When I got up this morning and looked out the front windows, I saw a red fishing boat head down the bay, out from the fish plant in Curling. The morning was a bit grey so the red of the boat stood out brightly against the quiet colours of the water. A few moments later, I heard a deep horn sounding. The first time I thought it might have been the papermill in Corner Brook - they blast a horn blast at each shift change and sometimes the sound reaches as far as Gillams. But this horn kept going. Finally I checked back at the window and saw that the fog had become so thick that the bay was no longer visible - even my neighbor's house across the street had lost its sharp edges. Then, just barely visible, I saw the red hull of a large container ship heading up towards Corner Brook. This ship must be about 50 times larger than the fishing boat and still I could only just make it out. I know the people who go out to fish know the water and any local hazards very well and, fog being a regular visitor to the Bay of Islands, they are no doubt quite used to navigating in it. But still, one has to admire the skills and courage of the people who get their living out on the bay.
It makes my own little world seem yet more comfy, not to mention, dry. Our lives have pared down from the barely constained chaos that is our experience in NYC. No rushing up the street to the subway, no cramming into a crowded car and jostling our way into Manhattan, then walking fast to our destination, nearly always late. Indeed, no real destinations at all. For the first week or so, I would wake up each morning with a worry that we were late for something until finally I realized, there was no something, nothing to rush out for. After eight months of I-wish-we-could-stay-homeschooling, we are experiencing the luxury of time, the thrill of boredom, the excitement of finding fascination in small things.