A Boot Cove Boil

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 12

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

The soft, warm sand squeezed between her toes as Mason stood in the one sandy spot midst the gravel and wiggled her toes.  The smell of ocean water mixed with smoke and steam drifted around her as she stood on the beach.  A few yards away her parents sat with friends talking about life, politics, Quoddy Village and the impending war in Europe due to the actions of a man named Adolph.  Her father stoked the fire with driftwood found on the beach, ensuring the flames were hot enough to keep the water boiling in the large covered canning kettle holding clams, potatoes, onions, lobster and corn, a real Downeast Boil!

Overhead the gulls twisted and turned in the wind, squealing as they flew.  Awww, awwwww, awwww one would cry as it landed near a tidal pool seeking an easy dinner, poking at the water then at the near by seaweed.  Poke, move, poke, poke, move.  Mason put a hand in front of her face to block the blinding noonday sun as it shone off the water like West Quoddy’s beacon.  Looking out at the ocean she spied the southern end of Grand Manan, hazy and blurred in a wisp of fog typical for a summer’s afternoon.

“Mason, Mason come here, look what I've found.”  The voice of her little brother called to her from across the way.  She turned toward his voice and found him squatting on a hump of rock.  “Come here” he called again, “see what I've found.”  She quickly ran to where Wells was still hunched over.  Gazing down Mason noticed the small snail he was mesmerized with.  In the indentation of the rock a whole universe existed.  Spurred on by the curiosity of youth Mason and Wells climbed and slid across hummocks of algae.  Pop, pop went the seaweed as they stepped on the strands.  Wells picked up a long flat whip like piece of kelp twirling it above his head like a lasso flung it at Mason and ran off laughing.

“Mason, Wells, time to come to dinner” called the voices of their parents. The two children ran toward the fire and found seats on a long piece of drift wood. Mason loved having boils at Boot cove with her family and friends.