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.