Thank you, reader. Thanks to every last one of you for being a follower of Earth to Ash. And to the digital passerby who for some reason found your screen with this small piece of the internet flAshing back at you…thank you, too. I don’t do these sorts of posts enough, I admit. Forgive me. But with this weekend being Thanksgiving weekend. It’s the perfect chance to acknowledge how grateful I am. For you. I would be a silent soul, lost for words. Your loyalty means everything.
Newfoundlanders and Labradorians have a saying, “Some day on clothes.” It’s a way to describe the weather. A fine day to pin some clothes on the line to dry. It can also be a way to describe how you’re feeling, as explained by the nice man in the video I’ve left for you below. By the way, that YouTube channel has a lot of our culture, history, and gorgeous scenery if you’re interested. Yes, the people of my beautiful island have always emoted using cultural phrases which are associated with everyday experience. When we have a feeling to share, there’s usually a Newfoundland and Labrador way of saying it.
That one over there. It brings me back to see my Pop. We beachcomb for hours and he teaches me how to tie knots. I watch him gut fish and blow snot from his nose in the cold months. I hear him saw wood for the stove that my nan helps me pick up, and stack high against the fence. I watch him as he goes crazy when wrestling comes on. I love every minute of every match.
Ah, the old misty stroll. The weather around here lately has been damp. This past Tuesday was no different. As soon as I left the house to begin my journey I was met with mist and scattered droplets of rain. It made me eager to carry on. There was something about the atmosphere it was creating. With each step I took, I was transported back to different times of my life that felt similar. The feeling was reminiscent and familiar. Not long into my walk, I found myself standing at the head of a stage. A stage is a word we use for a wharf here in Newfoundland and Labrador. So, technically, I was standing on what we call a stage head. There are several words you’ll find in our very own Newfoundland dictionary that are for us interchangeable, but that’s another post for another day. Anyway, there I was. Taking it all in and absorbing the essence of a lazy Tuesday evening loving life and what it has given me at that moment. Then, Poppy had to poop and ruin it.
Ah…the old bent fishing rod. I was out for a walk a few evenings ago and midway into my stroll, I was passed by a couple of kids on their pedal bikes. I gave way to the little band of brothers and noticed something reminiscent as they zoomed on by. There were four of them. Like a moving screen grab of modern-day Stand by Me, Goonies, or IT. Or, for the younger crowd reading this post, Stranger Things. I kind of wanted to salute them in passing as they gave me a nod and went on their way. They looked like a good group of friends for sure. What struck me the most was how they had their fishing poles secured to their bikes. The fishing rods they were carrying were pointed straight up toward the sky like you would assume. Only, their rods had a massive bend at the top of them because when you pulled the line tight to fix the hook in one of the line holes, it created a slight curve. Smart move as they would have run the risk of hooking into someone or something while flying by on their journey home after a long day of adventures. Anyway, the moment those kids rode by me happened in an instant, but the flashes of memories that they had created for me lasted the rest of the night and into the process of writing this entry. I allowed that slideshow to play itself out, over and over. Like a short trailer of young episodes of my youth.
on this July summer night I see you there in the sky where you are not supposed to be what happened for you to go there why are you needed so soon all I can do is wonder as my heart tries to understand why is it that time gets to pick how fate always chooses next when life shows that dark side stay with me tonight I’m not ready to leave you be shine your light until tomorrow a day I wish was given to you little Anthony
A white towel around my neck, my curling hair is all wet, and I’m riding my mountain bike down a quiet highway in a standing position. Ah …the way back after a summer’s day swim.
It’s well past seven, almost eight and the sun, like us, is on the way home. I’m chilly now as the sun sets. I have goosebumps and my skin is drying out from living in pond water for the last four hours. My pedal strides are lazy as I slowly catch up to join a zigzag bicycle pattern my friends have already graciously started. We laugh right away bringing up our whole day and explaining to each other like it happened years ago. Drawing out every last second of detail and sodering it unconsciously to our souls. Every one of those day-at-the-pond moments we smiled at again and again. Over and over.
The adrenaline produced from a day like that would fuel the whole trip home for us. No matter how tired we were our along-the-way stunt dares and ten-second races kept us gaining ground without even noticing how close we were getting to home. Then, most times in the middle of a good joke or a story, one by one, each of my buddies would have to start branching off. Going their “rest of the way” alone. Breaking away from the pack usually with a middle-finger gesture, a newly learned curse word, or a bodily function. Sometimes all three. Soon, I too would cross that imaginary line that separated my neighbourhood from the rest of the world. The world of a twelve-year-old Ash. I remember that day swimmingly.
This second thought was brought to you by a walk earlier today on a path less taken. There was something about the atmosphere in the moment I was in and it overwhelmed me and I was there for it. I kicked up a little dirt and it transported me. Summer is indeed in the air and given the last few weeks, I needed this memory. Thanks, universe.
Earth To Ash 