Outward Bound

My father brought this poster for me from California; it's a well-known Norman Rockwell print picturing a boy, a dog, and a man I assume is the boy's grandfather (now-retired from the sea), watching from a rock upon a hilltop as the father/son's(?) schooner sails over the horizon. A small flock of gulls circles overhead, in anticipation of we know not what, while below the hill the rest of the village seems peaceably at rest.

This image now hangs just above my makeshift desk at 75 State Street. I know my father brought me this poster because it inspired him with its themes of the sea, and the two generations looking on -- one nostalgically reminded of his past, one in anticipation of his own future -- while the third generation which connects them both ventures out to earn their livelihood. But I can't help seeing this image without it evoking other connotations, similar to the ones expressed in this anonymous poem which I learned on Nantucket, and have often used subsequently as a memorial service reading:

"I am standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and the sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, "there she's gone."

"Gone where? Gone from my sight -- and that is all. She is just as large in mast and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at that moment when someone at my side says 'There she's gone' there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes." And that is dying."

It's a cliche, but none of us can ever know with any certainty what the future may bring. Life is a mystery, and living life a constant challenge to complete each day safely and return to the safety of our loved ones...including the dogs, who care little for the nuances of dread or regret, but know merely the anxiety of absence and the anticipation of return. Tail down or tail wagging, we know exactly what HE'S thinking!

The gulls are simply mindless scavengers -- or rather, mindful of the bounty that accompany the ship's return, they circle in anticipation of the feast to come.

The Old Man leans for the support of his cane on the one hand, and with the other both offers his support to the boy and is supported by him. No one knows better than he the dangers of the open ocean, and how quickly they can overwhelm even the most skillful sailor.

The Little Boy is blissfully naive of all these things. He knows only his fathers' strength and his father's courage, and looks forward to the day when he can join him upon the sea and possess those same qualities himself. The thought that his father may one day not return seems very distant and abstract. Yet the touch of his grandfather's hand upon his shoulder leaves him feeling strangely both reassured and restless...eager to make that first voyage outward himself, yet also fearful that he may never get the chance.

As I said before, none of us can ever know with any certainty what awaits us in the future. Still, each day we venture over the horizon brings us new surprises, new challenges,, and perhaps even another bounty to be shared with those around us. Add them all together, one day after another, and that is living. We just get the one life. Let's enjoy as much of it as we can.