Just as I savor listening to the ocean’s waves as a nighttime lullaby, so too do I love gazing out to sea under the light of day. Such was I doing recently, playing hooky from all responsibilities, when my phone pinged with a text.
Tempted to ignore it, I was glad I did not for it was from my son. He had sent me a photo, taken just then 70 miles south of Ventura, that was a matching bookend to the postcard scene I was simultaneously enjoying, except for one small addition: a sailboat in the distance.
This was extra special because “sailboat” has long been a cipher between the two of us that means “I love you.” He came up with it, for reasons unknown even by him, at age 5 or 6. All these years later, whenever either of us sees a sailboat – on the water, in a painting, on bookshelf, et cetera – we text the other a photo, no words necessary.
This small sailboat in my son’s texted photo gave me a very big smile.
As always, the tiny picture on my phone screen gave me a big smile. As sometimes, it also sent my mind sailing over the deep waters of past ocean memories.
First, I mentally returned to the gorgeous waters of Peggy’s Cove, a quaint fishing village in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where my wife and I traveled a few years ago. In addition to seeing myriad sailboats, we saw “The Titanic Grave Site” where 121 victims of the infamous sea disaster are interred. They found their final resting places there because two ships based in Halifax – the Mackay-Bennett and the Minia – assisted the search for bodies.
Later on our same trip we visited Plymouth Rock and I could only marvel at how the Mayflower, a wooden ship that was far less “unsinkable” than the great inch-thick-steel-plated Titanic, had survived its perilous journey. I marveled anew at this now, which led to another thought…
… how the sea gods, or perhaps just old-fashioned good luck, smiled on a very sinkable wooden ship that set sail from Ireland in 1792 for the faraway shores of America. Had that sailing vessel suffered a Titanic-like fate I would never have been for my great-great-great-grandfather James Dallas, then only 14 and traveling alone, was onboard.
I imagine James was fleeing famine or other hardship. His voyage must have been far more difficult and dangerous, and his bravery greater, than I can even imagine.
Heritage is a funny thing. I feel proudly lifted by James’s steely mettle as if it is magically my inheritance, yet had he been a thief or murderer I would not cling to that as an anchor pulling me down.
Buoyed by my roots, in my mind’s ear I have often heard my distant forefather inspiring me to be braver, take chances, pursue my dreams even if rough seas must be sailed. Such feelings have seemed amplified when I am at the Ventura Pier or beach, touring the lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove or two dozen similar beacons I have traveled to see, on a cruise ship or sailboat.
By coincidence, or perhaps by godwink, the very morning I sat down to write this column the front page of The Star featured a story and photograph of a replica 19th-century wooden tall ship. The Mystic Whaler, an 83-foot-long schooner with twin 110-foot tall masts, had arrived at its new home in Channel Islands Harbor.
You can be sure I am going to visit this “floating museum” upon its official opening and let my imagination set sail. And, naturally, I will text a photo to my son.
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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn
Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.
Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com