Blessing the Boats

(at St. Mary’s)

may the tide

that is entering even now

the lip of our understanding

carry you out

beyond the face of fear

may you kiss

the wind then turn from it

certain that it will

love your back may you

open your eyes to water

water waving forever

and may you in your innocence

sail through this to that

Lucille Clifton, “blessing the boats” from Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000. (Poetry Foundation)

Today the JetPack App prompts “What do you do to be involved in the the community?” That clinches it! I will write about my Sunday morning; the prompt begs it.

Newport, my hometown, has been built on two iconic Oregon industries: logging and fishing; both, like everything, have changed over time. Logging images flash most vividly from my childhood, the massive flotillas of logs loosely bound and drifting on the Yaquina Bay. Sometimes the bonds would break and singular trunks, like wayward children, would bob and wander, matchsticks on their way out past the jetty to the open water. Occasionally the giants would wash ashore, littering the beach in front of our house.

When my mother would see visitors trying to scale the monsters, she’d warn, “Never let me see you playing around those logs. The water carried them here as if they weighed nothing, but don’t be fooled. They could smash you flat in an instant.” She didn’t lean toward hyperbole, so those were no idle words.

Those days are gone. Large logging enterprise and the dominance of Georgia-Pacific on the coast has faded, has mutated though not disappeared.

Now fishing is on my radar far more because one of my best friends is a fisherman, and our conversations often revolve around that topic, his livelihood since forever. On Sunday morning, I received a text, a somewhat-apologetic, last-minute invitation to the annual “Blessing of the Fleet,” part of the town’s “Loyalty Days” celebration.

“Since the 1950s, Newport’s Blessing of the Fleet has continued the custom of asking for prayers for protection at sea, bountiful catches and peace of mind for the families at home.” (from Oregon Coast Today)

The weather that morning had held off, but as a small group of us boarded the boat, it began to build, the heavy gray clouds overhead opening wide and dumping water whipped into a rat-a-tat rhythm on the bay by open-sea wind. It did not stop the boats, the captains and crews, that were dedicated to this event, and to their life at sea. Even as the visibility diminished and the water washed decks fore and aft, hearty seafarers blew their horns, flew their flags, waved and smiled.

Our friend said it best: “There isn’t anything really religious about it. This is community; that’s what this blessing is all about.”

As the small but committed chain of boats passed in front of the Coast Guard vessel, the symbolic locus of the blessing and finale before they returned to shore, the wind and rain seemed insignificant in the face of this united front, and the salt water on my cheeks belonged to this moment .