From river to sea.

Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick's over.

-- John Masefield


I had an early morning walk along the tidal Machias River, scrambling over rocks, budding sea heather and inhaling scents of salty mudflats. My dad, brother and I, accompanied by a succession of family dogs, combed this bank every summer vacation. Beaver chewed sticks, washed smooth by rocks and tide, bear droppings, gull feathers. Ancient hunks of chert passed over by Native Americans while making their points and tools. Rocks of every color and shape, old rusted boat parts, empty clamshells and crabs dot the shoreline. A perfect morning where my grandfather loaded and boarded masted ships bearing sails headed for the open sea. This place is magical to me and mine.

Old Machiasport postcard view


Many thanks again for helping my Yellow Warbler fly to the Spotlight page. My comments have been sparse,vacation fun abounds and seven house guests fill the days. We're headed to West Quoddy Head Light today, my great great great great grandfather was a Keeper there in the '1850s.