Seawater Begs the Pearl: Aunt Bea
the touch of Spirit on the body.
Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling!
At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door,
and open the love-window.
The moon won’t use the door,
only the window.
Photo: Beatrice & Philip Huntley with my mom.
It was a journey that entailed a 10 am Metro from VA to DC - and - Amtrak from DC to CT. Then a roadtrip with my dear cousin Adelia that rolled us to her enchanted cottage in Searsport at 2:30 am.
When we awoke, we began our day Jan's homemade jam, then we drove another 2 1/2 hours to Jonesport and made it in time for the 11:00 celebration of my great aunt's life.
When I arrived in Maine and walked into the cottage, the scent of wood smoke immediately transported me to childhood summers with my Aunt Bea and Uncle Phil. I remembered digging clams with my feet and running up the rocky cliff just as the tide came in to swallow up the beach. If lucky, I would return with a pocket of sea glass for my efforts.
Ours were large family gatherings around the table where the air was filled with laughter, and the bowls were filled with fresh chowder. In the morning there were breakfasts of biscuits and homemade jam while beneath the window my aunt's poppies danced in the sea breeze.
It was there that I met my first fox. It was injured and my uncle was nursing it back to health. There were jackrabbits too, big ones and barn swallows building mud nests under the eaves. Sometimes I would find egg shells in the grass beneath and marvel. We caught and released tadpoles from the pond beside their home. We took walks in the woods to find the peat bogs where the mysterious pitcher plants grew in musky clumps. Occasionally we would find a snake and bring it in the house to scare the ladies.
They were good times, and I cherish those moments.
Beatrice Elaine Gray Huntley Urquhart 1930-2014
So many memories.
So much love.