Another photograph with accompanying story for the meme
Wednesday Wit & Wisdom, hosted by Linda Kay of Senior Adventures...thanks Linda Kay!
He had wondered, his entire young life, why he loved the water so, why he longed for the smell of salt air and the sighing of the winds in the pines as gulls called and complained at the break of day. The ocean, rivers and marshy tributaries had always drawn him and he sat and watched the shore birds with his binoculars while he worried out the concerns of the day. The sunset on the ocean brought him to the sand with a blanket while the sand crabs danced around his bare feet. His childhood had been in a house of strife and tension, and to hide away from these torments, especially on the water, always brought him a measure of peace. But there was no real clue for this love of his until the day he drove his old hand-me-down car back to the place where his Dad had been raised.
The old man saw him wandering around on the waterline, picking up pieces of flotsam from the tides to examine an old bottle or piece of wood and stopping to gaze out across the mouth of the river where it fed into the bay. The young man was startled when he spoke and whirled to face the frail old waterman. They began to talk, the older man sitting on a nearby stump, and the teen moving up closer to him at the edge of the trees. He had never met a waterman before, and the wrinkled hands, he learned, had fashioned boats from the pines, had hauled crab cages up from the silty bottom of the river, and worked heavy oyster tongs from a deadrise in the waking day. As they shared the time, the younger man was carried back to a world not long past but real and honest and hard. But it was also beautiful, this time he was being carried to, and somehow a little familiar in the deepest recesses of his being. The old man dug into his overalls for a red kerchief, and wiped sweat from his bald head and brow.
"I knew your Great-grandpa and your Grandpa, " he said suddenly. Startled once more, the younger man was suddenly alert. "Watermen like me, farmers. Your Great-grandpa was a boat-builder." How could the old man know who he was, the boy wondered.
"They owned this piece of land, young man, " he said. "That big house yonder wasn't here then. The new owners built that about twenty years ago. Your people lived yonder inside the woods, on a small cove." His mind swirled with questions, but he wasn't sure how to ask them, and then as suddenly as he had been aware of the the old waterman's presence, he felt their time was over.
"My boy will have the truck fixed by now up on the road. He'll be wondering where I got off to." And the old man slowly rose from the stump, and turned slowly to walk away.
"I didn't get your name," said the boy.
"They always called me Jester, " the elder man called back over his shoulder, "I'm your Grand-dad's cousin. We heard he died near thirty year ago. That was a sad day. Sad day."
And the young man was suddenly alone again. He watched the waterman turn a corner past some crepe myrtles and call out to his son on the road. He didn't feel so alone anymore, somehow. He knew for the first time a kinship with a brand of people who took their life and livelihood from these waters he'd been drawn to all his life. He knew theirs was a dying breed, with only a few of them left in a world that was consuming their simpler life. He knew his own Dad had never told him of the connection they had to this world. But somehow that didn't matter anymore. He felt that connection and understood it for the first time, and it gave him a sense of his place in the world. And he was grateful to the old waterman for giving him something no one ever had before. For the first time, he knew who he was. And he smiled from deep inside.