Winter on Fundy islands, grey skies, grey
Water, the “R” months of self-hibernation,
September to February. As islanders, ocean
Protects from bitter cold, most heavy snows,
Slushy parking lots, along roadsides, until
Ocean storms hit, biting winds, fist-hard
Seas, dark-crashing waves, working deep-
Water traps, long trawl-lines, winter lobster
Season. Drifting snows mark island winter,
Bone-chilling cold, diesels gelling. despite
Ferries running, local groceries, hardwares
Open, it’s oft winter isolation.
Fishing families keep faith, monitor marine
VHF radio, listening on local channels, 68
And 71, depending where lobster fishers are
Working, providing sea updates, listening for
Each other into dark Grey Zones. Yet, months
Grind on, Christmas, New Years, spring gales,
Thoughts of small gardens, greenhouses, sets
And seeds, longer days, this July summer heat.
Most homes don’t have AC, fans kept on,
Curtains closed to fend off heat of mid-day sun,
Night widows open, catching cooling breeze.
Thus, islanders endure opaque, foggy mornings,
Sun obscured by gauze, sound of invisible waves
Sloshing, pounding rocky shores, more grey
Punctuating island life. But there’s another, yet
Oft forgotten grey to acknowledge, wisdom and
Experience of middle-aged fishers, men, women,
Sons and daughters of elder fishers buried on
The island, church-going families, hard-working
Generations shaping, keeping life afloat. Thus,
Are my sea-life observations, persistent grey
Morning wave-plowing Fundy Bay.
Thanks for reading on this foggy morning, fog horn in
distance sounding, waves shore-sloshing.