25 Replies to “photo101 ~ #1 home”

  1. Have a very Happy Anniversary Bekah!
    But, oh boy, that foggy harbour looks chilly! Bet it’s a pretty busy place during work hours, hey?

    1. Thank you, Deb!
      Not so busy as in olden times. Every now and then, there’s a big container ship.

      There’s a beautiful poem by Bliss Carman … “where are those ships I used to know … …”

      1. A poem by William Bliss Carman

        Smile, you inland hills and rivers!
        Flush, you mountains in the dawn!
        But my roving heart is seaward
        With the ships of gray St. John.

        Fair the land lies, full of August,
        Meadow island, shingly bar,
        Open barns and breezy twilight,
        Peace and the mild evening star.

        Gently now this gentlest country
        The old habitude takes on,
        But my wintry heart is outbound
        With the great ships of St. John.

        Once in your wide arms you held me,
        Till the man-child was a man,
        Canada, great nurse and mother
        Of the young sea-roving clan.

        Always your bright face above me
        Through the dreams of boyhood shone;
        Now far alien countries call me
        With the ships of gray St. John.

        Swing, you tides, up out of Fundy!
        Blow, you white fogs, in from sea!
        I was born to be your fellow;
        You were bred to pilot me.

        At the touch of your strong fingers,
        Doubt, the derelict, is gone;
        Sane and glad I clear the headland
        With the white ships of St. John.

        Loyalists, my fathers, builded
        This gray port of the gray sea,
        When the duty to ideals
        Could not let well-being be.

        When the breadth of scarlet bunting
        Puts the wreath of maple on,
        I must cheer too,–slip my moorings
        With the ships of gray St. John.

        Peerless-hearted port of heroes,
        Be a word to lift the world,
        Till the many see the signal
        Of the few once more unfurled.

        Past the lighthouse, past the nunbuoy,
        Past the crimson rising sun,
        There are dreams go down the harbor
        With the tall ships of St. John.

        In the morning I am with them
        As they clear the island bar,–
        Fade, till speck by speck the midday
        Has forgotten where they are.

        But I sight a vaster sea-line,
        Wider lee-way, longer run,
        Whose discoverers return not
        With the ships of gray St. John.

        1. That is … wonderful, in lack of better word. Loved it! Here’s the one I mentioned:

          Where are the ships I used to know,
          That came to port on the Fundy tide
          Half a century ago,
          In beauty and stately pride?
          In they would come past the beacon light,
          With the sun on gleaming sail and spar,
          Folding their wings like birds in flight
          From countries strange and far.
          Schooner and brig and barkentine,
          I watched them slow as the sails were furled,
          And wondered what cities they must have seen
          On the other side of the world.

          Frenchman and Britisher and Dane,
          Yankee, Spaniard and Portugee,
          And many a home ship back again
          With her stories of the sea.

          Calm and victorious, at rest
          From the relentless, rough sea-play,
          The wild duck on the river’s breast
          Was not more sure than they.

          The creatures of a passing race,
          The dark spruce forests made them strong,
          The sea’s lore gave them magic grace,
          The great winds taught them song.

          And God endowed them each with life-
          His blessing on the craftsman’s skill-
          To meet the blind unreasoned strife
          And dare the risk of ill.

          Not mere insensate wood and paint
          Obedient to the helm’s command,
          But often restive as a saint
          Beneath the Heavenly hand.

          All the beauty and mystery
          Of life were there, adventure bold,
          Youth, and the glamour of the sea
          And all its sorrows old.

          And many a time I saw them go
          Out on the flood at morning brave,
          As the little tugs had them in tow,
          And the sunlight danced on the wave.

          There all day long you could hear the sound
          Of the caulking iron, the ship’s bronze bell,
          And the clank of the capstan going round
          As the great tides rose and fell.

          The sailors’ songs, the Captain’s shout,
          The boatswain’s whistle piping shrill,
          And the roar as the anchor chain runs out,-
          I often hear them still.

          I can see them still, the sun on their gear,
          The shining streak as the hulls careen,
          And the flag at the peak unfurling,- clear
          As a picture on a screen.

          The fog still hangs on the long tide-rips,
          The gulls go wavering to and fro,
          But where are all the beautiful ships
          I knew so long ago?

          1. OMG, he’s wonderful!
            A painting not paint, but words.
            I see them sharp in my mind’s eye; )
            And need to read them more.

  2. Lovely photo Rebby! Happy 6th Anniversary of living there. Whenever I see St. John on Weather Channel maps I think of you & G. & McDuff with fondness….
    Love Sherri-Ellen & Nylablue x0

  3. Love the photo – that early morning light makes it look quite mystical, very serene. I always like to see your photos of Saint John, I feel like I know your town quite well!

  4. That is a sign of contentment Rebby! When I go out of Owen Sound in any direction on my return I always get this butterfly feeling in my stomach! Like that first love feeling πŸ˜‰
    I figure it means I am meant to be here…
    And you are meant to be there..

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