Sunflowers

One day this past summer a pot full of sunflowers mysteriously appeared on our porch.  I never learned who put them there or why, but their big, bright, and cheerful yellow blooms caught my attention, and I took to watering them regularly because they were so pretty.  They also reminded me of a family visit on Long Island that took place about five years ago.

Normally, I prefer not to travel on Sunday.  Sometimes, however, exceptions to this policy become necessary, and because they are exceptions, they are also memorable occasions.  On this particular occasion, Miss Patty and I were traveling to Long Island on Sunday because on Monday she would depart from Kennedy Airport and fly to Brazil for our daughter’s wedding.  And so in the afternoon of July 20, 2014, we drove to New London, Connecticut, and then sailed to Orient Point, Long Island, aboard the ferry Cape Henlopen.  The weather on the water was so beautiful and the crossing was so tranquil and sublime that it seemed, if not actually sinful, at least morally deficient to not be at sea that Sunday.  As always, though, the voyage ended too quickly, and we drove off the ship and continued westward.

Diverting this time from our usual route through the built-up North Fork villages from Greenport to Riverhead, we followed Route 25A, a secondary road through the farmlands of Eastern Long Island instead.  It was a pleasant diversion through less traffic and more open country, a restful alternative fitting for a day of rest.  Along the way we passed several roadside farm stands open for business, and as we neared Wading River, we came upon a roadside floral vender selling sunflowers.

For many years, I’ve been in the habit of bringing flowers to my Mom when returning home for a visit.  Usually, I picked these up at the Petal Pusher in Penn Station or at Howard’s in Mineola.  Today, however, while taking a more bucolic route, an opportunity arose to get her a bouquet made up entirely of locally grown sunflowers.  Mom would love these, we figured, with their bright yellow petals, dark brown centers, and green leaves and stems.  Uniform but not identical, all these sunflowers would be strikingly different from a customary commercial bouquet produced by a florist.

When we arrived at the family headquarters about 6:00pm, Mom liked the sunflowers very much.  Following her usual custom, she placed them in a vase with fresh water and put them on display in the living room.  Several times she remarked on the brightness and cheerfulness of their colors and added that these ranked among her favorite flowers.  In the days that followed, she enjoyed the sunflowers very, very much.

Also in the following days, Miss Patty left for Brazil, and I had a pleasant visit with my parents.  On Thursday, July 24, I took an afternoon train to Boston and then the bus back to Nashua.  Our car remained on Long Island pending Miss Patty’s return from the wedding.

In the following years, I’ve come to associate sunflowers with my Mom.  Aptly named, they have a sunny disposition that resembles hers.  Scientifically known as Helianthus, their simple beauty and bright colors create a cheerful atmosphere wherever they are displayed.  How fitting, then, that they should remind me a of someone who appreciated the beauty of the world and who saw this beauty as the gift of a Creator-God to his human children.

One part of the world whose beauty Mom especially enjoyed and appreciated was the seashore, where the land and the sea intermingle.  During her childhood, she spent summer vacations with her parents and extended family at the seaside on both the North Shore and the South Shore of Long Island.  Later, she continued to visit the seashore with college friends, and after that, with her own family.  Over a lifetime, she became acquainted with Long Beach, Lido Beach, Point Lookout, Tobay Beach, Jones Beach, Cedar Island, Oak Beach, Oak Island, Captree, Fire Island, Massapequa, Lindenhurst, Babylon, Montauk Point, Orient Point, Mount Sinai, Port Washington, and the Long Island Sound ferries.  In addition, she sailed the family sailboat on the Great South Bay for many years, and she made one ocean voyage to Bermuda and the Bahamas aboard the Evangeline as a young adult.  During her last years, with restrictions on her mobility, Mom could well have echoed the words of the great seaman and poet John Masefield:

A wind’s in the heart of me, a fire’s in my heels,

I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;

I hunger for the sea’s edge, the limits of the land,

Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.[1]

And so Mom and my father both took great pleasure in visiting the South Shore barrier beaches and voyaging aboard the Moon Chaser on the Great South Bay when I returned home to see them.

My parents still owned an automobile, so I drove them down to the oceanfront.  On these outings we followed the Ocean Parkway to our first stop at Oak Beach.  There, on a recently built fishing pier, we looked out at the Fire Island Inlet, watched the fishermen go about their business, and decided if we should cross the bridge to Fire Island itself or go to Captree for lunch.  Often we did both.  On Fire Island we admired the lighthouse, sometimes hiking out to it on the boardwalk through the sand dunes and beach grass.  At the beach, we spent a long time walking through the sand along the water’s edge and taking in the majestic view of the great Atlantic Ocean.  This was always a sight like no other, a temporary escape from the densely populated and heavily built-up urban area.  At Captree, we dined in the second floor Captree Cove Restaurant, and we enjoyed the views of the fishing boat docks, the adjacent waterways, and the distant lighthouse as much as we enjoyed the food.

On days when the Moon Chaser was sailing, we drove from the house directly to the Captree Boat Basin.  This vessel sailed on sedate sightseeing excursions in the afternoons, and my parents always sat on the upper deck in front of the pilothouse on these voyages.  From this vantage point, they had an unlimited view of everything on the water.  Leaving Captree at 1:00pm, the ship always proceeded eastward through the State Boat Channel to the open water of the Great South Bay.  Then, she sailed along the northern shoreline of Fire Island as far as the Fire Island Lighthouse.  Along this route she wended her way among fishing boats, sailboats, and the small trans-bay ferries that connected the communities of Fire Island with the Mainland.  There was always plenty of activity, and thus plenty of sights to see, on the bay.  Once abeam of the famed Fire Island Light, the Moon Chaser came about and slowly returned to Captree.  After disembarking around 3:00pm, we usually had an early dinner at the Captree Cove before heading back home.

Since my parents could no longer drive, they appreciated the opportunity to ride down to the barrier beaches and sail on the bay when I visited them.  As much as they both enjoyed these excursions, though, it was my Mom who always spoke admiringly and even reverently about the beauty of the seashore and the open ocean.  She saw the hand of God in everything there.  The innumerable grains of sand on the beach, the abundance and variety of life in and alongside the sea, the sun, moon, and clouds in the sky, and the seemingly limitless sea and sky stretching out to the horizon and far behind—all of these and more demonstrated the existence, genius, and perfection of God for her.  Mom never read this verse, but having studied Thomistic theology in college with the Ursuline nuns, she no doubt would have agreed with the scriptural assertion that:

all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth and all things

that are upon the face of it. . .and also all the planets which move

in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator

(Alma 30:44).

Like many merchant seamen, Mom understood that there was much more to the sea than salt water.  She appreciated the spiritual aspect of the sea, and gazing upon it always involved an epiphany wherein the Supreme Creator manifested himself to her.

This did not happen only at the seashore, though.  Mom saw the hand of God in such diverse locations as the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania, the pine tree forests in Maine, the Botanical Gardens in Brooklyn, and the birds and squirrels in the trees of her own backyard.  She loved the world of Nature in all its forms, and she recognized it as a divine masterpiece.  Several times, when viewing the stars in the night sky, she asked rhetorically, “How can anyone look at all this and not believe in God?”  A poem she wrote captures this thought more artistically:

A precious orb that floats in space

Our Earth’s unique, a special place

Where living things together ride

An enormous carousel, and bide

In a friendly atmosphere

Of rich black loam and water clear,

Of sun and shade and rain and snow,

Miraculous ingredients to make us grow.

Dear Earth, some scientists proclaim

You were thrown from the sun, without aim

Or design, to become by destiny

This wondrous planet, this prodigy.

Are you just a freak in space

Or do you exist through divine grace,

A perfect setting for a priceless gem,

God’s image and likeness—men?[2]

Such was my Mom’s view of the sea, the world, and the cosmos.  They were all the work of the Supreme Creator, and she often expressed her gratitude for the majesty and beauty of his creation.

And so whenever I arrived back home with a bouquet of flowers, Mom saw them, too, as the work of God.  She always remarked on the beauty of their colors and then arranged them in a vase for display.  She always enjoyed these fresh flowers, and she especially enjoyed the fresh sunflowers that summer day five years ago.  No doubt she would have enjoyed the pot of sunflowers that mysteriously appeared on our porch this summer, too.

Now let’s look at some pictures!  First, in this vintage photograph from 1947, we seen my Mom on the right with the radio officer and a fellow passenger aboard the Evangeline of the Eastern Steamship Lines on a voyage from New York to Bermuda and the Bahamas and back.  The ship sailed from New York on Wednesday, July 30, and returned about a week or so later.

Next, we see my parents on the fishing dock at Captree on Thursday, June 25, 2009.  The buoys in the water behind them delineate the State Boat Channel, which leads eastward to the more open waters of the Great South Bay and the Fire Island Inlet.

Here, on her day off, the Moon Chaser reposes at her berth in the Captree Boat Basin on Thursday, 

September 19, 2013.

 

In this lovely view we see the Fire Island Light from the Moon Chaser on Thursday, August 26, 2010.

Finally, the million dollar view.  From the uncrowded, postseason, bathing beach on Fire Island on Thursday, September 19, 2013, we look at the great Atlantic Ocean.  A perfect place to contemplate the divine design of the world and the meaning and purpose of human life.

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[1] John Masefield, “A Wanderer’s Song,” in Salt-Water Ballads, New York: The MacMillan Company, 1913, p. 61; reprinted by Bibliobazaar, n.p., n.d.

[2] Justine Elizabeth Burns, “The Earth,” unpublished poem, one of many in her personal papers.

The Last Train Home

In my present employment, I have the dubious opportunity to hear canned music for much of my workday.  Most of this stuff simply goes in one ear and then promptly out the other, but occasionally a line of lyrics becomes lodged in my mind.  One such verse is, “Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.”[1]  Hearing this line repeatedly leads to memorizing it, but more significantly, it sets a train of thought in motion.

Many times in the last several years have I taken “the last train home tonight.”  This last train left Boston South Station at 9:30pm every evening, made most of the stops along the way, and arrived in New York Penn Station at 2:30am.  I rode this train several times each year when I returned to my childhood home to visit and check up on my aging parents.  After a long and busy workday, I rode the Boston Express bus into South Station and then got on the train, and this schedule worked out quite well.  The bus was always a great soporific.  When it left Nashua, I fell asleep, but I always woke up just in time as it neared South Station.  The Amtrak train was even more comfortable.  I slept most of the way to New York, but I always awakened briefly at key points along the Shore Line that brought back memories for me.

The first of these spots was along the shore of Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island.  As the train rushed along, I sleepily glanced out the window at the black sky and blacker water and momentarily remembered sailing on this great bay aboard the tugboat Charger as she hauled the gasoline barge Interstate 35 toward Providence.  Then I went back to sleep.

The second wake-up took place as the train stopped in New London, Connecticut.  Once again gazing sleepily out the window, I noticed most of the Cross Sound Ferry fleet tied up for the night at the floodlit piers.  The larger vessels  John H and Cape Henlopen always stood out because of their size, but after a moment the Susan Anne and the Mary Ellen and others came into view as well.  As the train loaded and discharged passengers, I recalled the many voyages the family had made aboard these vessels when driving between New Hampshire and Long Island.  Then, with my mind comfortably at sea, I went back to sleep as the train eased away from the station.

The third seaside wake-up spot was in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and this one was always very brief.  Following the station stop, the train rolled past the dock used by the Bridgeport and Port Jefferson ferry.  Often one of this line’s three ships was spending the night there.  I usually woke up slightly for a moment, just long enough to peer out the window and maybe see the Grand Republic or the Park City and recall the occasional voyages I had made on this mid-Sound route.  Then I quickly fell asleep again.

At last, after a quiet and restful journey, the train reached the Hell Gate Bridge in New York.  Wide awake at this point and getting ready to disembark, I took in the grand view of the East River from this landmark span.  To the west the water led to the skyscrapers of Manhattan; to the east it wended its way toward Fort Schuyler and beyond into Long Island Sound.  I remembered that I had sailed this route numerous times aboard the Charger-Interstate 35 combination many years ago  Next, and it always seemed too soon, the train pulled into the subterranean caverns of the Pennsylvania Station, and the peaceful and pleasant nocturnal railroad voyage ended.

Penn Station at 2:30 in the morning was everything the ride along the Shore Line was not.  Incessantly crowded and noisy, hot and humid in summer, cold and raw in winter, it always proved that New York really is the city that never sleeps, although a few passengers, myself included, sometimes dozed off between trains.  Fortunately, the wait for the Long Island train was never very long.  After an anticlimactic ride to Mineola, I usually disembarked amid a horde of late night party-goers.  Separating myself from this crowd and threading my way through the labyrinth of modern high-rises and parking garages that now comprise downtown suburban Mineola, I made the ten-minute walk to the old family home and usually arrived about 4:00am.  The odyssey of “the last train home tonight” was then concluded.

I always entered the house as quietly as possible through the garage and kitchen.  If the dog didn’t wake up and raise a rumpus, I went back to sleep for a while in the family room.  Eventually the dog always did wake up, though, and then my father, hearing the commotion, came out to investigate and then discovered me.  Usually, he had forgotten that I was coming.  Later, about 7:00am, my mother would wake up.  Mom never forgot that I was coming, and she was always elated to see her vagabond son again.  It was a happy way to start her day, and her enthusiasm always made the nighttime traveling worthwhile.

Typically, a visit of two or three days’ duration followed my early morning arrival.  These were always pleasant occasions.  With both my parents in their nineties, however, we all knew that their meters were ticking, counting down the limited time they had left.  When my visit with them ended, I usually took an afternoon train back to Boston.  The next day, I went back to work.

My last journey aboard the last train took place on the night of Tuesday, October 31, and Wednesday, November 1, 2017.  I arrived promptly on Mom’s 99^th birthday.  My son Michael arrived by air from Europe for the occasion, too.  That was a very special day for Mom, truly a very happy last birthday for her.  Now, with her gone, the house sold, and my father in assisted living, it’s doubtful that I’ll ever take “the last train home tonight” again.  These journeys are now memories, as were the shipboard voyages that I always recalled while on the train.

The highlight of these railroad journeys, whether made by day or night, was always the sight of the sea and the vessels that plied it.  My voyages aboard ship, first as an employee and later as a passenger with my family, were important events.  Now they are important and precious memories.  Likewise, the memories of family gatherings, special family occasions, and deceased family members are important and precious, too.  While we cannot repeat the past, we can relive it in memory and share the happiness we find there with others.  As the scriptures counsel us:

                        Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations:

                        ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell

                        thee (Deut. 32:7).

But simply remembering and hearing oral histories often prove insufficient in the long term.  Thus we have the more recent scriptural injunction to “continue writing and making a history of all the important things” (D&C 69:2).  Since going to sea was—and still is—very important to me, I took both notes and pictures along the way.  Now I’m glad I did.

There is so much here to be thankful for: the memories of shipboard voyages and families, the writing and photographs that preserve them, and a random line of canned music that releases a flood tide of these magnificent memories.

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[1] Al Stewart, “Time Passages,” 1978, found at www.azlyrics.com.

The Old Fleet

Many years ago when I was young, the Delaware River and Bay Authority operated a fleet of four ferries between North Cape May, New Jersey, and Lewes, Delaware.  The vessels were headquartered at a large terminal facility at the western end of the Cape May Canal, and this site provided ready access to the open water of the Delaware Bay while also affording sheltered berths.  The service began operations in 1964, and it continues to the present time, although with a newer and more modern fleet.  The old ships, while now mostly gone, live on in photographs and memories, and they hold a special place in my personal chronicle of the sea.

My family vacationed every summer in Cape May during my teenage years in the late 1960s and early 1970s.  At first, we simply watched the ferries at the terminal in North Cape May and from Sunset Beach in Cape May Point.  After a while, though, just watching was no longer enough for me, and I pestered my parents about sailing on these big ships.  But my father balked at spending money for a mere joyride.  He had no desire to go to Delaware and did not see what the point would be.  He did inquire about the cost, however, and we learned that same-day, round-trip tickets for pedestrians were actually quite inexpensive.  My mother and grandfather also liked the idea of going sailing, and so we all went to sea with the fleet for the first time in August of 1972.

Our first voyage took place aboard the Delaware.  The weather was beautifully sunny and clear and the sea calm.  The Delaware rode placidly and comfortably across the mouth of her namesake bay to Lewes and back in about three hours.  It seemed to go by very quickly.  In my adolescent enthusiasm, I wandered all over the ship examining everything and feeling great delight in going to sea aboard such a capital vessel and in deep water.  With my adolescent lack of foresight, however, I took several pictures but not nearly enough, and I never thought to record the day’s events and voyage particulars in any kind of notebook.  While I regret that now, I am glad that I bought every postcard of these ships that I could find.

This initial voyage across the Delaware Bay proved to be so enjoyable for the entire family that we did it every summer for the next three years.  We made our subsequent voyages aboard the New Jersey, the Cape May, and I think the Cape Henlopen as well.  My grandfather, a former Captain of the ferry boat Henry Ludlow on the South Shore of Long Island, especially liked these longer crossings of the Delaware Bay.  He and I frequently walked around the ships together, and he often shared his expertise about various aspects of the ferry, the sea state, the weather, and the docking maneuvers with me.

One of my favorite aspects of these ferries was their paint scheme.  A very distinctive, multi-colored, and even unique design, it really made these ships stand out and be recognized.  It was so much more attractive, and it required so much more skill to apply, than the sprayed-on single color paint jobs of many vessels.  Over the years since, I’ve come to appreciate just how much a good paint scheme can contribute to a ship’s character and persona.

The four round-trip voyages that I made aboard the Delaware Bay ferries in my teenage years were all wonderful experiences.  They introduced me to the magnificent physical and spiritual  beauty of the sea and to the ineffable pleasure of going to sea.  They also helped me realize that seafaring was the career that I wanted to pursue.  After sailing across the bay several times, I next wanted to sail across the oceans, and eventually I did.  Now, many years later, I have fond memories of the old fleet of Delaware Bay ferries, and I’m happy to share some of my favorite photographs of them here:

An aerial view of the Cape May terminal.  This is actually in North Cape May, several miles from town, on the north shore and west end of the Cape May Canal.  This view is to the north.  On the left, to the west, is the Delaware Bay.  The ships present are, left to right, the Delaware, the Cape Henlopen, and the Cape May.

A stylized profile view of the Delaware, the largest vessel in the fleet.

The New Jersey.  She has just departed from the North Cape May terminal and is heading west out of the Cape May Canal.  In just a few minutes she will reach the open water of the Delaware Bay and then she will turn south.

The Cape Henlopen.  She has just entered the Cape May Canal from the Delaware Bay and is heading east toward the ferry terminal.  This is the same Cape Henlopen that now sails on the New London, Connecticut, to Orient Point, Long Island, route operated by Cross Sound Ferry.

An antique postcard portrait of the Cape May.  This was most likely a black and white photograph that was later hand painted in color.  A very interesting artistic style from a bygone era.

A real color photograph of the Cape May approaching the big terminal in August of 1971.

The Cape Henlopen (partly obscured) and the New Jersey at the docks in North Cape May in August of 1971.

The Delaware approaching the terminal in August of 1972.

Aboard a ship and at sea!  From the Delaware as she heads south toward Lewes, we see the northbound New Jersey, bound for Cape May, in August of 1972.

As the Delaware returns north from Lewes to Cape May, we see the Cape Henlopen heading south for Lewes.  Same day in August of 1972.

The Middle Fleet

The three ships of The Bridgeport & Port Jefferson Steamboat Company daily cross the middle of Long Island Sound.  About midway along their route they pass the prominent Stratford Shoal Light, an important navigational aid built on a rock amid otherwise fairly deep water.  The line’s terminals in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and Port Jefferson, Long Island, provide convenient access to railroad stations.  Thus, I can travel by train from Boston to Bridgeport, enjoy an interlude at sea aboard the ferry, and then continue the rail journey to the family headquarters on Long Island.  The docks are not as conveniently situated for automobile access, at least for a family driving from New Hampshire.  For this reason, then, the Bridgeport ferry has served as a secondary route for us over the years.  Nonetheless, the several voyages we have taken with it have all been very pleasant and enjoyable occasions.

Nostalgic, too.  I had traveled these mid-sound waters in the summer of 1977 as an apprentice aboard the tugboat Charger.  She had routinely hauled the gasoline barge Interstate 35 past the Stratford Shoal Light to New Haven, Connecticut, and Providence, Rhode Island.  These and other vessels have all come and gone, but the lighthouse remains constant, standing as a mute witness to maritime history.  If the light could talk, what tales it would tell us!

Over several years, I have produced an amateur photographic record of maritime history when sailing with the mid-sound fleet, and sometimes, when just watching the ships from shore.  From this modest collection I have selected a dozen of my favorites:

Our two oldest children aboard the southbound Grand Republic on Sunday afternoon, August 8, 1993.  This vessel sailed between Bridgeport and Port Jefferson for 20 years.  In 2003 she was sold and became the Mary Ellen on the New London to Orient Point route.

The Park City is maneuvering into her berth in Bridgeport on Wednesday, August 25, 2010, in a light rain under a ceiling of nimbostratus clouds.  This view is from the elevated railroad station in Bridgeport, five minutes' walk from the ferry terminal.

The new Grand Republic arrives in Port Jefferson on Friday, August 27, 2010.

A close-up of the bridge of the new Grand Republic as she glides past us on the same arrival.

The pilot house of the Park City as she heads south from Bridgeport on Monday, September 16, 2013.

Ships that meet at sea.  From the southbound Park City we see the Grand Republic pass the Stratford Shoal Light on her way north to Bridgeport.

As the Park City approaches the dock in Port Jefferson we see the P.T. Barnum moored to the opposite side of the pier.  A maintenance crew is scaling her vehicle decks.

A view of the serene water of Long Island Sound.  We are looking eastward from the southbound P.T. Barnum on Tuesday, May 27, 2014.

From the P.T. Barnum we watch as the Park City passes by on her northbound voyage.

Following my disembarkation in Port Jefferson, the P.T. Barnum unloads vehicles.  The cars waiting in line will then board the ship for the next voyage to Bridgeport.

From the southbound Grand Republic, we see the Stratford Shoal Lighthouse on Tuesday, September 7, 2014.

The northbound Park City passes by to starboard.  This is unusual.  Mostly the ferries pass port side to port side, but the Grand Republic sailed more to the east than is customary in order to avoid a westbound tug and barge.

Finally, the view from the stern of the Grand Republic.  A peaceful place to rest and enjoy the beauty of the sea and sky and contemplate the majesty of Creation.

A Parade of Ships

The ferry Susan Anne stood at the dock in Orient Point, Long Island, on Friday, July 15, 2016.  She was loading the last few vehicles and passengers for the 9:00am departure for New London, Connecticut.  We had a reservation for the 10:00am sailing, but we had arrived early because of better than expected traffic.  With about an hour to spare, then, I left the car and walked down to the narrow beach by the dock and started taking pictures.  The Susan Anne glowed in the bright sunlight.  A few minutes after 9:00, she sounded her whistle and eased away from her berth.  Once clear of the pilings she backed to starboard, put her engines ahead, and set an eastward course.  On her way out, she passed the incoming Mary Ellen, the vessel we would soon board for our scheduled 10:00am departure.  As I photographed the two ferries maneuvering, it occurred to me that I just might get pictures of the entire fleet that day.  At the very least, it would be worth a try.

Aboard the now docked Mary Ellen a few minutes later, I roamed the weather decks, camera in hand, and resumed my quest.  Soon the Caribbean Ferry arrived and backed into the adjacent berth.  Then the Sea Jet came along and waited patiently for the Mary Ellen to depart.  A traffic jam on the Orient Point waterfront—three ships vying for two docks!

At 10:00am the Master of the Mary Ellen appeared on the starboard bridge wing.  Gazing upon the assembly of shipping with his hand on the propeller and rudder controls, he looked almost god-like as he surveyed the scene around him and eased the ship away from the dock.  He did in fact look every inch the fully qualified and licensed Merchant Marine officer in his black trousers, white shirt, and four gold stripes on each shoulder board.  More importantly, he displayed great professional skill as he maneuvered the Mary Ellen on her departure.  An hour and a half later, he would display even more shiphandling skill in bringing the vessel to her dock in crowded New London.  For now, though, the Mary Ellen headed east on pristine blue water toward Plum Gut as the John H came in.  Another beautiful day on the sea, in my mind the pinnacle of all Creation.

The Mary Ellen and her running mates formed the parade of ships that spent the day crossing the eastern end of Long Island Sound, carrying automobiles, trucks, and passengers between New York and New England.  In our short voyage, we witnessed the workings of the whole fleet.  Beginning then with the Susan Anne, here are the day’s portraits of the ships of the Cross Sound Ferry:

The Susan Anne prepares for departure at the dock in Orient Point.

The outbound Susan Anne meets the arriving Mary Ellen a short distance off the beach at Orient Point.

The Mary Ellen approaches the dock at Orient Point.

The diminutive Caribbean Ferry approaches the dock at Orient Point, seen from the upper deck of the much larger Mary Ellen.

The Sea Jet waits for the Mary Ellen to depart.  Then she will dock in the space just vacated.

As the Mary Ellen sails toward New London, she first passes the John H bound in the opposite direction.  Here the John H has come through the Plum Gut and is passing the Plum Gut Light.

A close-up of the Plum Gut Light.

In open water, the Cape Henlopen is the next ferry sailing toward Orient Point.

Still in open water, the New London follows on her voyage to Orient Point.

Finally, we see the Susan Anne again, leaving New London now and heading back to Orient Point.