Ruth Mordecai, Eponymous.

by Bing McGilvray

Ruth Mordecai’s new, eponymous book is cause for celebration. A visual feast and a triumphant testament, it is a summation of her life’s work at age 80. She had just left Torah class at Temple Ahavat Achim when we sat down for a light lunch at the Sandpiper Bakery on Middle Street. In person, Ruth radiates the same confidence and compassion that can been seen in her paintings and sculpture. We talked about her art, living and working in Gloucester and much more. You are invited to listen in.

B. First of all, this book is magnificent. A great achievement. Where can folks get a copy?

R. Trident Gallery and The Bookstore, both on Main Street in Gloucester, are selling it. Or, just get one from me, the artist.

B. The cost is $125 because of the abundance of high-quality reproductions and a very limited run. How many copies did you print?

R. Only 125.

B. Run me through the process you took, looking back over a lifetime of work and editing it down.

R. In about 2014, I did a series called The Container Series. They were big paintings and I threw into them a lot of the symbols that I have used over time. Maybe it was a ladder relating to the story of Jacob’s Ladder. Horizon lines from some of the landscapes I’ve done. Or apples from earlier paintings. I threw it all in and I felt I was beginning to summarize what I’ve done. But the thing that was missing for me was, how do people know what motivated me to do these containers – what are the origins?

B. I see.

R. The biggest thing I wanted from this book was to have something for my children and grandchildren. I also wanted to make it for the museums and individuals that collected my work and my community.

At the same time, at Temple, there was a group that met around creating an ‘ethical will’ – and what is an ‘ethical will’? It is what you leave to tell your children or your closest loved ones, a personal written memoir. I was approaching 80, a sort of landmark thing, and I thought if I don’t do it now, it’s not going to happen. There were other factors too.

Trump came in. I felt that anything that had a portion of  ‘the other’ needed emphasis. The Jewish part of my work is very important to me to express. I sensed this creeping anti-Semitism coming back. It wouldn’t matter if I were Mexican or Muslim or anything. It’s coming from this same place of being ‘other’. So that motivated me with the book.

B. Yes, I think it’s motivating many of us these days. I hope so.

R. At heart, I am a teacher. There aren’t as many artists now coming from a figurative tradition. I wanted to describe the journey from the figurative to abstraction in a way that people might be able to understand it. And I also wanted other artists to know that they can do this too.

Most people think you’ve got to have a book from Abrams Publishing. That assumes you’ve got a major gallery and have had a major museum show.

I thought, why can’t I make a book that’s equivalent to that and do it the way I want? Why not? My designer was wonderful, Meredith Anderson, who’s at the Cape Ann Museum. She had a connection to a publisher that specializes in art books. Charlie Carroll, a wonderful guy from Gloucester, made sure all the photography was ready for printing. So it was all done right here in Gloucester. I took six months and just got it done.

B. The end result is fantastic. I think it’s everything you set out to do … and beyond. Tell me about the text.

R. The two people who have written about my work (Judith Tolnick Champa and Ori Z. Soltes), I knew before. I felt they knew my work. So, I wasn’t looking for someone who was necessarily a museum person, although they both are in their ways. They have known my work over a long period of time.

B. Two distinctly different voices. And you.

R. My ‘Artist Statement’ I’m very proud of. It took a long time to get it down to one page. But it is what I wanted to say. Fifty years in one page but I’m very pleased with it.

B. Fifty years in one book is an accomplishment too. As a record of your life and work, it’s very clear and powerful; your journey and its metamorphosis through time and place and experience. Like all exploratory artists, there is always something of your previous work in the new work. It’s evolutionary in that sense.

R. There was a book I saw. You walked right into it. The artist was front and center. Pictures of the artist in the studio before you got to the work. That was something I wanted to do.

B. Where was the cavernous space, the black & white photo at the start of the book?

R. That was 249 A Street in Boston. That’s where my studio was for 25 years, before I came to Gloucester.

B. That’s the question I really want to ask. Why did you come to Gloucester?

R. Well, for one thing, I met my husband Ed (Powers). He was coming from New York and I was in the studio in Boston. It was a live/work space.

B. This was the Fort Point Studios right?

R. Right, Fort Point. We tried living there for a few years and at some point we bought a house in Gloucester with the idea that we could rent it out while we stayed in Boston. That’s not exactly the correct sequence of events. Before that, a friend let us use her house for a few days a week. It was summertime. We fell in love with the place.

B. How long have you been on Rocky Neck?

R. Since 1999. Almost 20 years.

B. Tell me about Rocky Neck. Supposedly, it’s America’s Oldest Art Colony. Anyway, it is unique. I don’t know of another place quite like it.

R. Well, Provincetown was but …

B. That’s gone now. There are many regional art enclaves throughout the country. What makes Gloucester so unique, Rocky Neck, in particular, is that it has real artist presence existing alongside a working waterfront. On Cape Ann, the artists aren’t separate from the community. They are ingrained in the fabric of life here. A vital part of it. It’s been that way for over 150 years.

Trident Gallery, Gloucester. August 2018

R. It’s not just visual artists but writers, dancers, musicians, and theatre. Pretty amazing how many talented people are here.

B. Creative people are a major part of the city’s economic engine. Most citizens are aware that it is about art here as well as maritime. Artists are accepted and welcome. Most people here know an artist or two. I hope Gloucester never loses that but sometimes I worry.

R. Rocky Neck has been changing. We are threatened with development.  I’m not sure what the forecast is. We have lots of energy now about our Board and community and sharing our exciting programs. Certainly, we still have serious artists there. We are connected to the whole Gloucester community.

B. Cape Ann is an artist’s island. Was Fort Point your first studio?

R. No, actually when my kids were 5 and 7, I got a place in Watertown. The first studio was over the garage. Then when the kids were in school, a group of us formed a collective, right on the river in one of those old brick buildings.

B. I grew up right across the river in Brighton.

R. Oh. OK. Well, we were on California Street.

B. I know it well.

R. After I was there 4 or 5 years, Fort Point started to happen. I became a member of an artist’s group, Boston Visual Artists Union. We were interested in live/work space. All these buildings on the waterfront on the edge of South Boston were becoming available at that time. We bought the building for one million dollars, 70,000 square feet. There was a great deal of resistance at the time because we were all liberals and …

B. Hippies?

R. Yes. Hippies. South Boston was very conservative.

B. Uptight Irish Catholic. That’s my background. It’s disappearing now, I think.

R. Oh, it’s changed so much.

B. Is it still there, your building?

R. Oh yes. There are two or three buildings where the artists own their own space are still there.

B. It happens all the time. Artists move into low rent, abandoned areas and the gentrifiers soon follow, pricing artists out.

R. People came there first because it was artsy. Then they drove everyone out.

B. Your recent show at Trident Gallery was wonderful. Was it meant to coincide with the release of the book?

R. I finished the work for Trident six months before the show, so it could be photographed and that would be the last chapter of the book.

B. I see.

Trident Gallery, Gloucester. August 2018

R. Secondly, there are several works that really relate to stories in Jewish … are they Old Testament stories, Biblical stories? One of them is totally mystical. The piece that has the four prongs –

B. The Missing Letters.

R. The Missing Letters series. That’s a result of our present political struggles. It’s similar to the belief of the Messiah coming. When the mystical letter appears there will be no more repression and we will be loving. So, that’s my way of dealing with what’s going on now. It pushed me into that series.

Finally, these pieces are hopeful.

The one with the letters floating above it … those are Hebrew letters. One is an Aleph, the first letter in the Hebrew alphabet. Another is Chi, which means life. The third is Bet, which means home.

The story revolves around a rabbi who was very special to the people and his congregation. It was during the time of the Crusades. The Crusaders wrapped the rabbi in the Torah and lit it on fire. His parishioners were just going crazy, crying, ‘What will we do without you? What’s going to happen without you and the Torah?’ And the rabbi says ‘Do not fear – the letters are going up to God.’ OK? Well … it was something that grabbed me.

B. Wow. I can see why.

R. It became the basis for the piece which – but you don’t even need to know that. Maybe I shouldn’t …

B. It’s a very powerful story. But the work stands on its own.

R. There are some mono-prints. I love collage. I cut up and pasted some mono-print forms. Two of those, black & white. And another one, more painterly, with the apples.

B. Yes, tell me about the apples. It’s a recurring theme. Anything to do with Adam and Eve?

R. No. Nothing. We had apple trees in my backyard growing up. Eddie, the man who worked there, he and I would go out and shake the tree, put all the apples in baskets, bring them in to my mother. She would make apple pie, applesauce and the house would smell wonderful.

B. Another great story. Let’s see, anything else you want to add in conclusion?

R. No. I’m just thrilled it’s done. Thrilled you are interested.

B. The thrill is all mine. Thanks, Ruth.

For more information on Ruth Mordecai visit: ruthmordecai.com or tridentgallery.com

Ruth Mordecai. © 2018 Bing

  Bing McGilvray is an artist, flaneur, and raconteur living in Gloucester.

Sea Fair in Annisquam: Illustrating the Eras with Posters

Annisquam Moonlight.  Jon Corbino (1905-1964)

Every year’s Sea Fair poster is unique, none more so than those created by Lisbeth Bornhofft in the 1970’s and 1980’s. Her creations derived from individual silk screens, individual printings. Each was a one-off work of art. Hung on phone poles and in various public places, a number of them disappeared every year. Presumably, people appreciated the value in their individuality and helped themselves, Lisbeth notes.

AHS AVC Lisbeth’s 1979 Sea Fair poster

For the last 172 years Annisquam’s Sea Fair, and before that its Church Fair, has graced the village center in mid-summer. The poster announcing the event bears the date of the year it was produced. Thus, it is that the posters serve a historical purpose and make a contribution to the Annisquam art scene.

Lisbeth took on the Sea Fair artist’s mantle for over ten years, when her brother Hank Bornhofft was in charge of Sea Fair’s staging. Creating a new design every summer, Lisbeth produced silk-screened posters by the hundreds. Each one depicts an aspect of the village that is mirrored in its landscape or architecture-scape. The water figures prominently, as do familiar village scenes. In Lisbeth’s artwork, we see reflections of the Church and Lobster Cove, the Lighthouse, sailboats and lobster pots. The scenes she chooses carry meaning, meaning shared by residents and visitors who have forged unique, personal ties to the place and its scenery. Lisbeth says her image choices are intended to evoke emotion, a sort of nostalgia.

“The images bring a flood of memories, feelings of connectedness in the web of family and friends, generations who have come and gone,” Lisbeth says. “These are iconic Annisquam views. I think my mother [Nancy Bornhofft] was the inspiration for the color schemes at first, the blues and greens. Then, in later years I sometimes chose different colors, just to be different…oranges and yellows, like in the lobster pot poster.”

Producing a silk-screen poster “involves a high level of craft, as much as design,” Lisbeth explains. All of the posters are multi-color, with each hue applied as a discrete element. In an approximate print run of 100 posters, each one was screened separately. Lis begins with the lightest shade, which is usually applied as background and adds detail in progressively darker shades. Thus, lettering and shadows are added last.

All of Lisbeth’s posters have the same font and layout, a unifying visual theme that distinguishes hers from those created by others. With a requirement to list all activities and events planned for Sea Fair, laying out the print portion was painstaking. She started with a whole sheet of letters in different fonts. With the screen on a table, Lisbeth chose the letters she wanted to use, pressing each one by hand to produce text on a master poster. From that she made a screen photograph with an emulsion.

AHS AVC Lisbeth & 1987 poster

Lisbeth only has one or two screens nowadays. “I saved all my silkscreen tools and the apparatus until last year,” Lisbeth says. “When I retired [from the New England Aquarium], I realized the technique is outdated for mass production.” Nonetheless, if she ever feels so moved, she still has those couple screens, as well as the know-how and talent to again produce distinctive and eye-catching pieces.

***Annisquam’s 2018 Sea Fair will take place on Saturday, July 28 in the village center.***

Lisbeth Bornhofft’s Sea Fair posters will be on view in the Annisquam Historical Society’s Firehouse this summer. A naturalist and scientist, Lisbeth worked at the New England Aquarium for 25 years. She retired this last Spring. Previous to her career in science, Lisbeth was a practicing artist and art teacher. She graduated from Smith College with a BA in Fine Arts (concentration in screen printing) and an MA in Education from the Philadelphia College of Art (University of the Arts).

 

Holly Clay is settled in Gloucester after many years of living overseas and in Washington, D.C. Holly is a member of the Gloucester Historical Commission and the Annisquam Historical Society.  With a background in education and writing, her professional energies are currently devoted to studying and teaching yoga and meditation.

 

Stairs to the Harbor

Town Steps, Gloucester. 1916.        John Sloan (1871-1951)

by Eric Schoonover

      I leave by the kitchen door, thinking that the flowers in the small urban courtyard might offer some joy, but they seem to have seen the best of their summer days. The door to the street, a grand wooden affair, swings inward and I step out through the lovage and the rosemary and the sage and the chicory still holding on. Once this land was empty, but here in Gloucester these small ways have become streets; short, often one-way and called “courts.”

I walk toward the staircase, toward the sea: the sea.

My house was built by a fisherman almost four hundred years ago. He would have had to scramble down five hundred feet of granite ledge to reach his boat. Today, there are 57 steps. I inform casual climbers of this fact and of its Heinz connection but they seem indifferent to this older person descending from a world of ketchup and chili sauce. But then, perhaps as a consolation, I gesture toward the flowers and shrubs growing on either side of the staircase.

            Winslow Homer painted from the top of these fifty-seven steps, John Sloan from the bottom.  Homer’s view is not informing.  But Sloan’s observes the social niceties of dogs and shoppers and women chatting with each other. But that does not reveal the nature of this unusual staircase.

            In the fisherman’s time, long before a staircase, it was a dramatic place, the denizen of wolf and fox. Those must have made his early morning descent rather interesting—if indeed he took this route to his boat. Today, a monstrous skunk haunts my dreams with his malodorous character. One night, I rose to see his giant form slink away, his mark of white now yellowed over, presumably his badge of many years of hunting through our refuse.

            Look through the trees and you can see the Atlantic, a shard of ultramarine blue, flat and harmless, hardly a harbinger of a fall hurricane.

           Most of the streets run down to the harbor, as Gloucester is a city of the sea. Their architecture is mostly domestic—triple-deckers, with mansard toppings and wrought iron Victorian frostings. Begin with Pleasant and proceed along Prospect, past Elm and Chestnut until you get to Spring. None of these houses is new, although some have obdurate metal siding offering a hardened aspect to the world. It’s the modern way.

          But I don’t take these streets that lead to the sea. Rather, I choose the stairs. I want that glimpse of the sea and a more woodsy approach, bordered with flowers wild and cultivated.

 

Eric Schoonover’s next novel, Harboring, set in Gloucester, will be published later this year.  Sloan’s painting, Town Steps, Gloucester, is held by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Beyond Beauport

James Tarantino

Summer Read.        ©️ Maryanne Jacobson

One of the hottest takes this summer is the soon-to-be-released adventure novel Beyond Beauport by long-time Gloucester resident James Masciarelli.

Part fiction, with truth based in its accurate portrayal of real people and history, the author combines his passion for maritime adventure, blue-collar upbringing, and his expertise in psychology to appeal to the desires in all of us for love, the sea and a desire to take on great challenges in life.

Masciarelli cleverly stimulates all the senses as he pulls you along with the main character, Shannon Clarke, on a high-seas adventure rich in pirate history.

Check it out at  https://jamesmasciarelli.com   You don’t have to wait for the book launch at 6:30 p.m., July 29th at the Rocky Neck Cultural Center. Beyond Beauport is now available for pre-order on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

 

 

James Tarantino (Jimmy T.) is an exemplary outdoor enthusiast who heralds his love of family, his friends, and his passion for all things Gloucester.

Ralph Coburn, an Artist’s Artist

Peter Anastas

Paris Landscape. n.d.

Painter and long-time Lanesville resident, Ralph Coburn, who died on June 5th in Miami at the age of 94, was an artist’s artist.  This is not to say that his “spare, beautiful, abstract art,” (Boston Globe) wasn’t appreciated by the many who came to view it at the Cape Ann Museum, Wellesley College, the Arts Club of Chicago, David Hall Gallery, or the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, where Coburn’s innovative, geometric paintings were exhibited.   Rather, it denotes the deep appreciation that Coburn’s unique abstractions received from those who best understood the thought behind them and how they were part of an ongoing attempt of American painters to move beyond the dominant Abstract Expressionism of the 1950s.   Yet Coburn, whose work ethic was memorable and whose knowledge of art, from the frescos of Masaccio in Florence to Ellsworth Kelly’s bright, elemental abstractions, was extensive, did not insert himself into the art world in the manner of today’s careerists.

“Not enough people know about Coburn’s work, which is spare, beautiful, witty, and uncannily satisfying,” Sebastian Smee, Boston Globe art critic, wrote in 2010. “Coburn himself, I’ve been told, is modest to a fault, which is no doubt one reason why we don’t know more about him.”

Sea Study. 1985    Courtesy of Cape Ann Museum

I can attest to Ralph’s modesty. We met in 1986 while doing our laundry at the laundromat in Dunkin Donuts plaza in downtown Gloucester.  I might have been reading a book that Ralph commented on, or maybe it was the other way around.  A conversation began that ended with the last item of clothing removed from the drier and was taken up again the following Friday; for it was invariably on Friday mornings that we met to do the week’s wash, two aging men talking excitedly about Gertrude Stein or the latest recording of Bartok’s Quartets, while children ran between our legs and their mothers sat smoking and thumbing through tattered copies of People.   One of the most surprising moments of those early talks was our discovery that we had both been in Florence at the same time; in fact, our paths had nearly crossed in the Tuscan hill town of Settignano, where I was then living and Ralph had come to visit my neighbor, artist Susan Nevelson, daughter-in-law of the sculptor Louise Nevelson.

As far as I knew from what Ralph had disclosed, he was at the point of retiring from a job in graphic design at MIT, where he had been an architecture student before the war.  It took a long time before I learned that Ralph was actually a painter, who had been close to a group of post-war artists in Boston, many of whom had studied at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, including Ellsworth Kelly, Bernard Chaet, and Ninon Lacey.

Landscape Distallation. 1950

It turned out that Ralph was also friends with James Mellow, the Gloucester born biographer of Gertrude Stein, the Fitzgeralds, and Ernest Hemingway, whom I had met through playwright John Coyle, who spent his summers in the family home on Church Street.  Mellow and his partner Augie Capaccio had a summer cottage nearby Ralph’s home and studio in the former Folly Cove Designers barn overlooking Folly Cove.  Soon we were gathering for drinks and dinner at each other’s houses, joined by Mellow’s cousin Dr. June Mellow, a retired clinical psychologist and avid reader, and clinical social workers Peter Parsons and Helane Harris.

Those dinners became a summer routine, a night on John’s deck on Church Street, or at Augie and Jim’s, or at our house where Peter and Maria Denzer, our friends from Houston, MN prepared an unforgettable seafood risotto and the talk ranged from who was doing what in art to Mellow’s National Book Award for his biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne, which reviewer John Updike had called “the finest biography ever written” about the novelist of Salem’s dark secrets.

If Ralph had been modest about his art, which we were finally to experience when we were invited to his house for dinner, he was even more modest about his cooking.   That first night—there would be many others—Ralph, who had spent a great deal of time in France, prepared a fish soup of white fish in a clear broth with fresh vegetables and herbs.  Everyone pronounced it “exquisite.”  But that was only the prelude to the dishes that Ralph would cook for us on subsequent evenings.

Ralph and I shared a love of Modernist music, not to exclude Mahler, and the novels of Andre Gide.  Ralph was also a lifelong jazz fan, having spent countless nights at George Wein’s Storyville Club in Boston, while a student at MIT and later working at Boris Mirski’s gallery of vanguard art on Newbury Street. He greatly admired the playing of another Gloucester native, trumpeter and orchestra leader Herb Pomeroy.

What Ralph did not talk about much was his art—he merely did it, carefully and painstakingly, day after day, year after year, without the thought of recognition.  It was thrilling to see the paintings emerge.

Thinking back to the time we spent together, which now seems never to have been enough, I remember most our laundromat days, when we talked non-stop about art and life, while our clothing whirled in the driers and the children ran and jumped around us.

Ralph Coburn 1950

Ralph Coburn and his niece Carol C. Metcalfe. 2011

 

 

Peter Anastas, editorial director of Enduring Gloucesteris a Gloucester native and writer. His most recent book, A Walker in the City: Elegy for Gloucester, is a selection from columns that were published in the Gloucester Daily Times.

 

 

 

 

“Gloucester Speaks”

By Shep Abbott

Gloucester View II.           Robert Stephenson (1935-2016)

As a filmmaker, one is always blessed if one’s subject allows one to literally roll out of bed, grab one’s camera and make a beautiful sequence literally from one’s deck, or at worst, from the dock adjacent to one’s domicile.

I now reside in a large multi-room studio at the venerable Beacon Marine Basin (c. 1865) with a stupendous view of the inner harbor. As it happens, on my walk across the wharf last night as the sun was firing on all cylinders across the harbor, bathing the waters in an incandescent glow, a school of mackerel hatchlings were, as my landlord Jack Alexander says, “conducting a circus”, gleefully smashing around in one ring, disappearing, then hitting another on a distant stage—all within that setting sun’s brilliant circus lighting. I “ran” (at age 74, the quotation marks are advised) up a flight to grab my camera and down to capture this exuberant sunlit display for my documentary “Gloucester Speaks”.

Later, I met friends at another venerable Gloucester institution, The Rhumb Line eatery and stellar music venue, to catch Willie Alexander on keyboards with Sag on bass and full band. As I thrilled to Willie’s remarkable fingerplay on the keys, I was reminded of the mackerel circus of that afternoon and I knew what part Willie’s frolicsome fingering and the infant mackerel circus would play together in my film. That’s called “Blessed!”

Since I returned to Gloucester from New York City in 1990, I’ve delighted to ply my trade here as opportunities presented themselves to my camera. With Joe Palmisano, I produced a documentary on the Fiesta of St. Peter in 1997, a lasting tribute to our Sicilian Community. The following year, I was fortunate to document the dismantling on Pavilion Beach of the last wooden fishing vessel (St. Rosalie) built in Essex—a sad and poignant affair made all the more poignant when I discovered a fine film had been produced in the late 1940’s of the very same vessel being built—rib and plank by keel and rudder.

Later, I was fortunate to be awarded national grants to complete “More Precious Than Gold,” a one-hour documentary covering the discovery, founding and first 200 years of this City, which won an award from the Gloucester Historical Commission. That film is available at the Cape Ann Museum and Maritime Gloucester.

Today, and for the past two years, I’ve been at work on “Gloucester Speaks,” a documentary whose theme is change, covering the past, present and unknown future of America’s first, iconic seaport. With our 400th Anniversary fast approaching, it seems appropriate that we both celebrate and question where we’ve been, where we are, and where we are going.

To this end, I’ve conducted over 60 interviews with some of Gloucester’s most opinionated and eloquent talkers, as well as delighted in capturing fish, fishing, fish processing, fish fertilizer making, building demolition, hotel building, festivals, concerts, City Council debates, Mayoral debates, expert appearances by scientists, artists, poets, historians and more. The film, literally, is speaking for itself with no “all knowing” narrator guiding us to a typically sensible and safe conclusion. In the end, it is the “baby” we are presenting here, but without neglecting the bath water.

For me, “Gloucester Speaks” is a love song to the City that I spent my developing years working and playing in, and the one I returned to, finally, to find a home.

“Gloucester Speaks” is being financed by myself with additional local donations through our non-profit fiscal agent, The Center for Independent Documentary at 1300 Soldiers Field Road, #4, Boston, MA 02135. Donations are certainly welcome, and if you so choose, you may visit the film’s information and donation page at https://www.documentaries.org/gloucester-speaks.  But it is Gloucester, herself, I must thank for her innumerable private and public expressions of trust and camaraderie in welcoming my camera.

 

Shep Abbott has been an award-winning filmmaker since 1970 and served as principal cameraman on the Academy Award Winning documentary “Broken Rainbow.” Shep spent his formative years working and playing on the Gloucester waterfront. Returning from New York City in 1990, he formed and ran Fishtown Artspace for youth and adults, while continuing to produce documentaries.

The Waterfront Today

Patti Page

Boats in Harbor, Gloucester. 1911                Hayley Lever (1876-1958)

Rowing season is underway in Gloucester harbor.  Gig rowers from Maritime Gloucester have been in the water for several weeks.  The dories tied at St. Peter’s Commercial Marina are seen moving around the harbor with more women rowing this season than I have noticed in the past.  The Gloucester High School sailing team started their season in March.  They are well underway to their third consecutive winning season.

As small boats maneuver around the harbor, they negotiate the coming and going of fishing boats.  Gloucester lobstermen are busy shuffling lobster traps from land to sea for the harvesting season.

More than two million pounds of lobsters were landed in the port of Gloucester in 2017.  Gloucester leads the State in lobster landings each year.

In April, approximately eight Maine scallop boats visited Gloucester to harvest scallops.  These vessels, referred to as transients because their home port is Maine, contribute to the economic viability of our working waterfront.  Each boat lands 400 pounds of shucked scallop meat per day.  In Harbor Cove, both Ocean Crest and Fishermen’s Wharf offload day-boat-dry scallops.  This is high quality, locally harvested and landed seafood. With a boat price of $8 per pound of meat, their landing value is appreciable.  In addition to the value of their catch, these boats contribute to the local economy in other ways.  Dockage fees paid for otherwise empty wharves, temporary housing for crew and supplies for fishing trips.  Some boats tie up at The Gloucester House and several others dock in Smith Cove.

All these activities, fishing, rowing, and sailing are important historic cultural activities.  It is who we are.  It is our identity.  All these activities require access to the water.

Is there adequate public access to the water in Gloucester harbor?

Let’s look at the City’s inventory of publicly accessible waterfront locations in the harbor.

County Landing is the only point of public water access to the harbor.  It is located at the beginning of the Boulevard, abutting the Tavern.  This landing was once used for launching boats from trailers and amphibious vehicle tours.  It is now in such disrepair it is difficult and dangerous to launch kayaks or paddle craft there.

The City has entered into a 30-year lease agreement with National Grid for 19 Harbor Loop which houses the Harbormaster.  The City is seeking $2.5 million to invest in the building to develop a public boating facility.  That seems to be ample funding to develop a dual purpose boating facility.  A boating center which serves the community with amenities for use by residents and seasonal visiting yachters.

For those interested in participating in a discussion on Community Boating and expanding public waterfront access, there will be a public discussion held in the Friend Room at the Sawyer Free Library on Tuesday, May 29th at 6:00 pm.  Come meet Guy Fiero, Executive Director of Cape Ann Community Boating to learn more.  For more information email CapeAnnCB@gmail.com.

 

Patti Page, of Gloucester, is retired from a career in federal fisheries regulatory compliance work and a past member of the City’s Waterways Board.  She is a founder and former director of Sail GHS, the sailing program for students across Cape Ann, and is dedicated to a broad range of working waterfront advocacy issues.

 

 

Very Fine Cypresses

Mary Ellen Lepionka, May 21, 2018

Early Autumn. 1906                      Willard Leroy Metcalf (1858-1925)

This is Part 5 of a six-part series on The Colonists and Indian Land. The first four parts were published in Historic Ipswich (https://historicipswich.org/).

Aside from the matter of sheer scale—impacts of Europeans on the environment rose as their population densities rose across the continent, the chief difference between them and Native Americans lay in their definitions and use of the land they occupied. Consider the forests. The earliest accounts of European explorers describe the peninsulas north and south of the Great Marsh as “forests primeval”. On the northern tip of Cape Ann, tree species included a mixture of softwoods such as black spruce, red spruce, hemlock, cedar, and fir, and hardwoods, such as white oak, rock maple, sugar maple, elm, ash, sycamore, hickories, chestnut, walnut, beeches, aspen, black birch, dogwood, and basswood (linden). Today, some of these species remain, and some have disappeared. Present-day dominant tree species include red oak, black willow, flowering shad, black cherry, and pitch pine.1 According to another source, the original forest in Essex County was a mixed deciduous forest of white pine, oak, chestnut, poplar, maple, birch, and some other hardwoods and conifers. In the early 20th century Cape Ann had second-growth oak and chestnut trees in uplands and scrub oak and pitch pine in areas with dry sandy soil.2

Today, chestnut trees and sugar maples are in decline, with the old elms long gone and native magnolias, hemlocks, and dogwoods endangered. Some American elm and white ash may still be found, and red and white oak, white cedar, red spruce, juniper, black walnut, and white pine are still here. Black oak and scarlet oak predominate in tree communities recovering in watersheds such as Dogtown, which also has red maple, gray birch, paper birch, red cedar, black gum, black cherry, sassafras, pitch pine, white pine, and beech. Most of the trees there are less than 135 years old.3

Champlain remarked on the cedars of Cape Ann, which he referred to as cypresses:

The woods are full of oaks, nut-trees, and very fine cypresses, which are of reddish colour and have a very pleasant smell….4

Budding Oak. 1906               Willard Leroy Metcalf (1858-1925)

The Atlantic forest, as a mixed deciduous-coniferous forest, thus contained an incredible diversity of species. Native Americans both exploited and maintained this diversity.

They designed, marked, and protected individual trees for specific uses, often well into the future—big oaks for dugouts, big birches for canoes, burled trees for wooden bowls, young ash and dogwood for arrow shafts, cedars for sleeping platforms and storage pits, red spruce roots for bowstrings, knotted plum tree roots for clubs, medicinal trees for the leaves or bark—such as hemlock needles or slippery elm phloem, oak bark for winter wigwam covers, and numerous trees and shrubs for berries fruits, and nuts. Many species were multipurpose. Pines, for example, provided softwood to carve for many uses, and the needles were woven into baskets or stored as fire-starting brands. Pine pitch, boiled into tar, was an essential ingredient for caulking canoes, waterproofing baskets, applying to wounds, and burning in lamps and torches.5

Cape Ann lies near the southern boundary of birchbark canoe culture and the people also made dugout canoes. According to William Wood:

[They] crosse…rivers with small cannowes, which are made of whole pine trees, being about two foot & a half over, and 20 foote long: in these likewise they goo a fowling, sometimes two leagues to sea; there be more Cannowes in this town [Salem] than in the whole Patent; every household having a water-house [water-horse, common name for a canoe] or two.6

Log Boats

It is perhaps only a matter of time before remains of a log boat will be discovered in the mud in Jones River or in the banks of Cape Pond. Log boats remained popular with colonists into the eighteenth century. They were used to ferry passengers, animals, and goods across rivers and island channels and to haul manure and salt marsh hay. Individuals even reserved certain trees for making canoes. In 1679 in Essex County, for example, Robert Cross, Jr. testified that one Samuel Pipen [Phippen] “sold deponent a canoe tree that grew upon the north side of a hill amongst ledges of rocks”. Some towns even enacted laws to protect so-called “canoe trees”.7

So it is that the Algonquians preserved in large groves the trees they used for food, tools, fibers, medicine, building materials, and transportation (e.g., oak, chestnut, walnut, cedar, beech, ash, sugar maple, birch, witch hazel, sassafras, willow, slippery elm, and pitch pine). They also conserved trees that forest animal species they used depended on, especially cone-bearing trees that provided winter subsistence for deer (e.g., firs, hemlocks, and pines). There is no evidence that the people planted trees to replace those they took, although they undoubtedly protected selected saplings to ensure sufficient forest for the future.

Laurel Woods. 1906                    Willard Leroy Metcalf (1858-1925)

For Native people, forests were essential resources to be governed, while for the English, forests represented wilderness to be tamed. Expecting to find forested wilderness in coastal New England, Europeans were surprised to find instead vast expanses of managed land: grassy parkland with evenly spaced trees cleared of undergrowth. They also found planted, cultivated, and cover-cropped fields; protected wild food resource areas; and contained groves of diverse old-growth trees. These effects were achieved through Native stewardship and routine controlled burning of the land.8

The Algonquians cleared forest undergrowth twice a year, spring and fall, by setting fire to it. The process provided a collective hunting opportunity to drive game to kill sites. It also kept trails clear and made any approaching enemies visible. The burned vegetation returned nutrients to the soil and maintained habitats for berries (especially wild blueberries and mulberries, which still depend on periodic burning). Burning spared most conifers and left behind roasted cones to collect for the pine nuts or to leave as winter forage for deer. Burning also encouraged the growth of grasses in new clearings as forage for deer and created new habitat for small game. The burned ground at the same time deposited potash-rich pockets of inter-forest soil, which the people mounded up after each rainfall to conserve moisture in the soil in preparation for future cultivation. Demand for new soil was constant, as corn is a heavy nitrogen feeder and needs new ground to grow in every two to three years.

William Wood observed in 1635 that Native Americans burned the tops and slopes of hills but left stands along the river bottoms untouched, perhaps as hunting blinds and to screen trails from canoe traffic on the rivers. The heat and ashes from controlled burns conserved soil warmth and fertility.

Chebacco woods

For the Indians burning it [the ground] to supresse the Underwood, which else would grow all over the Countrey, the Snow falling not long after, keepes the ground warme, and with its melting conveighs the ashes into the pores of the earth, which doth fatten it.9

Fall burnings thus were most desirable. However, because fires sometimes got out of control, the General Court in 1631 passed a law making it illegal for colonists and Native Americans alike to set fire to the land in any months other than March or April, when damp spring weather would help control conflagrations. Court records clearly suggest that fire was a routine hazard. A 1638 law banned tobacco smoking in or near any common land at any time of year, and a 1652 law banned the starting of wood fires outdoors between January and March and on Fridays and Sundays generally.10

So Europeans were not solely responsible for deforestation and practices that altered or damaged the environment, as is commonly believed. They cut a lot of white pine for masts and spars and a lot of red oak for hulls and planks for the British royal navy and shipyards as well as for the growing New England shipbuilding industry. Timber for masts and spars for the royal navy and sassafras for the treatment of syphilis were the earliest exports other than furs.11  For more than 5,000 years, however, countless generations of Native people routinely killed trees for firewood, resource wood, and bark by girdling, burning, cutting saplings for wigwam frames, felling trees for dugout and birchbark canoes, and clearing land by the “slash and burn” method for the practice of swidden agriculture, growing maize in mounds of ash and soil where forests once stood.

At the same time, both Native people and colonists practiced conservation. In their slashing and burning, Native people were careful not to clear-cut forests, for example, saving thin forests soils from loss to erosion. In a sense, Native Americans were more future-oriented than Europeans. Their conceptualization of time was circular rather than linear: all times were one time, and that time was the present. Life, as lived, was an expression of all time, integrated on both a spiritual and a material plane. So while Europeans frequently took environmental resources for immediate consumption or application or for stockpiling or export, Native people often modified the environment with no expectation of immediate benefit. The idea was that in a year or two or three, or even in some future generation, some benefit would accrue. Examples include girdling trees to harvest in some years’ time as dry firewood, fashioning tools in living wood, and shaping trees to mark trails or to wrap spirit rocks in ceremonial landscapes.12

Green Canopy. 1908                    Willard Leroy Metcalf (1858-1925)

The timber industry on Cape Ann, well underway by 1645, specialized in the manufacture of boards, clapboards, hoops, and staves, as well as the cutting of cordwood for outside consumption. Streams and tides were channeled to power a gristmill at Beaver Dam in 1642 and later sawmills on Sawmill Brook and in Riverdale, West Gloucester, and Freshwater Cove. Allied barrel and shingle making enterprises sprang up. Salem and Boston were the chief markets for Cape Ann timber and wood products and for her wooden barrels and boxes, which were crucial to the fishing industry and transatlantic trade. Mackerel, cod, cider, flour, and tobacco were packed in them. Consumption of wood quickly threatened to outstrip supply, however, and the people were fully aware of it. As early as the mid-17th century they rationed wood lots and enacted conservation laws. In 1667 Gloucester voted to restrict the cutting of cordwood to the area between Brace’s Cove and Good Harbor Beach, for example. Then, in 1669 the sale of low-cost cordwood out of town was prohibited (it had to fetch a minimum of 3 shillings and sixpence per cord), and each family was limited to cutting 20 cords of wood per year on the Commons (Dogtown).13

Wooded areas today have less diversity because of land management practices of the English settlers, which called for a more ambitious selection and removal of trees as part of the process of taming the wilderness and establishing timber and shipbuilding industries. Nevertheless, surviving groves containing old growth specimen trees of diverse species in proximity are very likely a result of Native agency.  Few old-growth stands of trees remain in eastern Essex County. The Manchester-Hamilton area known as Chebacco Woods and Gordon Woods contains trails through old forest, and the Manchester-Essex woods (including Cathedral Pines, the Millstone Hill Conservation Area, and the Cedar Swamp Trail) has 1,500 acres of forest that were never farmed. In Gloucester, Ravenswood Park and Mount Ann Park contain specimens of old trees. The Cox Reservation in Essex has a grove of red cedars growing through an Algonquian clam midden and dating at least to colonial times, and Choate Island preserves ancient hickories growing up through an enormous clam midden, bearing nuts feasted upon by colonist’s hogs. Single ancient trees of great girth, sometimes called “founder trees”, may also be found abutting parks, playgrounds, and cemeteries throughout Essex County.14

 

Notes and Reference

1. Oaks, elms, sycamores, one pine tree, and John Endicott’s famous pear tree are featured in James Raymond Simmons’ 1919 book on The Historic Trees of Massachusetts, reflecting the enduring priorities of English colonists.

2. Other accounts of trees then and now include Foster and O’Keefe, New England Forests through Time: Insights from the Harvard Forest Dioramas (2000); Fergus, Trees of New England: A Natural History (2005); and Wessels, Reading the Forested Landscape: A Natural History of New England (1997). See also the Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Trees: Eastern Region.

3. This information comes from Harold Cook’s 1908 Handbook on Forest Mensuration of the White Pine in Massachusetts and from Melvin Copeland and Elliott Rogers’ 1960 book, The Saga of Cape Ann. See also Rogers’ article, Botanist’s Eye View of Dogtown Flora, in the Gloucester Daily Times (August 27, 1954).

4. Champlain is quoted in Volume 1 of Langdon and Ganong, The works of Samuel de Champlain (1922): 351-352, as well as in other translations.

5. See Tom Seymour’s Foraging New England: Edible Wild Food and Medicinal Plants from Maine to the Adirondacks to Long Island (2013). A primary source on Native American plant use is John Josselyn’s 1674 New England’s Rarities Discovered in birds, beasts, fishes, serpents, and plants of that country. An ethnographic source is Ralph Dexter and Frank Speck, Utilization of Animals and Plants by the Micmac Indians of New Brunswick (1952), in the Journal of the Washington Academy of Sciences 41 (8): 250-259. A Native American source is Indigenous Plants and Native Uses in the Northeast on the NativeTech web site: http://www.nativetech.org/plantgath/plantgaht.htm.

6. Wood (the 1897 Boynton edition), p. 35.

7. Robert Cross Jr.’s canoe tree is referenced in Essex County Court Records 1913-1919, Vol. 7, p. 203. For insight on Native canoes and dugouts, see especially Gordon Day’s article on pp. 148-159 in Vol. 15 of the Handbook of North American Indians (1979, Bruce Trigger, ed.); Ann Marie Plane’s 1991 article, New England’s Logboats: Four centuries of watercraft, in the Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 52 (1): 8-18; Howard Chapelle’s article, Colonial and Early American Boats, in American Small Sailing Craft: Their Design, Development, and Construction (1951); and Edwin Tappan Adney’s 1964 (2014), Bark Canoes and Skin Boats of North America.

8. All the early explorers and settlers remarked on the Algonquian practice of setting fire to the woods. For example, see accounts in Champlain Voyages (1605), Higginson, New England’s Plantation (1629) and General consideracons for ye plantacon in New England (1630); Johnson, Wonder-Working Providence (1654) and Good Newes from New England (1658); and Wood, New England’s Prospect (1634).

9. Wood, p. 17.

10. Laws related to fires are in the Book of the General Laws of the Inhabitants of the Jurisdiction of New-Plimoth, and Generall Laws of the Massachusetts Colony (1632-1676). See http://www.princelaws.pdf.

11. For a perspective on the pre-colonial and early colonial lumber industry, see New England masts and the King’s Broad Arrow by S. F. Manning (1979). Read about the timber industry on Cape Ann in Eleanor Parsons’ book, Fish, Timber, Granite & Gold (2003). See also Bishop, Freedley, and Young, A History of American Manufacturers, from 1608 to 1860, Volume 1 (1864).

12. See Mavor and Dix (1989) Manitou: The Sacred Landscape of New England’s Native Civilization; Mitchell (1984) Ceremonial Time; and Downes (2011) Native American Trail Marker Trees.

13. The tree cutting laws of 1667 and 1669 are reported in Babson, pp. 203-204. See also Alina Bradford’s 2015 article, Deforestation: Facts, Causes and Effects, in Live Science: http://www.livescience.com/27692-deforestation.html. A “cord of wood” is a stack of logs 4 feet high, 4 feet deep, and 8 feet long.

14. Friends and stewards of Chebacco Woods, Gordon Woods, Cathedral Pines, Millstone Conservation Area, Cedar Swamp, Ravenswood, Mount Ann, the Cox Reservation, and Choate Island all maintain informative websites. See the web sites of the Trustees of Reservations, Essex County Greenbelt Association, Massachusetts Department of Conservation and Recreation, Norton Memorial Forest, New England Forestry Foundation, Norton Tree Farm, Natti Woodland, Annisquam Woods, Willowdale State Forest, Bradley Palmer State Park, Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary, Parker River Wildlife Refuge, and Cape Ann Trial Stewards. Of special interest is GloucesterForests.pdf, containing Liam O’Laughlin’s 2010 report in The North Gloucester Woods Study.

 

Mary Ellen Lepionka lives in East Gloucester and is studying the history of Cape Ann from the Ice Age to around 1700 A.D. for a book on the subject. She is a retired publisher, author, editor, textbook developer, and college instructor with degrees in anthropology. She studied at Boston University and the University of British Columbia and has performed archaeology in Ipswich, MA, Botswana, Africa, and at Pole Hill in Gloucester, MA.  Mary Ellen is a trustee of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society and serves on the Gloucester Historical Commission.

My Conversation With Harvey

“Boy on Stacy Boulevard”  @1976 Lynn Swigart  Courtesy of Trident Gallery

A post showed up on my Facebook page recently that asked who I would like to spend an hour with on a park bench talking about the state of the nation and the world.

Initially, I thought about men and women like Robert Kennedy, FDR, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Rosa Parks.

But then I realized the person I would really like to spend some time talking with, as a sixty-year-old gay man who remains very concerned about the still tenuous progress my community has made on the civil rights front, is Harvey Milk.

In November, it will be forty years since  Harvey and San Francisco Mayor George Moscone were assassinated by Dan White, Harvey’s colleague on the city’s board of supervisors.

In 1978,  when Harvey and Moscone were assassinated, I was a junior at Merrimack College. I was living in a state of constant fear that someone would find out I was gay.

I dated girls, played intramural hockey and lacrosse with a level of intensity and aggression that was totally counter to who I really was. But appearances and illusions in 1978 were critical, or so I thought, to survival itself.

I was in my dorm room with friends drinking beer and doing bong hits, with the Grateful Dead blaring on the stereo, when the news came on about the assassination of the nation’s first openly gay elected official.

The things my “friends” had to say in response to Harvey’s murder were the last straw. Still, I kept silent.

I decided I could not spend my senior year in the dorm. My parents, not knowing the truth about why I wanted out of the dorm so badly, agreed to let me live my senior year at the beach house and commute to school.

I got a dog of my own, decided to get honest with myself, and ever so slowly began to inch out of the closet.

Thirteen years later, I wound up moving from Cambridge to Gloucester to oversee NUVA’s HIV and AIDS counseling, testing, and prevention programs.

Prior to coming to Gloucester, I worked for several human service agencies in New Hampshire and metro Boston. It was in those positions that I, for the first time in my otherwise very sheltered and privileged life, saw the impact poverty and economic struggle have on individuals, families and entire communities.

Harvey Milk saw that impact as well. When he migrated from NYC to San Francisco to settle in the increasingly gay Castro District, he quickly recognized the long-standing working-class nature of the neighborhood. He worked hard to build bridges between long-time working class, straight residents of the Castro and the thousands of gay migrants flocking to the neighborhood from all over America.

Harvey’s camera shop became not only a hub of gay rights activity but also a place where union truck drivers who delivered Coors beer met to organize and strategize against the Coors family’s efforts to bust their union.

For many blue collar residents of the Castro, Harvey was the first openly gay man they’d ever met. Many were impressed by his commitment to working with them to fend off the gentrification going on in the rest of the city.

That gentrification was a phenomenon driven by wealthy, downtown elites, many of them erstwhile liberals, gay and straight, like California Senator Dianne Feinstein’s multimillionaire real estate developer husband, and the very wealthy gay man who founded the national gay newspaper called “The Advocate”.

But Harvey really won the hearts of the long-time, straight, blue-collar residents of the Castro, and the union truck drivers fighting Coors in particular, when he got all the gay bars in the Castro to stop selling Coors beer in a show of solidarity with the truck drivers.

Those blue collar, straight, Castro residents were as significant a factor in Harvey’s election to the board of supervisors as the newly arrived gay boys who never dreamed one of their own could win elective office anywhere.

Ironically, members of the wealthy, downtown, “liberal”, gentrification pushing establishment, including Dianne Feinstein, her husband, and the owner of the Advocate, did all they could to prevent Harvey from winning the Castro district seat on the board of supervisors because he was an obstacle to their agenda.

So, I’d like to sit on a park bench with Harvey to pick his brain about two things.

The first is the troubling rise of classism and elitism within certain elements of the gay community that mirrors what Harvey confronted and challenged in 1970’s San Francisco.

Harvey warned the gay community, particularly its more affluent members, that it was making a mistake aligning itself with San Francisco’s wealthy “liberal” elites, whose agenda of unregulated real estate development and gentrification would, in the long term, alienate and anger the long-time blue-collar residents of old city neighborhoods like the Castro.

In one speech, Harvey warned that the wealthy downtown, “liberal”, gentrification pushing elites were transforming San Francisco into a city where only the wealthy would be able to afford to live.

That speech went over like the proverbial lead balloon with Dianne Feinstein and her real estate industry political contributors.

Harvey gave that speech more than forty years ago. To say that speech proved prophetic is an understatement.

I see very real similarities between what Harvey warned about forty years ago in San Francisco and what is happening in Gloucester today.

I am sure if Harvey was sitting with me on a bench on the “Boulevard” in the city I affectionately call a “mini San Francisco,” he would wholeheartedly agree.

The second thing I would like to pick Harvey’s brain about is the gay rights front. Much progress has been made in recent decades, but there are some very troubling signs looming on the horizon. I worry more than a few in the American gay community, especially among the community’s more affluent and largely self-anointed political leadership, are not paying attention because they have grown complacent and too comfortable with the current status quo and their relationship with today’s affluent, straight, liberal, elites – particularly within the Democratic party establishment.

The troubling signs on the horizon relating to gay rights are not just limited to the United States.

The rise of far-right, faux-Christian, neo-fascist, nationalist politicians and parties is a global phenomenon, and in more than a few cases, gay men and lesbians are routinely scapegoated as the “others” that right-wing politicians, like Donald Trump, blame for a country’s problems to mobilize their followers.

A case in point is Costa Rica. A far-right, fundamentalist Christian minister may yet win the presidential runoff election, and the cornerstone of his campaign is his rabid opposition to gay marriage.

More locally, the Reverend Scott Lively is challenging Gov. Charlie Baker in the Republican gubernatorial primary. Lively is a rabid homophobe who, in 2009, was a consultant to the Ugandan government as it contemplated implementing the death penalty for gay and lesbian Ugandans.

Although Lively will never be the MA GOP’s gubernatorial nominee, he does have a following among the Bay State’s small but vocal far-right, Trump-loving, Republican base – including several people on Cape Ann.

But more troubling than Scott Lively’s longshot candidacy for governor, at least for this old school, Rooseveltian liberal, is the sad reality that many of the gay community’s straight, liberal “allies” have often been unwilling to go to the mat on our behalf.

For example, in 2009 the fundamentalist Christian organizers of the National Prayer Breakfast invited a Ugandan bishop who’d been a forceful advocate of the death penalty for people involved in same-sex relationships to attend the event.  Since its inception in the 1950’s, the breakfast has been a “must attend” event for sitting US presidents and any politician who aspires to the presidency.  When word got out about the Ugandan bishop’s presence, the gay community begged Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton to boycott the breakfast. Neither one of them did.

So, for a long list of reasons, the person I would love to have a conversation with on a bench overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and Stage Fort Park is Harvey Milk.

And what a fascinating conversation it would be.

 

Michael Cook is a long time liberal and gay rights activist who saw the uniqueness of Gloucester from the first moment he drove over the bridge during his move from Cambridge to Cape Ann in 1991 to run NUVA’s AIDS education and services programs.

 

SPRING

By Eric Schoonover

Gloucester Harbor, 1894.                  Childe Hassam (1859-1935)

 

When they put up the signs NO PUBLIC TOILETS

I’ll know. And when the daffodils bloom in

front of the bank on Rogers and the gulls

fight and flutter over the chimneys, I’ll know.

When the sailing team yanks their amazing 420s through

the wretched gusts in the harbor; and when the

night thermometer reads 38 and it’s rain and rain,

then I’ll know it’s spring in Gloucester . . . maybe.

 

 

Eric Schoonover is a writer who does enjoy Gloucester’s spring. Eric is also a  boatbuilder and watercolorist, who lives in Gloucester in a small 1735 Cape Ann cottage with his wife, also a writer. He is the author of the award-winning The Gloucester Suite and Other Poems and a novel, Flowers of the Sea. His latest book, Telling Tales, has just been published.