Morning Thought

 Easing along in the early morning mist and stillness, looking astern, I remember with gratitude the many gifts I have received, the wisdom that I have been shown. I hear the voices of my Fathers and Grandfathers saying to me; “Listen. Watch. Your eyes shall see your teacher, and you will hear a word behind you saying, this is the way, walk in it"…

This water, this bay is my home.

A solid boatload...

 It was early winter; I was probably about five or six years old.

(I remember Mom wouldn’t leave me by myself back then)

Ol Dad and Captain Benny was at the dock with a solid boatload of fish. Thirteen tons of rockfish, some still caught in the fine cotton webbing. They would be all night picking those fish out and getting them weighed up. All in all, it was a good haul! I remember all those people standing around shining lights into the hold ready to lend a hand.

Mind you Dad and Captain Benny had pulled all those nets and picked all those fish by hand. Back then there was no net reels or any of that!

Dad always told me the story about him and Captain Benny down there by Solomon’s Island, right around from Cove Point. Well, every night it was “Atrus, why don’t you fry us up a mess of them fish for supper tonight.” Finally, one night they was laid up for weather right there on Solomon’s island, Captain Benny wanted his same mess of fish for supper. Ol Dad says Cap. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going up to the A&P store and get us some steaks, if I eat one more piece of fish this week, I’ll start growing fins and scales!

I think that was Dad’s last trip “down the bay” He never was one to stray too far from home.

Where it all began

 

Where it all began…

The “Tongers Dock” just over the bridge on Tilghman's Island MD. Dad’s boat is in the foreground, affectionately known as “Mighty Mouse” This little boat supported Dad's growing family, At that time there were four of us including one severely handicapped brother and countless foster kids that Mom and Dad would take in and share their home.

 My first memories of being on the water, involved culling oysters, baitin' up the trotline and dipping crabs. Sometimes, in the evening after our work was done and the boat was cleaned up. We'd go back out fishing for rockfish (ya'll call 'em stripers now) to fill our freezer. Mom would  generally have a big batch of fried chicken or something she'd lay out on the engine box so we could eat and fish.

Good Times!

Can't - by Edgar Alber Guest

 Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken; Doing more harm than slander and lies;

Om it is many a strong spirit broken, and with it many a good purpose dies.

It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning and robs us of courage we need through the day:

It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning, and laughs when we falter and fall by the way.

Cant is the father of feeble endeavor, the parent of terror and half hearted work; It weakens the efforts of artisans clever, and makes of the toiler an indolent shirk.

It poisons the soul of a man with a vision, It stifles in infancy many a plan; It greets honest toiling with open derision and mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man.

Can't is a word that none should speak without blushing: To utter it should be a symbol of shame; Ambition and courage it daily is crushing; It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim.

Despise it with all of your hatred of error; Refuse it the lodgement it seeks in your brain; Arm against it as a creature of terror, And all that you dream of you someday shall gain.

Can't is the word that is foe to ambition, An enemy ambushed to shatter your will. It's prey is forever the man with a mission And bows but to courage and patience and skill.

Hate it, with hate that is deep and undying,

For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man; Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying And answer this demon by saying : I CAN !

(c) Edgar Albert Guest