My sister and I marked the summer solstice by the sea. We have made a new tradition since our parents passed of going down to Newport RI to celebrate their birthdays (both in June) as well as the solstice (our father passed away on the summer solstice, a truly fitting exit). We have historical connections in Newport, our great-aunt married a cousin of Herman Melville, Da taught at Hatch Prep, a private school which is now Salve Regina College. Da loved sailing, we had an 18-foot Town Class sloop growing up and my sister and I both learned to sail with him. Mum loved flowers and it is a wonderful coincidence that the Newport Flower Show happens around the solstice each year.
This year was foggy and humid- the ocean silver and grey punctuated by white caps. The smell of the sea and salt marsh roses hung thick in the air, accenting the scent of the thousands of lilies, roses, and peonies at the flower show. A stillness with an undercurrent of anticipation, storms are born out of this dense air -we would experience that later in the day at polo, taking shelter under the gift shop tent with other spectators! I had made a new dress for the flower show, another tradition I observe, each year I decide on a color palette and hand-dye a dress. This year I was inspired by thoughts of Monet, water hyacinths, and hydrangeas and the result was lovely. I found I matched the hydrangeas at the flower show perfectly! Later in the day, huge fog banks hung over the bay swallowing up the sailboats and the rocky shore on the other side.
“Meditation and water are wedded forever.” – Herman Melville
Days like this by the sea inspire thoughts of the mysterious, the ghostly, and nautical superstitions. The fog is otherworldly by the sea, it blends the water and the sky so completely that the world disappears. It blows in over the land reaching out with long tendrils, seeking and exploring the solid ground that is so unlike the eternal motion of the water. There are many veils that are thin on this kind of day, senses muffled by lack of color or sound are heightened in other ways. The skin prickles with awareness, a galvanic response, the scent of the sea and roses saturates one in nostalgia. Prehistory and history bleed into the present, you can feel what it was like 1,000 years ago, 100 years ago, only recently domesticated but never tamed. The quaint shops and expensive yachts are the illusion, the sea will reclaim the land if it ever wants to.
It is here that I feel my Celtic/Teutonic ancestry the strongest. I love water, any water. I love being out on the water or better yet, in it. I am captivated by all its moods, the constant and infinite changes of light and shadow. The constant roar of ocean waves or the soft lapping of a glacial lake. I always come away from time spent by water with new inspiration and ideas. I have made a promise to myself to spend as much time near water from now on as I possibly can, cleansing, rebooting, healing, and absorbing its magic to take home to my creative life. Paying homage to my Da whose Germanic/Nordic lineage no doubt included some lives spent Viking…skål!
“It is not down on any map; true places never are.” ― Herman Melville
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