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.

---

[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.

Finished with Engines

The two ships that passed in the night in early January of 2018 stayed their courses on their voyages through life.  Following her birth on January 24, Miss Katherine Elizabeth was officially underway on the outset of  what we hope will be a long, healthy, and happy voyage. Her great-grandmother—my Mom and my children’s Nana—remained on home hospice care on Long Island, buoyed by news and photographs of the new baby.

As winter gradually became spring, my daughter-in-law brought Miss Katherine from distant Alaska to her family home in New Hampshire, with plans to visit Mom in New York as well.  During this interval, however, Mom’s long voyage started winding down more quickly.  Finally, during the night of Thursday, May 24^th, four months after the hospital staff’s prediction and one week before Miss Katherine’s scheduled visit, Mom quietly rang up “Finished with Engines.”  She was 99 years, 6 months, and 23 days old.  With her earthly voyage at last concluded, she returned to the celestial realm from which she had come nearly a century ago.

Mom and Miss Katherine crossed paths the following Wednesday, May 30^th.  The very young paid respects to the very old in a graveside service at the Cemetery of the Holy Rood in Westbury, Long Island.  Though she never met her great-grandmother face to face in this life, little Miss Katherine sat happily on her great-grandfather’s lap and brought joy to his heart.  The family line was continuing unchecked, and our baby’s future looked bright.

The next afternoon we returned to New England.  At sea between Orient Point, Long Island, and New London, Connecticut, we sailed aboard the ferry Cape Henlopen.  By its very nature, the sea has always been an ideal place to contemplate eternity.  This time, however, there was an added dimension.

With Miss Katherine now embarked, fully five generations of our family have sailed aboard the Cape Henlopen.  In the 1970s, my grandfather and my parents and I sailed on her when she was working the Delaware Bay route.  Since she joined the Cross Sound fleet in the 1980s, Miss Patty and I have sailed on her with our children and grandchildren.  The Cape Henlopen, then, is the vessel that bridges the generations, the ship that we all share in common with each other.  She thus holds a place of honor in our family heritage.

On that calm, cool, and sunny afternoon as we sailed once again aboard the Cape Henlopen, I gazed at the eternal sea and sky and thought of the beloved lady whom we had just laid to rest.  She had always enjoyed the sea and admired its supernal beauty.  I like to think that she was looking down lovingly on her new great-granddaughter, and in her own sublime way, was wishing Miss Katherine Elizabeth a fair wind and a following sea throughout her earthly voyage.

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.

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.