Oh my. Life grants me these moments of deep gratitude and I make sure to enjoy them as much as I can.
I just finished this book Mom gave me for Christmas, "This Much Is True", by local author Tina Chaulk. It's a fish out of water story about her, a Newfoundlander who loves everything about this place, a Newfoundlander who wears black on July 1st because it was originally Memorial Day for Newfoundlanders, not Canada Day, a Newfoundlander who just graduated from Memorial University and can't find work so she has to go to "Hell", aka Toronto. It is a delightful and emotional story of her experiences in the 1980s, while in hell. I found myself looking forward to bed time to see what Lisa was up to in her zany but oh-so-relatable life. The city kicks her ass in more ways that I ever thought a city could, but she continues, she survives. There were so many similarities in our stories, sometimes it was down right creepy.
The ending was satisfying, warming and just made me so grateful that I'm still living here. I could still breathe the cool salty air Lisa couldn't wait to taste and hold in her lungs, I could still hear the differing Newfoundland accents she was craving, I could take a drive on any day and watch the waves of the powerful ocean hit the jagged cliffs just like so desired. I'm still here and I'm oh-so-grateful for that. My heart and soul are in this place and I don't have any say over that. Even though I may have a strong desire to travel, see things, meet people and wander the world in my own occasional gypsy ways, this will always be home base. All roads will eventually lead back here.
Pink, White and Green
Between the narrows,
in the purity of the island,
I belong.
Rain, drizzle, fog
bring thanksgiving to the sun.
Floating in the middle of the Atlantic,
still a virgin,
untouched by the rat race.
Stepping off a plane,
I can smell the salt
in the fresh, cool air.
Feels like home.
People around all
talking and laughing
“’Bye, it could be worse!”
Wouldn’t change a thing.
Troubles and wealth,
richer than Voisey’s Bay.
Along the edge,
A Newfoundlander watches
the sea fucking
the jagged cliffs,
over and over and over,
since before the invention of thought.
The waves, cliffs, air, people
all around.
You belong to it,
it belongs to you.
Has your wharf been washed away
by raging storm or dormant government?
The dory turned up in the yard
makes the Newfoundlander’s heart bleed.
My uncle sits and rocks
Speaks of good ol’ days
when he awoke at 4am and braved
the hurricane winds and the 40 foot swells
and came home exhausted and proud.
Another day of his birth rite.
Strange how cold and comfort
can come together.
The island, the place
no Newfoundlander ever really leaves,
where the cod were once abundant,
where everything moves slower-
except the mother tongue,
where there are no real strangers,
where people look after one another
and anything can be solved over a beer.
Newfoundland.
Where the land and sea will accept you
as the child of nature you are.
She’ll hold you to her bosom,
and warm you to your core,
if you let her.
Newfoundland.
Was there ever a more beautiful word spoken?
Newfoundland,
sweet Newfoundland.
Where I graciously call Home.
