It was day twelve of the Wishing Stone Book Tour, and the day before the Chevery Come Home Year Celebration. From Blance Sablon a charter had been arranged by family and friends making their way to Chevery from 'up above' (communities North of it), because, with no highway to Chevery, air fees are high. Filling a plane with eighteen people cut those hefty dues by more than half. With this extra cash in our pockets and a spirit that raised the already cloud grazed roof, our roots drew us closer, and our smiles grew wide.
It's difficult to describe the emotions which swept through me as we soared over the familiar land I hadn't seen in over twelve years. I was both elated and sad. I was sentimental. Below, the rock, the soil, and above all, the ocean of my youth awaited. God knew I'd missed it, and he knew I still loved it. But I wondered, how much had it changed? What if those intimate spaces I'd grown to feel, no longer moved me? I'd no longer know who I was were that the case, because the Lower North Shore had shaped me. But though my worry grew wings they did not have time to spread. We landed in Chevery and the world once more shrank. Home again, tears stung my eyes, and my children were with me, my husband. This was something new in memories which were old, and I'd embrace it.
We were welcomed by old friends and family with lobster and music. The best sort of hug anyone could ask for. Guitars, accordion, spoons, foot stomps, and an array of local voices carried us through the night, and my childhood heart reawakened. It was magic in its real sense, and I silently thanked the Wishing Stone because in truth, it was what brought me home. The book had granted a wish I hadn't known I'd uttered, and I'm glad it did.
There were a few things about returning to my childhood home after so long which proved hard to swallow. One being that all things change. While the song of the sea rang the same tune and produced in me the same sense of longing it always had, I witnessed a great change in the land and its climate, and the effects of such difference. Beaches I'd once walked are now reshaped and unfamiliar, and trees stretch higher in the sky, but it was the flies (Dear Lord), the flies, which were nearly unbearable. Is it the new heat, or the (sorrowful) lack of bats and dragon flies? I don't know, but they were awful. This, however horrid, was not the most difficult of changes. It was seeing older friends up in age who I knew I'd likely not see again, and seeing one friend from my childhood ruined from drink, and nearly unrecognizable. But that, I suppose, is the way of things.
I can't possibly recap the entire trip, as the organizers of the Come Home Year Celebration did a great job of keeping us all quite busy. But, seeing that this blog is supposed to reflect my writing, I will share with you the news of my Chevery book signing, the Wishing Stone's visit to Harrington Harbour, and my family's reunion with lovely Gull Cliff.
These things I will keep separate from this write-up, as this one has proved personal. I hope you don't mind. The Wishing Stone's return home, coming up!
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