The world was filled with a fragrance of fir-balsam and the faintest flavor of seaweed from the ledges, bare and brown at low tide in the harbor. It was so still and so early that the village was but half awake. I could hear no voices save those of the birds, small and great,- the constant song of the sparrows, the clink of a yellow-hammer over in the woods, and the far conversation of some deliberate crows.
~ Sarah Orne Jewett
The Country of the Pointed Firs
The Country of the Pointed Firs
There is something all together different about living on the coast of Maine, if only for a week. Time is gauged by the tides. The sea, the shoreline and all it's mysteries beckon. Crabs hidden in the seaweed, sea glass sparkling in the sand, stones rubbed round and smooth, wild roses, high bush blueberries, lobster feasts, and clothes sun drying on the line. And, through it all I feel the tug of the tide on my heart.... I always find such great opportunity for emotional healing in the sounds of the waves.
We kept a keen eye out for animals. One harp seal in particular used a rock near our cottage at low tide to stake it's claim and take a well needed break from seal responsibilities.
Lobstering is serious business in Maine. We watched the boats come in all day long and pull the traps, choose the catch to keep, throw the old bait to the hungry sea gulls, add new bait and drop the trap again. Old men and young, women too. Boats with names like the Redeemed or the Available.
We did a lot of collecting. Rocks, shells, sea glass, and favorite memories.
What child wouldn't want to explore on this beach?? What adult wouldn't, for that matter??
~The Country of the Pointed Firs
One could learn a lot about patience from a periwinkle.
