Sorrow of Sea and Soul

My friend died today

For the second time.
Don't think it's possible?

It happened today, and in 1992.

Both times, I was devastated and demoralized.
I should have been more prepared,
But the next time is no easier.
Like losing both of your children.
Double tragedy.
Double time in the prison of pain and anguish.

You see, I'm a Newfoundlander (NL),
And I'm here because of fish.
Centuries of fish.
So plentiful, we fed the world.
So blessed, we took it for granted.

Our breed took to the Atlantic waves
Like fish to water.
We were born with salt soaring
through our bodies and bold spirits.
We were a rare tribe who dared to come and stay, and survive and at times, soared.

Our faithful friend was always there to cheer us on,

to keep us clinging to this miserable, but marvellous stretch of  shore.
It put a song into our outports.
It led us forward to dance on every wharf
It wanted us to embrace and hear the hum of the ocean and hymn of the harbours.

And so, it kept thriving and arriving, year after century.
There was no doubting its loyalty.
We were separable.
Cosmic destiny.
We created a majestic melody, not to be out-stretched by any other culture.

And then one day, it all changed.
Boats from afar came and changed our genetic code and coves.
It outpaced our ancient connection.
Soon, we drifted apart, my friend and me.

Until one day the death sentence came
July 2, 1992;
and I was left alone and broken,
Within and without,

on every stage, flake and beach rock.
Alienated from my breath and depth.
As the heart-breaking cries of my ancestors echoed from the hills and graves.

Still, I carried on.
Stoic, but strangled, sorrowful,

stranded, far from the shores of my spirit.
My destiny, it seemed.
I accepted my fate.

And then the news came
Decades later.
That you might be returning.
Ready for a renewed commitment
Of our bond and our covenant.
I held my breath, allowing just a jig of excitement.

Then, today
I hear the sea-shattering news.
"Northern Cod has passed away ... "
Obit 2
And my soul shatters once again in the storm-whipped waves.


Without my faithful friend,
I am desecrated and endangered.
And my salty tears stain
All that was sacred on
our soil, shore and sea.

I mourn again,

because I'm a Newfoundlander.

-30- 

No Footprints in the Snow

Guest piece by David Boyd of  Twillingate, NL

I write this from my son's living room, high on the East End Hills of St. Johns, overlooking the bustling streets of Newfoundland's capital city. And I think!

 Yesterday I spent my day repairing Father's old fishing premises, now mine, in a small fishing village in Notre Dame Bay- a world far removed from the consciousness of the decision makers in the upper chambers of the confederation Building, visible now through the early morning mist. And I think!

I think as I watch my grand kids,  absorbed in their devices,  of my own childhood in that small fishing village- a place I will not name because it could be any of hundreds of out port communities- of the freedoms we enjoyed and the idyllic childhood we shared with our parents in the fishing boats and stages of our youth.

And I look around my village, and I ask you to do the same, and I see no children playing- just the smoke from a scattered chimney, signalling that the village- now home to mainly seniors - is awakening to a winter morning. And I am sad! Sad, because I see no footprints in the snow and I know things didn't have to be this way.

Our outport villages exist for one reason- fishing- traditionally for cod- and they existed for hundreds of years. But decisions, both political and otherwise, often driven by jealously and greed, over the past several decades have resulted in the degradation of a resource and the genocide of a cultural freedom that has destroyed fishing villages. In my view, ill-advised policies of the fisherman's union, embraced by unknowing politicians,  have destroyed the cultural fabric and economic base of our villages.

In the 1970's and 80's , instead of lobbying that the wealth off our shores be reserved for the inshore fishers, the talk was all about getting rid of the so called "moonlighters "  - the Newfoundlander with a cod jigger;  and formulating rules making it difficult for fishing enterprises to be passed down the line, as in other areas of human endeavour.

The question becomes, is there any politician with the courage to change the rules to give outport communities a fighting change?   

Here is what I would suggest:

(1) Allow free enterprise in the processing sector. For centuries multiple fish buyers right in the community would buy small amounts of herring, mackerel, squid, etc. As it stands today if a fisherman cannot land a tractor trailer load- there are no buyers Let people know  the cartel is no longer in control and NL is open for business.

(2 ) It is very troubling in 2018 to see that the federal government is again granting licences for Factory freezer trawlers to rape the recovering cod stocks- the very thing that destroyed this great resource in the 60's, 70's and 80's. The resource needs to be protected for the benefit and survival of rural communities.

 (3) In other areas of business if an individual, over the years invests in building a business, he has the freedom to pass it along to his heirs or dispose as he/she chooses. Ridiculous rules restricting entry into the fishery makes it almost impossible for young people to enter the fishery. Just for comparison, I can do a week’s course, and be qualified to take tourists on the ocean. Even though my son, for example grew up in the fishing boats, and is qualified to be at the wheel of a super tanker, he might as well have grown up on the wheat fields of Saskatchewan in terms of being eligible to take over my enterprise. This has to change.

(4) In short bring back the free enterprise that we knew , expected and loved in our democratic country, and just maybe communities with just another 10 or 15 years life expectancy may have a chance of survival.

Many thanks for your consideration and support by sharing. David Boyd 709 884 248