Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Boats in the Harbor

Thanks to all who stopped by to join in last Wednesday!

Here's hoping some of you might join me in posting a story with a picture for Wednesday Wit and Wisdom.  The challenge is to post a picture, then write a short story or a poem about the picture as a writing exercise.  When you have your story written, you can link up for others to read.  Feel free to also add your picture and story to another link of your choice. The link up is on my WWW page here. This is #29!

I have so many pictures to share with you from this amazing four weeks in Maine, and many tell a story. Here's in one for this week:

I watched them together out on the pier, my son and my grandson. Tommy grew up on my lobster boat, always anxious to head out to check the lobster traps and drag them on board to be sold at the markets. You can see our boat there off to the right. Lobster fishing is all I've ever known, having followed my father's trade when he was unable to continue. The sea is in our blood. I remember as a youngster coming down to the pier to follow my dad onto his boat to check our traps. The blue of the sea and the sky make me smile, and the scent of the ocean fills my nostrils. I take a deep breath and sigh.

Tommy didn't stay in the harbor with me. After his mother died, he went off to college and became an engineer with no time for the lobster boats. Several years back, I fell on the pier and permanently injured my leg and my right arm and have to walk with a cane. My days on the sea are now limited to just a short excursion, and sometimes I take along a family or a couple who have come here to visit the sea. No more lobster catches for me. But I have to wonder about the stories Tommy might be sharing with my grandson. 

One event that comes to mind is the day we were caught at sea in a storm that tossed our little lobster boat about for over an hour. Tommy and I were both soaked through to the bone from trying to keep the boat from listing to her side and slipping under the water. The rain was relentless, coming down in torrents. Tommy was probably only about eleven or twelve years old, but he came through like a champ. I wonder if that is one of the stories he might be sharing. 

Tommy took the keys to the boat with him when he walked down to the pier. I wonder if the sea will call him to take his son out onto the water. Maybe if I hobble down there to see them, I can encourage him. I'd love to see his son fall in love with the sea.

Now it's your turn. Just find a special picture, post it to your blog and write a short story that comes to mind from the photo. Then join in to share your story. Have a happy Wednesday!

Linda Kay
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