Lost to the Sea
Treasure Beach Forum:
Lost to the Sea
LOST AT SEA…REMEMBERING OUR FISHERMEN
It starts with a piercing scream. A high-pitched, agonizing cry from a lone female voice… that of a mother, a partner, a sister, a daughter.
Then it is picked up by another… and another… and another. It is a relay of grief, that makes its way up from the cove sheltered by the bluff at Great Bay, across the sand dunes of Olde Wharf, through the pine trees whistling in the breeze at Calabash Bay. It gnaws at the trunk of the old button wood tree at Frenchman – a witness to so much that has gone before… that keeper of secrets held dear. If you listen carefully you will hear it in the waves crashing against the rocks in Billy’s Bay and up in the hills overlooking Fort Charles.
It sweeps up from Greenfield, into Lewis Town and Bluntas, Sandy Bank and Beacon, and Cross Roads and Flagaman…It weaves them all together in a tapestry of loss…and pain…and, ultimately, redemptive love.
Pick any year and you will find this experience recorded in the annals of Treasure Beach. But you will have to pause for deep reflection at 1963…the year of ‘The Snowboy’…. Two scores, gone in a moment; a third of them from this place. This place of peace…and warmth…and light hearted banter, where we greet each other as ‘cuz’ and ‘breds.’ It is a language all our own. Because we know, more than most, the duplicity of the sea, which gives with one wave then takes away with another.
We see the woman as she holds him tightly…in the dead of night, or just before daylight. This, she knows, only too well, might be the last goodbye shared with this rugged man…
This fisherman, his arms bristling with strength, built from memorable battles with the raging tempests of the sea.
“Tek care,” she tells him softly. “Si yu lata!” he replies more brightly. He cannot let her feel HIS fears.
After all he’s the man, so he tells himself he must show no weakness.
But what is man when he’s up against the power of nature? He cannot rely on his own devices. He must call on The Higher Power.
And so, as he slips into the shadows, he begins to whistle his favourite hymn…
Let the lower lights be burning Send a gleam across the waves Some poor fainting, struggling seaman, You may rescue, you may save.
Brightly beams our Father's mercy From His lighthouse evermore, But to us He gives the keeping, Of the lights along the shore.
Dark the night of sin has settled, Loud the angry billows roar, Eager eyes are watching, longing, For the lights along the shore.
Trim your feeble lamp my brother, Some poor sailor tempest-tossed, Trying now to make this harbour, In the darkness may be lost.
Our great respect given to all the fishermen and their family members.
Below are links to pages devoted to the individuals who have passed.
Use them to leave your comments, remembrances, and pictures
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