R.J. Heller's Blog: Life Downeast, page 3

What we feel when in sight of the sea

“Ocean in view! O! the joy.” — William Clark

The other day I was looking at the ocean, remembering what famed explorer William Clark said upon seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time. I have always felt awe at the accomplishments of Lewis and Clark; as I get older, I admire their feat even more.

Maybe it is because of all the books I’ve read about the Corps of Discovery Expedition or the documentary by Ken Burns, aptly chronicling in words and pictures that 4100-mile journey from Missouri to the Pacific Ocean. Upon reaching the end of that arduous journey, William Clark stood and — in simple prose — exclaimed his joy on what his eyes saw.

Seeing the ocean and thinking those thoughts, I realized: Who hasn’t seen the ocean for the first time and not had a similar sentiment swell from within? Not many of us. Our feelings are personal yet remain a shared experience because of our primordial connection to water. The comforting salve the ocean provides to us in sight and sound causes emotions to bloom —be it a smile or a tear— revealing our joy and wonder when in company with the ocean.

I imagine Downeasters experience the ocean differently every day. Here the ocean is not only something they can see anytime; for many, it, too, is a place of work.  It is a friend when the weather is good, a foe when it turns bad. Its waters harbor life, which in turn sustains other life. It gives, it takes, is always respected, sometimes cursed and can be a friend. But it is always a companion to the waterlogged seaman who ply its waves.

Fishermen here Down East are special. Their weathered exterior adeptly hides that child they once were. They complain on the hard, complain even more at the helm of their boat, motoring with the tide to their fishing grounds. Yet that child-like wonder is always there whenever near or on the ocean.

With eyes constantly scanning the horizon, their emotions sink deep remembering old friends taken in an instant and buoyantly rise when a son or grandson leans in and performs well. Family means everything to the fisherman, and fishing and teaching is what they do — in that order. The ocean is their palette: muddled one day with breakers and tides running; glassy smooth other days with tides surrendering; still they fish, and they teach all they know.

I once asked a fisherman friend of mine what he sees and thinks about when he looks upon ocean waters day in and day out. It must become tedious or at the very least boring, I say to myself. George Sprague did not hesitate with his answer. In all the years he has tended and fished these waters, his feelings when holding hands with the ocean have not changed.

“I never tire of the riches and tranquil beauty of the ocean and am always joyous in its presence because of the memories it holds for me. Some 60 years ago while stepping into every footprint behind my dad on the many adventures we had together on the water, I now take those precious memories and —working with my son and he with his son — teach them, while everyday we make more memories on the water, together.”

These are good words, true words, words from the heart, which easily could be heard coming from any brine-soaked fisherman willing to be honest with him or herself. With every trap hauled, a child-like hand reaches up, tugs and pulls on the line reminding them of why they are here and how special a day on the ocean is every day. William Clark’s words may not come to mind when a loaded trap hits the deck, but I am certain the swell of emotion they feel is the very same when the sun breaches the horizon and tinges the ocean gold.

In the end, when it comes to that feeling I have when in the midst of ocean waters, I know this: They are the same feelings I had when I glimpsed those same waters in my youth. A swell of emotion begins in the gut, makes its way up through the body and tingles as I raise my head to see and breathe in to catch the light bouncing off the waves, salt air in my nose, men in boats big and small who wave, smile and plow through the sea of their youth, too, as they go to work. It is that same feeling I had as a boy: holding it in my sight, all wrapped and glistening in blue paper, sunlight its bow, and I, standing on the beach, a dock, deck or shoreline of granite bold, whispering out loud — “O! the joy.”

© RJ Heller 2021

First published The Quoddy Tides : May 28, 2021         Published Bangor Daily News : July 7, 2021

The post What we feel when in sight of the sea appeared first on RJ Heller.

Finding that slack tide in life

Water is everything. It is life sustaining; it washes, massages and comforts when hot or cold. The sound of water calms and soothes a worried spirit because it forever runs in our hearts and in our minds whether we are in its presence or not. Water is us.

Downeast tides are something to see. I realized this quickly in my travels here, especially along the Atlantic coast of Canada, in my early days of camping and vacations. High tides dazzle, bringing life on the water closer; low tides stretch and yawn revealing life below the surface. Given these chaotic times, I realize that those of us living here are the lucky ones because, if the tides have taught me anything, it is that there is a slack tide waiting, if and when one needs one to lean on.

I am now five years in on writing this column about what I see and feel living life Downeast. Many of my essays center on people living life amidst a unique, beautiful and challenging landscape. It is life observed without blinders.

It continues to be exciting for me because what I see still feels new, even when saturated by concern given our current situation. Speaking for me, it, too, feels like we are all just plain tired.

Tired from a political system fraught with polarizing rhetoric where sheer goodness is moved to the back of the line while personal and professional survival is sacrosanct, no matter what. News that comes at blazing speeds, anytime and everywhere, with shock and awe its objective by way of repeated and re-tweeted sound bites. Bits and pieces end up on our plates to eat, and, it works. People are angry, tired and stressed. People are afraid, yet still hungry for more.

I am ambivalent as to what the future holds. I have more questions than answers and less time to stay focused until I get an answer. Somewhere, I know people are out of work, who are hungry, lonely, feeling useless as COVID-19 marches on.

Societal unrest begs for a closer look at cultural divides, racism and police accountability amid a new “uncomfortable” normal. Yet essential workers still show up; teachers try to figure out what the coming school year will look like and summer takes its last breath across a fuzzy and foggy landscape of uncertainty as an uneasy feeling bubbles to the surface, causing me and many others to ask, “What’s next?”

Even here in this quiet serene place, the noise is getting louder and I am thinking we all need a respite from what the world seems focused on. It is tiring and sometimes confusing how it all happens at the same time. I am seeing it and I am hearing it from others. When are we supposed to come up for air?

In times like these, when the bad stuff seems to be winning, my mind drifts to the sight and sound of water. For others it may be a photo, a quote, a family memory, a good book or a favorite piece of music. We turn to things that wash us with goodness, block out the distractions and bring peace to our life — if just for a brief moment.

I sit and wait for a slack tide, that very brief period of time when tidal water is completely unstressed. Once called “the stand of the tide,” it is that time when there is no fall, no rise, no movement in either direction. The water simply is. And so is each one of us — if we take the opportunity to sit and wait for it to happen in our own lives. Looking inward while looking out, we can take a breath, grab some stillness and — at least for that moment — be at peace.

When slack tide arrives for me, the water and my life are like glass. Water grasses and kelp stand straight up; seals poke the water’s surface with big moist nostrils and even bigger eyes; eagles above are mirrored below as blue sky holds hands with blue water; gulls float on ribbons of air; a lobsterman looks to the horizon; a clamdigger looks up from the mud; engines go silent inside and out; a cormorant slaps the water in a hurry to get somewhere; air is still; light on the water glows; clouds pause; forest birds go quiet; tree tops stop dancing as wind reclines. And, for a moment, this place I call home is pure stillness as the answer floats to the surface and points to the possibility that many more will follow because, as all Downeasters know, the ever reliable tides never disappoint.