Summer Has Arrived

One of the surest ways for me to know summer has really arrived, despite the date on the calender reminding me its been here for a while already, is for me to start seriously missing the ocean. I think you can see from my blog, the ocean is calling me. I was raised not far from the sea. The river that flowed into our town, just a few streets from our house was a salt water river, complete with tides, that is until they dammed it up. I come from a long line of sea captains, ship builders and the like. Stories abound of men lost at sea on their treks from
Nova Scotia to Boston. When the first hot sticky days arrive, I start thinking about the coolness of the wet sand, the ice cold, turn your body blue waters off Maine's coast. I long to hear sea gulls, feel a sea breeze, and watch the sun rise on the waves.
When I was a kid, my favorite poem was "Sea Fever", by John Masefield, and I still love it. It draws me into it, the words remind me of the beckoning powers of the ocean. The words reflect the way I feel. For years I wanted to spend my summer working on a clipper ship, or at least take a trip on one. Feeling the rolling waves lull me to sleep. See a black nights sky filled with sparkling stars, and feel the fury of a storm. Its good to have dreams like that, it broadens your own horizon, makes you study things, investigate the possibilities and learn new things.
Today I will just have to look at pictures, listen to a CD with waves in the background, cook myself some haddock, and hold some of the rocks gathered at the beach. It may suffice for a bit, but I will still long for that cool summer sea breeze on this hot summer no beach in sight Texas day.

"Sea-Fever"

I must 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 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 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.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).(

English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

nothing quite as pretty as a flower grown by the seaside