. Me, bein' younger an' all wasn't quite the same, but I'd wore out a gun or two myself. So with the likes of John Wayne, the Sacketts, an' the Earp brothers we were willin' to do what it took, even if it meant bein' at the ready day or night. Some mornin' it was first thing, our boots in the corner, still waitin' to be shook out. Never put your boots on without shakin' 'em first. We weren't fearful of rattlers this far north, up here it was things like bits of wood or Lego men. You never could tell.


Anyway, the women folk 'round here were gettin' fearful of all the maurdin' and thievin' that's been goin' on. Especially Ol' Ma there. And you know how she gets once she's on a roll, starts to dreamin' 'bout it all and when that happens you never know where you'll end up.
Anyway, they'd come out of those forested hills, slung low, gray and beady eyed, thinkin' they owned the place. Now the leader there, he was the worst we'd ever seen. Conniving, ruthless, and smart. We never knew if it was 'cause of his handicap or not. But smart he was. Went by the name 'One-eyed Jack'. Legendary 'round these parts. You never could tell if he was lookin' right at you with that eye or not. So it was, Pa an' me waitin' there on the floor knowing this was the day to bring 'im down.

Wanted Dead, not Alive

Then One-eyed Jack was there! Not carin' 'bout us, he'd been shot at before. But he never reckoned on havin' Ol' Pa there. Pa sighted in that ol' rifle and fired a single shot. And when the smoke settled we strung us up another tail.

Like greenhorns we marked our kills.

From my heart to yours, Jen

Blown In On The Wind

"Twilight drops her curtain down,

and pins it with a star."

L. M. Montgomery

As the sun sets in the distant hills it turns my world gold, touching everywhere, even the air is filled with color ~ a live and changing, fleeting beauty. I long for words to paint the wonder around me, yet like so much of God's good earth, living and loving are the only way to capture it.
In all this beauty it is time for one of my last tasks of the day, to take in my laundry~ now crisp
and clean and smelling of the Sunshine that has blown in on the wind.

 



A hush has fallen over the neighborhood, calm and quiet. The birds sing their lullabies, I listen and pick out each song. The chickadees, the robins, and the catbird. The dove sings his soft, sad song and the goldfinch who sings on the wing. The cardinal sits in high in the Mountain Ash tree, in royal red, he sings his heart out. I await hoping that the wood-thrush will grace my yard this evening and venture forth from his home in the deep wood. And so he does.

"And where the shadows deepest fell,

The wood-thrush rang his silver bell."

~Longfellow

Or even better yet spoke John Townsend Trowbridge when he wrote ~

"Like liquid pearls fresh showered from Heaven,

The high notes of the lone Wood-thrush

Fall on the forest's holy bush."

Slowly as the light fades around me my world of color is now shades of gray and white and in the deepest shadows black prevails. The sky its self darkens until the first star appears, a small diamond shining for me. As I relish this time of quiet I remember days long past. When we belonged to Summer and it to us. Open, breezy, dew touched grass, the creak of a swing and a best friend's laugh. In barefeet and blue jeans, You and I, Old Friend of Mine, side by side on an old wood swing in your backyard. Fireflies and shooting stars, but we preferred the thoughts that rambled through our minds, we wove them into dreams and fancies that had blown in on the wind. Promises we made, You and I, to never stray from this where our loyalties lay. But life went on and we went searching, reckless, sad and foolish down different roads that are now far and away. And at the crossroad of our parting we left keys, for your heart and mine.
You and I ~ Blown away in the wind.

And so as the Heavens now fill fast with the distant stars, I am back standing on solid ground in the Cathedral of God's good earth. Born again and growing older surrounded by love and redemption, getting high on Sunshine and Beauty. A wooden laundry basket on my hip filled with crisp, clean Sunshine. The wood-thrush's last hymn is now sung, the notes blown away in the wind. I make a wish for Old Time's Sake, sweeter and softer now, then ever it was back then.

"Oh, LORD, let the day following

be just as beautiful as the one now done."

And wherever you are tonight, Old Friend of Mine, I pray the same for you.

Profit For A Hillbilly's Soul

"If wishes were horses,

Beggars would ride."

And I~ I would live by the seaside. I would not wish for white sand beaches, aquamarine seas, or endless sunny days. Instead in this wonder world of dreams Gloucester would miraculously become apart of my beloved New Hampshire and here we would dwell, for it is this sea town that has captured my heart. The first day I met her all those years ago, it was love at first sight.
A working town since the 1620's she does not put on a show or any pretense of grand illusion. And I love her for it. It is here that my senses are filled with life, history, and the working of a harbor.

The cry of gulls.

The creak and groan of boats that tug and pull at their moorings, impatient for the sea.

Small and cramped roads leading to wharfs and fish markets.

The mossy, decaying wooden pilings.

Men who spend their working hours in chest waders and rubber boots.

Old building,

precariously cling to life and shore,

just a little bit longer ~ 

they wish to see the tide turn and the next generation of fishermen go out to sea.

And all this delights me.

Heart and Soul.

 

The "Arethusa" hauling in her lobster pots, her buoys red and white, mark the hope of her livelihood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The gulls stand sentry duty on the sea-side,

of the half mile long breakwater.

 

In this wonderland the boat traffic has
equal preference to the motor vehicles. The drawbridge is allowing the "Jaylee" to pass through from the harbor into the canal that connects the Annisquam River to the Atlantic.

I wonder to what enchanted land this gate opens to and I envision along with Austin Dobson that ~

"Here in this sequestered close

Bloom the hyacinth and the rose;

Here beside the modest stock

Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;

Here, as everywhere, one sees,

Ranks, conditions, and degrees.

All the seasons run their race

In this quiet resting place." 

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters: These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. Psalm107. 23-24

He keeps an eternal vigil at his harbor, a memory of those who gave it all for the love of the sea. Their 5,368 names engraved stand before him. Almost 400 years of memories he faithfully protects.

The Stellwagen Bank

Where you really gain an interest and profit for your soul
The curvature of the earth gives the illusion that we could sail ever on ward in this blue, black sea until we finally met the heavens. All around us there is only waves that incessantly move toward shore, they lift the "Miss Cape Ann" as they pass under her bow then continue their journey that never ends. We stand as far forward as we can, letting the wind, salt, and sun cover us completely.

We travel 25 miles out from the Gloucester Harbor until we are on the south end of Stellwagen Bank. It is 842 square miles of rich and fertile feeding grounds that form a plateau, at about only 100' deep it brings life in abundance as the colder, deeper waters that surround it bring up to its surface nourishment for all those that spend time there.

Thar She Blows



Her

name

is

Nile.



There are 2500 Humpback cataloged by name in the Gulf of Maine. They are identified as individuals by the white markings on their tails, each one is unique as our finger prints. Nile also has a very distinctive hook on her dorsal fin giving her additional identification. Her mother was named Mars. Nile has given birth to 4 calves and as her life expectancy is 70 -80 years there is great hope she will have a few more. The whales really do eat a ton of food per day and usually live in a pod ( I don't know why she was alone). I am amazed that there is that much life for them all. God' good earth, as old and tired as it is, is still so full of wonder and charm. The humpbacks go back and forth between the north and the tropics every year. They do not eat the whole time they are gone from the rich and fertile North Atlantic. The tropics is their nursery but does not have enough food to sustain them. 

I apologize that the photo is not so good, but this is Nile's identification.Whales