Cumberland Impromptu

Cumberland Impromptu-Full Moon

I walk in the forest at the ocean edge...the shores of the spirit world cast brilliant with sand...glistening radiant moonlight tendrils connecting reed and palm salt and surf. I run with my people...my heart and breathe stolen...one sees the sky path the other bounces lightning....I am moonswept and liquid of knee.

This week Sam Hatfinder came home to visit. Protege rang with good news and a gracious invitation to an out of the blue camp on the island and no better news could have found me at the end of a long, arduous yet pleasing day. I am fully involved with new wonderful clients here in Fernandina Beach as Spring is now full upon us. On this day in particular I decided to remove St. Augustine turf grass from what is now evolving in to a harvesting garden with citrus herbs tomatoes peppers and flowers both for cutting and admiring. St. Augustine really likes itself here and had rooted with incredible vigor. I think this is why my arms went numb the following two weeks. Never can tell. Nonetheless on to the Island. I often find it difficult to explain the feeling of great anticipation when making plans to go to Cumberland. It seems to me that the minute that I actually start calculating and devising and scheduling just which boat I will take, I am already on the Lucy and all else seems second need. A 5:30 manifest securely registered, we plan our provisioning and began to move ever so deliberately toward the river. As is the nature of my current life as a contemporary American Migrant Worker…I am all about the region answering the call of duty that is full season and from the lowcountry into the islands south. I try to recall where my wool blankets are stowed and question just how little can I get away with on an overnighter to paradise island. Rushing to Tiger Beach where I am staying the week I make the quickest work of an outdoor shower and drive hell for leather to provision. I decide to inhale a sandwich grab light snacks and the required beverages and make the boat with just time enough to say hello to old friends. The comedy of coastal cellular communication came to me as Cole and I passed each other in traffic, on the way find each other in to ensure a solid delivery to the Lucy. You can’t help but feel as if you are waiting to take a journey to another place as the minutes pass and we wait for the sound of the engine.

Finally underway we and the Lu slowly pulling away from the marina we visit together and listen to Sam talk about the Northeast and he is as always vivacious and strong and possessed of a kindness that endears me as ever. As we cross the sound I stand to watch our journey toward the island. I do this now in honor of and in tribute to “her majesty” Retta. I met Retta in the waning years of her life and we become good pals. I would see her often on the Lucy and I began to notice that she always stood when we crossed the sound. To see her eyes sparkle in anticipation was like seeing a young girl emerge through the well earned lines of her face…a regal beauty timeless and classic. I have said before that it is largely because of her majesty that I write today. “Write it all down…you’ll be glad you did one day” she said to me…thank you Retta.

Gaining Cumberland and making Greyfield dock the Lucy idles to a stop and a pronounced anticipation overcomes our trio and the Langshaw power is amped to wattage. Gathering provisions we realize we don’t have a truck…Messenger, Grandma’s ride is off island in disrepair, and while we can walk our trip is short and transportation is preferred. Standing in the parking lot for a brief silent moment we glance around and see Jamie’s truck. A quick phone call to the mentors and we are set, a clear sign that the island is with us.

We make a simple camp at the ruins of Mole’s End setting up for a campfire and making ice chest kitchens. An old washstand that has been around since a hundred forevers becomes a workstation for snacks cocktails and special treats. The sheer joy of reunion has created an elation of its own and promises to escalate with the right combination of medicine and light.

I invite you to the remembering.

Peacepipes…chocolate truffles and a golden elixir with lime to fuel the fire of our spirit. Night approaches our hearts are full. The light of day wanes and the ocean beckons on the wind. We make Greyfield Beach bare of feet. Harsh were the winds of late and live oaks are sea fans and coral above as we sway gazing upward. The cool sand deepens on the path the moon swollen illuminates our party. The celestial magic works the ocean…the tide is low speaking a thousand whispers to the ear. We are each of us awestruck and captivated bound together in separate silences. The wind shakes us and the spirits of the island come swirling around like so many dancers…we begin to run…so close it seems to flying…free from the constant overwhelm of gravity the deep sand no obstacle as we light upon mountaintops and descend into valleys. Breathless exhilaration and the sky calls to us. The twinkling and flashing red lights from skybirds of metal trace one and another through a chalky phosphorescence. In the clouds a giant crab approaches as if drawn by the lights and the moon. We run until laughter and oxygen betray us on and on in to the night…daring lightning…yelling to our people to each other in the kingdom of bliss…the ground gives way and rises up again and like the waves we return to the shore for reunion and separate to chase the lights that are dripping from the heavens…we are encapsulated by light and wind and salt of sea.

Eventually we return to camp winded and overwrought with joyous celebration. Sleep of the weary awakens us to another day on Cumberland. There is a feeling of pure perfect satisfaction that is palpable at Mole’s End as we break camp and plan our departing boat. I feel completely refreshed as if my spirit had been washed and my body alive with memory of the nights adventure. Cole, Sam and I find ourselves a napping spot and wait for time to board the Lu, after an intense tabletop acorn battle the depth of the porch swings at the inn are found to our liking once again.

Returning to Fernandina and the mainland seems surreal having visited the spirit world but a new peace settles over us as we part once again. These sacred journeys forever etched upon our memory and the fabric of Cumberland time.