What I Did on My Summer Vacation
We went to Maine, is what we did. The three of us in our family, plus David, a travelling companion for our son, Seth. Seth just recently turned seventeen, which is quite an achievement. David has been seventeen for a good time longer.
We stayed in a old fishing shack fixed up with modern conveniences, like running water, electricity, a bathroom, kitchen, bedrooms, and quite serviceable furniture. All in all, though, it was still basic shelter. It was the location that gave it special charm. Built on stilts on the bank of a little creek that emptied quickly into the sea, the shack put us on the edge of the action. The tide’s action was the main event. At low tide, the creek was a trickle one could easily jump across; at high tide, the creek was 100 yards across in places, and gathered around the stilts that held the shack high and dry.
Across the creek, acres of salt water marsh spread lush and green. The grasses were uniform in height, according to species. One type of grass occupied the seaward edge of the marsh, another grew behind the first, taking over as a transition before giving way to the forests on higher ground. Slicing through the marsh was a channel connecting our creek’s little inlet with the full-sized bay to our north, Cape Porpoise.
Birds were everywhere, most of which we could not identify, because shore birds have never been our strong point. But we did recognize and enjoy a group of snowy egrets wading in the shallows upon jet-black legs and bright yellow feet. Breeding plumage was evident, but the breeding itself, well, that must have taken place behind closed bulrushes.
By the way, we worshipped on the second Sunday in July at St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, just south of our creek in Kennnebunkport. Not in the small but formidable church building did we worship, but outside, on a high bluff overlooking the open sea. This open air sanctuary was equipped with set of pews coated with gloss paint, facing a large stone altar. On the front row to our left sat members of the Bush family: George Herbert Walker Bush (“Poppy”) and Barbara, son Jeb Bush and his wife and children. Jeb’s sister (forgot her name) passed out bulletins to worshippers as they arrived and served as a Eucharistic minister during communion.
It was all very interesting. The summer priest was an affable sort. This was his normal post. Each season he comes up from Shreveport, Louisiana, where he is Dean of the Cathedral there. The sermon taxed neither the mind or spirit, but the liturgy was quite satisfactory. The priest, with a fine voice, supported a somewhat surprising repertoire of camp-style music, the words printed on handouts: Kum By Yah, We Are One in the Spirit, that sort of thing. Afterwards the Bushes hung around with the worshippers -- most of whom, like us, were visitors -- just like regular folk. Then they got in their secret service vehicles and left.
We were introduced to another Episcopal priest, the headmaster of St. Paul’s prep school in Concord, New Hampshire, and his wife. We talked on the church lawn under a bright and warming sun, also like regular folk. Afterwards, we bought coffee in town and had brunch back at the creek. Our host and hostess, Chris and Marcia, fixed blueberry pancakes and sausage. Later, we went out in their Boston Whaler onto the big water and sat watching harbor seals surface and play around. Again, all very interesting.
But what really captured our interest was the tide, coming in and going out, ebbing and flowing. We watched it build under a gorgeous, waxing moon, each night’s flow higher than the one before. And then we saw it lessen with the moon.
When you’re living on top of the tide like we were, when all of our actions are regulated by this planetary regulation, we learn to adjust, and in our case, very quickly. There’s a natural grace in and around the tide, the great cleansing action of the sea, the mixing of salt water with fresh, the churning of life and the estuarial genesis of life that goes on twice a day every day all over the world. The tide brings water from far way, varying places to the most local ones. It flows to possess land and air, reducing and elevating all to liquid. The stationary is set into motion, is linked with one and more of a thousand possible currents to wind up virtually anywhere before it rests. It rests just for awhile before the tide finds it and sets it once more in motion, into the swirling stream of life. It’s all about life, this grace, natural and otherwise. And this life, from the simplest to the most complex form of it, is all about grace.
As Ever,
Dee
We stayed in a old fishing shack fixed up with modern conveniences, like running water, electricity, a bathroom, kitchen, bedrooms, and quite serviceable furniture. All in all, though, it was still basic shelter. It was the location that gave it special charm. Built on stilts on the bank of a little creek that emptied quickly into the sea, the shack put us on the edge of the action. The tide’s action was the main event. At low tide, the creek was a trickle one could easily jump across; at high tide, the creek was 100 yards across in places, and gathered around the stilts that held the shack high and dry.
Across the creek, acres of salt water marsh spread lush and green. The grasses were uniform in height, according to species. One type of grass occupied the seaward edge of the marsh, another grew behind the first, taking over as a transition before giving way to the forests on higher ground. Slicing through the marsh was a channel connecting our creek’s little inlet with the full-sized bay to our north, Cape Porpoise.
Birds were everywhere, most of which we could not identify, because shore birds have never been our strong point. But we did recognize and enjoy a group of snowy egrets wading in the shallows upon jet-black legs and bright yellow feet. Breeding plumage was evident, but the breeding itself, well, that must have taken place behind closed bulrushes.
By the way, we worshipped on the second Sunday in July at St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, just south of our creek in Kennnebunkport. Not in the small but formidable church building did we worship, but outside, on a high bluff overlooking the open sea. This open air sanctuary was equipped with set of pews coated with gloss paint, facing a large stone altar. On the front row to our left sat members of the Bush family: George Herbert Walker Bush (“Poppy”) and Barbara, son Jeb Bush and his wife and children. Jeb’s sister (forgot her name) passed out bulletins to worshippers as they arrived and served as a Eucharistic minister during communion.
It was all very interesting. The summer priest was an affable sort. This was his normal post. Each season he comes up from Shreveport, Louisiana, where he is Dean of the Cathedral there. The sermon taxed neither the mind or spirit, but the liturgy was quite satisfactory. The priest, with a fine voice, supported a somewhat surprising repertoire of camp-style music, the words printed on handouts: Kum By Yah, We Are One in the Spirit, that sort of thing. Afterwards the Bushes hung around with the worshippers -- most of whom, like us, were visitors -- just like regular folk. Then they got in their secret service vehicles and left.
We were introduced to another Episcopal priest, the headmaster of St. Paul’s prep school in Concord, New Hampshire, and his wife. We talked on the church lawn under a bright and warming sun, also like regular folk. Afterwards, we bought coffee in town and had brunch back at the creek. Our host and hostess, Chris and Marcia, fixed blueberry pancakes and sausage. Later, we went out in their Boston Whaler onto the big water and sat watching harbor seals surface and play around. Again, all very interesting.
But what really captured our interest was the tide, coming in and going out, ebbing and flowing. We watched it build under a gorgeous, waxing moon, each night’s flow higher than the one before. And then we saw it lessen with the moon.
When you’re living on top of the tide like we were, when all of our actions are regulated by this planetary regulation, we learn to adjust, and in our case, very quickly. There’s a natural grace in and around the tide, the great cleansing action of the sea, the mixing of salt water with fresh, the churning of life and the estuarial genesis of life that goes on twice a day every day all over the world. The tide brings water from far way, varying places to the most local ones. It flows to possess land and air, reducing and elevating all to liquid. The stationary is set into motion, is linked with one and more of a thousand possible currents to wind up virtually anywhere before it rests. It rests just for awhile before the tide finds it and sets it once more in motion, into the swirling stream of life. It’s all about life, this grace, natural and otherwise. And this life, from the simplest to the most complex form of it, is all about grace.
As Ever,
Dee
posted by Rick at 7:46 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home