Memory lingers of a quiet morning in the lagoons at Presque Isle State Park
When I first started writing, I discovered that the best writers build and learn to write from their observations and experiences. Like all forms of expression, writing demands that we look at people, events and things. Rod Stewart long ago sang, “Every picture tells a story.” He was right. And because we each have a total of 53 sources of sensory information built into us, we need to begin to observe the world all around us and use all of them.
The following is from an experience I had in 2018 one quiet morning near an old small pier hidden deep within the lagoons of Presque Isle State Park. It was a surprise and a personal, meaningful discourse that struck home.
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As I walked down the small path leading to the old pier along one of the lagoons' many ponds, I saw an old man sitting on a fallen log near the water. Next to him was a younger man on the log near him.
I was immediately captivated by the old man. He wore an aged and gnarled captain's hat that sat askew atop his head. He had a salt-and-pepper beard that was as curly as a boar’s tail. His skin, wrinkled and rutted from the sun, looked like unironed linen.
Looking over, he sees me and a soft smile steals across his craggy face. Silence echoes. No words need spoken. I move closer.
Slowly a breeze stirs in the trees, and a lonely finger of fog drifts along the lagoon. Nearby wildflowers seem to nod in polite recognition and their scent drifts with the breezes. The old man looks down the lagoons following the small ripples in the water. I see he has an aged, curved burl pipe jutting from his mouth. Like a dream, I notice his eyes. They are onyx and I realize they have a thousand stories untold.
The air is a bit cool, so he wears a well-worn red-and-black checkered jacket. Slowly reaching out, he taps a young boy sitting by the water. Pointing, he gathers the boy’s attention. An ancient fishing pole's tip bobs at water’s edge. A broad smile bounds across the boys face. Moving to the pole, the boy lifts it and begins to play out the line. The old man relights his pipe, and sits back watching the boy’s adventure unfold.
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Wordlessly, the old man reaches out and places his hand on the younger man next to him. I can see that instant warmth is flooding the two men as smiles light their faces. Tears slip out of the old man’s eye. They slowly wander down the crevices in his face. Though eyes shining like fluid crystal, he follows the boy’s progress.
Today, I look back at a truly heart-grabbing scene that bonded father, son and grandson forever. On that special morning, their fires of life burned strong and the morning was theirs.
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Gene Ware is the author of 10 books. He serves on the board of the Presque Isle Light Station and is past chairman of the boards of the Tom Ridge Center Foundation and the Presque Isle Partnership. Email him at ware906@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Erie Times-News: Memory lingers of a quiet morning in Presque Isle State Park lagoons
